... There Is No Such

And Since The Possession Of Qualities Presupposes That One Takes A Certain Pleasure In Their Reality, All This Gives Us A Glimpse Of How It May All Of A Sudden Happen To Someone Who Cannot Summon Up Any Sense Of Reality — Even In Relation To Himself — That One Day He Appears To Himself As A Man Without Qualities.

I Am Not Only Convinced That What I Say Is False, But Also That What One Might Say Against It Is False. Despite This, One Must Begin To Talk About It. In Such A Case The Truth Lies Not In The Middle, But Rather All Around, Like A Sack, Which, With Each New Opinion One Stuffs Into It, Changes Its Form, And Becomes More And More Firm.

Hardly Anyone Still Reads Nowadays. People Make Use Of The Writer Only In Order To Work Off Their Own Excess Energy On Him In A Perverse Manner, In The Form Of Agreement Or Disagreement.

A Man Can't Be Angry At His Own Time Without Suffering Some Damage.

Have We Not Huddled In Bunkers, While Some Premonition Of Tomorrow Hung In The Air And A Comrade Started Singing? Oh, It Felt So Melancholy! And It Was Kitsch.