The platitude turned on its head is still a platitude

The horror of the Twentieth Century was the size of each new event, and the paucity of its reverberation

Hip is the sophistication of the wise primitive in a giant jungle.

I think it's bad to talk about one's present work, for it spoils something at the root of the creative act. It discharges the tension.

The natural role of twentieth-century man is anxiety.

Revolutions are the periods of history when individuals count most.