Crossing out is an art that is, perhaps, even more difficult than writing. It requires the sharpest eye to decide what is superfluous and must be removed. And it requires ruthlessness toward yourself -- the greatest ruthlessness and self-sacrifice. You must know how to sacrifice parts in the name of the whole.

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Children are the only brave philosophers. And brave philosophers are, inevitably, children.

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I am aware of myself. And, of course, the only things that are aware of themselves and conscious of their individuality are irritated eyes, cut fingers, sore teeth. A healthy eye, finger, tooth might as well not even be there. Isn't it clear that individual consciousness is just sickness?

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The only means of ridding man of crime is ridding him of freedom.

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The most agonising thing is to drop doubt into a man about his being a reality, three-dimensional - and not some other kind of reality.

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There is no final one; revolutions are infinite.

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There are books of the same chemical composition as dynamite. The only difference is that a piece of dynamite explodes once, whereas a book explodes a thousand times.

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All truths are erroneous. This is the very essence of the dialectical process: today's truths become errors tomorrow; there is no final number. This truth (the only one) is for the strong alone. Weak-nerved minds insist on a finite universe, a last number; they need, in Nietzsche's words, "the crutches of certainty". The weak-nerved lack the strength to include themselves in the dialectic syllogism.

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Those two, in paradise, were given a choice: happiness without freedom, or freedom without happiness. There was no third alternative.

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We need writers who fear nothing. ("Our Goal")

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