How many faces, how many bodies can you recognize, with your eyes closed, only by touching them? Have you ever closed your eyes and acted unconsciously? Or loved someone so blindly, you could almost feel their energy in a dark room and be moved by the powerful touch of their ideas?
Feelings are never true. They play with their mirrors.
Nothing is wholly obvious without becoming enigmatic. Reality itself is too obvious to be true .
If everything is perfect, language is useless. This is true for animals. If animals don’t speak, it’s because everything’s perfect for them. If one day they start to speak, it will be because the world has lost a certain sort of perfection.
When the real is no longer what it used to be, nostalgia assumes its full meaning.
Today’s terrorism is not the product of a traditional history of anarchism, nihilism, or fanaticism. It is instead the contemporary partner of globalization.
Art does not die because there is no more art. It dies because there is too much.
It only takes a politician believing in what he says for the others to stop believing him.
The day the world ends, no one will be there, just as no one was there when it began. This is a scandal. Such a scandal for the human race that it is indeed capable collectively, out of spite, of hastening the end of the world by all means just so it can enjoy the show.
Television knows no night. It is perpetual day. TV embodies our fear of the dark, of night, of the other side of things.
The opposite of knowledge is not ignorance, but deceit and fraud.
Like dreams, statistics are a form of wish fulfillment.
The only thing worse than being bored is being boring.
What you have to do is enter the fiction of America, enter America as fiction. It is, indeed, on this fictive basis that it dominates the world.
Illusion is no longer possible, because the real is no longer possible.
The new shopping malls make possible the synthesis of all consumer activities, not least of which are shopping, flirting with objects, idle wandering, and all the permutations of these.
You are born modern, you do not become so.
The simulacrum is never that which conceals the truth – it is the truth which conceals that there is none. The simulacrum is true.
Perhaps our eyes are merely a blank film which is taken from us after our deaths to be developed elsewhere and screened as our life story in some infernal cinema or dispatched as microfilm into the sidereal void.
Information can tell us everything. It has all the answers. But they are answers to questions we have not asked, and which doubtless don’t even arise.