In Other Words, The Unique Value Of

Quotations In My Work Are Like Wayside Robbers Who Leap Out Armed And Relieve The Stroller Of His Conviction.

The Destructive Character Knows Only One Watchword: Make Room. And Only One Activity: Clearing Away. The Destructive Character Is Young And Cheerful. For Destroying Rejuvenates, Because It Clears Away The Traces Of Our Own Age; It Cheers, Because Everything Cleared Away Means To The Destroyer A Complete Reduction, Indeed A Rooting Out, Of His Own Condition.

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.

All Human Knowledge Takes The Form Of Interpretation.

This Is How One Pictures The Angel Of History. His Face Is Turned Toward The Past. Where We Perceived A Chain Of Events, He Sees One Single Catastrophe Which Keeps Piling Wreckage And Hurls It In Front Of His Feet. The Angel Would Like To Stay, Awaken The Dead, And Make Whole What Has Been Smashed. But A Storm Is Blowing From Paradise; It Has Got Caught In His Wings With Such Violence That The Angel Can No Longer Close Them. This Storm Irresistably Propels Him Into The Future To Which His Back Is Turned, While The Pile Of Debris Before Him Grows Skyward. The Storm Is What We Call Progress.