Nowadays the thief cannot be distinguished from his victim. Neither has any valuable objects on him.
Ask your neighbor only about things you know better yourself. Then his advice could prove valuable.
The new psychiatrists say that everything and anything can be traced back to sexual causes. Their method, for example, could be explained as the eroticism of father confessors.
There are writers who can express in as little as twenty pages what I occasionally need as many as two for.
Parliamentarianism means putting political prostitution in barracks.
A snob is unreliable. The work he praises might just be good.
Let my style capture all the sounds of my time. This should make it an annoyance to my contemporaries. But later generations should hold it to their ears like a seashell in which there is the music of an ocean of mud.
The triumph of morality: A thief who has broken into a bedroom claims his sense of shame had been outraged, and by threatening theoccupants with exposure of an immoral act he blackmails them into not bringing charges for burglary.
Morality is the tendency to pour out the baby with the bathwater.
Morality is a burglar’s tool whose merit lies in never being left behind at the scene of the crime.
They judge lest they be judged.
The pimp is the executive organ of immorality. The executive organ of morality is the blackmailer.
Keep your passions in check, but beware of giving your reason free rein.
It is the mission of the press to disseminate intellect and at the same time destroy receptivity to it.
I have decided many a stylistic problem first by my head, then by heads or tails.
Contemporaries live from second hand to mouth.
Insights into erotic life belong to art, not education. But sometimes these have to be spelled out for the illiterates. And it ismainly a matter of convincing the illiterates, for they are the ones who write the penal code.
My respect for the inconsiderable is assuming gigantic dimensions.
The unattractive thing about chauvinism is not so much the aversion to other nations as the love of one’s own.
One cannot dictate an aphorism to a typist. It would take too long.