Ah, lust! How one would like to make it the cornerstone of self! But I wouldn’t go ahead and build on it if I were you.
The moment workers can afford too little they rebel. The last time this was a real danger was 1950. Communists took advantage of supply problems and stirred up gullible people against their very own country.
No art can possibly comfort HER then, even though art is credited with so many things, especially an ability to offer solace. Sometimes, of course, art creates the suffering in the first place.
She will prolong her life by the length of her story, even though time will wear on inexorably as she tells it, thus depriving her of the chance to have a new experience.
I only enjoy what I can see, because I don’t feel anything. For example, your new wallpaper. I like it and it can stay, it’s quiet and it keeps quiet at least. Luckily I don’t have to feel it, just see it.
Many young people are still driven to art, as in olden times. Most of them are driven by their parents, who know nothing about art—only that it exists.
Her body is one big refrigerator, where Art is well stored.
The mob not only grabs hold of art without being entitled to do so, but it also enters the artist. It takes up residence inside the artist and smashes a few holes in the wall, windows to the outer world: The mob wants to be seen.
Stealing isn’t so easy, often it’s hard work, otherwise we’d all be doing it.
Everyone wants to look for something of their own, a house of their own, a child of their own, a partner of their own, entirely for themselves alone. No one is satisfied with a room of their own any more.
A woman who becomes famous through her work reduces her erotic value. A woman is permitted to chat or babble, but speaking in public with authority is still the greatest transgression.
It could draw from a greater reservoir of freedom. The irony could develop an even greater ease.