I Am Unpacking My Library. Yes I

Literature Tells Very Little To Those Who Understand It.

The True Picture Of The Past Flits By. The Past Can Be Seized Only As An Image Which Flashes Up At The Instant When It Can Be Recognized And Is Never Seen Again.

The Art Of Storytelling Is Reaching Its End Because The Epic Side Of Truth, Wisdom, Is Dying Out.

Bourgeois Existence Is The Regime Of Private Affairs . . . And The Family Is The Rotten, Dismal Edifice In Whose Closets And Crannies The Most Ignominious Instincts Are Deposited. Mundane Life Proclaims The Total Subjugation Of Eroticism To Privacy.

Opinions Are To The Vast Apparatus Of Social Existence What Oil Is To Machines: One Does Not Go Up To A Turbine And Pour Machine Oil Over It; One Applies A Little To Hidden Spindles And Joints That One Has To Know.