Life Consists Of Burning Up Questions.

Destroy Yourselves, You Who Are Desperate, And You Who Are Tortured In Body And Soul, Abandon All Hope. There Is No More Solace For You In This World. The World Lives Off Your Rotting Flesh.

I Cannot Conceive Any Work Of Art As Having A Separate Existence From Life Itself

[defines A Madman As] A Man Who Preferred To Become Mad,in The Socially Accepted Sense Of The Word, Rather Than Forfeit A Certain Superior Idea Of Human Honor.

It Is Thus That The Few Rare Lucid Well-disposed People Who Have Had To Struggle On The Earth Find Themselves At Certain Hours Of The Day Or Night In The Depth Of Certain Authentic And Waking Nightmare States, Surrounded By The Formidable Suction, The Formidable Oppression Of A Kind Of Civic Magic Which Will Soon Be Seen Appearing Openly In Social Behavior.

We Must Believe In A Sense Of Life Renewed By The Theater, A Sense Of Life In Which Man Fearlessly Makes Himself Master Of What Does Not Yet Exist, And Brings It Into Being. And Everything That Has Not Been Born Can Still Be Brought To Life If We Are Not Satisfied To Remain Mere Recording Organisms.