Nothing Is Wholly Obvious Without Becoming Enigmatic.

A Woman Spent All Christmas Day In A Telephone Box Without Ringing Anyone. If Someone Comes To Phone, She Leaves The Box, Then Resumes Her Place Afterwards. No One Calls Her Either, But From A Window In The Street, Someone Watched Her All Day, No Doubt Since They Had Nothing Better To Do. The Christmas Syndrome.

One Has Never Said Better How Much "humanism", "normality", "quality Of Life" Were Nothing But The Vicissitudes Of Profitability.

Prophesying Catastrophe Is Incredibly Banal. The More Original Move Is To Assume That It Has Already Happened.

With The Truth, You Need To Get Rid Of It As Soon As Possible And Pass It On To Someone Else. As With Illness, This Is The Only Way To Be Cured Of It. The Person Who Keeps Truth In His Hands Has Lost.

Art Is No Longer Anything More Than A Kind Of Meta-language For Banality.