I Would Like To Metamorphose Into A

Melancholy Betrays The World For The Sake Of Knowledge. But In Its Tenacious Self-absorption It Embraces Dead Objects In Its Contemplation, In Order To Redeem Them

Work On A Good Piece Of Writing Proceeds On Three Levels: A Musical One, Where It Is Composed, An Architectural One, Where It Is Constructed, And Finally A Textile One, Where It Is Woven.

Not To Find One's Way In A City May Well Be Uninteresting And Banal. It Requires Ignorance - Nothing More. But To Lose Oneself In A City - As One Loses Oneself In A Forest - That Calls For A Quite Different Schooling. Then, Signboard And Street Names, Passers-by, Roofs, Kiosks, Or Bars Must Speak To The Wanderer Like A Cracking Twig Under His Feet In The Forest.

There Is No Document Of Civilization Which Is Not At The Same Time A Document Of Barbarism.

Nothing Is Poorer Than A Truth Expressed As It Was Thought. Committed To Writing In Such Cases, It Is Not Even A Bad Photograph. Truth Wants To Be Startled Abruptly, At One Stroke, From Her Self-immersion, Whether By Uproar, Music Or Cries For Help.