But He Who Dies In Despair Has

If Time Is Money, It Seems Moral To Save Time, Above All One's Own, And Such Parsimony Is Excused By Consideration For Others. One Is Straight-forward.

But He Who Dies In Despair Has Lived His Whole Life In Vain.

Once The Last Trace Of Emotion Has Been Eradicated, Nothing Remains Of Thought But Absolute Tautology.

The New Human Type Cannot Be Properly Understood Without Awareness Of What He Is Continuously Exposed To From The World Of Things About Him, Even In His Most Secret Innervations.

Thus Is Order Ensured: Some Have To Play The Game Because They Cannot Otherwise Live, And Those Who Could Live Otherwise Are Kept Out Because They Do Not Want To Play The Game. It Is As If The Class From Which Independent Intellectuals Have Defected Takes Its Revenge, By Pressing Its Demands Home In The Very Domain Where The Deserter Seeks Refuge.