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.
The killing of a criminal can be moral — but never its legitimation.
Death is the sanction of everything the story-teller can tell. He has borrowed his authority from death.
Memory is not an instrument for exploring the past but its theatre. It is the medium of past experience, as the ground is the medium in which dead cities lie interred.
Boredom is the dream bird that hatches the egg of experience. A rustling in the leaves drives him away.
The idea that happiness could have a share in beauty would be too much of a good thing.
The greater the decrease in the social significance of an art form, the sharper the distinction between criticism and enjoyment by the public. The conventional is uncritically enjoyed, and the truly new is criticized with aversion.