One has never said better how much "humanism", "normality", "quality of life" were nothing but the vicissitudes of profitability.

We live in a world where there is more and more information, and less and less meaning.

The desert is a natural extension of the inner silence of the body.

Deep down, the US, with its space, its technological refinement, its bluff good conscience, even in those spaces which it opens up for simulation, is the only remaining primitive society.

Art does not die because there is no more art. It dies because there is too much.

Illusion is no longer possible, because the real is no longer possible.

Today's terrorism is not the product of a traditional history of anarchism, nihilism, or fanaticism. It is instead the contemporary partner of globalization.

What I am, I don't know. I am the simulacrum of myself.

There is no aphrodisiac like innocence.

Disneyland is presented as imaginary in order to make us believe that the rest is real.

History that repeats itself turns to farce. Farce that repeats itself turns to history.

No matter how long your night may have been, as the earth remains, your morning will definitely come.

What a great grace to be alive?

If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I? And if not now, when?

Eugène Ney Terre’Blanche is the man who had such a long record of infamy the devil would be blue with envy.

The high-water mark, so to speak, of Socialist literature is W.H. Auden, a sort of gutless Kipling.

What is trust, sidhe-seer, but expectation that another will behave in a certain fashion, consistent with prior actions?

Chaos and intensity are no substitute for lasting love, nor are they necessarily an improvement on real life.

I paint life as I would like it to be.

Active receptivity is needed, not a passive agitation.