Books And Harlots Have Their Quarrels In

Not To Find One’s Way Around A City Does Not Mean Much. But To Lose One’s Way In A City, As One Loses One’s Way In A Forest, Requires Some Schooling.

... [l]ess Than At Any Time Does A Simple Reproduction Of Reality Tell Us Anything About Reality. A Photograph Of The Krupp Works Or Gec Yields Almost Nothing About Those Institutions. Reality Proper Has Slipped Into The Functional. The Reification Of Human Relationships, The Factory, Let's Say, No Longer Reveals These Relationships. Therefore Something Has To Be Constructed, Something Artificial, Something Set Up.

Gifts Must Affect The Receiver To The Point Of Shock.

The Messiah Comes Not Only As The Redeemer, He Comes As The Subduer Of Antichrist. Only That Historian Will Have The Gift Of Fanning The Spark Of Hope In The Past Who Is Firmly Convinced That Even The Dead Will Not Be Safe From The Enemy If He Wins. And This Enemy Has Not Ceased To Be Victorious.

He Who Asks Fortune-tellers The Future Unwittingly Forfeits An Inner Intimation Of Coming Events That Is A Thousand Times More Exact Than Anything They May Say. He Is Impelled By Inertia, Rather Than Curiosity, And Nothing Is More Unlike The Submissive Apathy With Which He Hears His Fate Revealed Than The Alert Dexterity With Which The Man Of Courage Lays Hands On The Future.