The worth of a human being lies in the ability to extend oneself, to go outside oneself, to exist in and for other people.

Only a literary work that reveals an unknown fragment of human existence has a reason for being.

The light that radiates from the great novels time can never dim, for human existence is perpetually being forgotten by man and thus the novelists' discoveries, however old they may be, will never cease to astonish.

Living, there is no happiness in that. Living: carrying one’s painful self through the world.
But being, being is happiness. Being: Becoming a fountain, a fountain on which the universe falls like warm rain.

Being human always points, and is directed, to something or someone, other than oneself - be it a meaning to fulfill or another human being to encounter.

No matter how much we scorn it, kitsch is an integral part of the human condition.