The Present, Which, As A Model Of Messianic Time, Comprises The Entire History Of Mankind In An Enormous Abridgment, Coincides With The Stature Which The History Of Mankind Has In The Universe.
What Has Been Forgotten Is Never Something Purely Individual. Everything Forgotten Mingles With What Has Been Forgotten Of The Prehistoric World, Forms Countless, Uncertain, Changing Compounds, Yielding A Constant Flow Of New, Strange Products.
As Hegel Put It, Only When It Is Dark Does The Owl Of Minerva Begin Its Flight. Only In Extinction Is The Collector Comprehend.
It Is The Task Of The Translator To Release In His Own Language That Pure Language That Is Under The Spell Of Another, To Liberate The Language Imprisoned In A Work In His Re-creation Of That Work.
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
For What Is The Program Of The Bourgeois Parties? A Bad Poem On Springtime, Filled To Bursting With Metaphors.
A Bearer Of News Of Death Appears To Himself As Very Important. His Feeling - Even Against All Reason - Makes Him A Messenger From The Realm Of The Dead.
The Book Borrower...proves Himself To Be An Inveterate Collector Of Books Not So Much By The Fervor With Which He Guards His Borrowed Treasures...as By His Failure To Read These Books.
It Is In A Small Village In The Pyrenees Where No One Knows Me 7that My Life Will Come To A Close.... There Is Not Enough Time Remaining For Me To Write All The Letters I Would Like To Write.
Things Are Only Mannequins And Even The Great World-historical Events Are Only Costumes Beneath Which They Exchange Glances With Nothingness.
