Virtue sometimes pretends. Vice is always sincere.
If you fall asleep on horseback, the horse will stop by the rock. Art is a car. Kitsch is a horse.
The world somehow is always the same. The only thing that can improve is the individual life. One can live a good life. One can give life a meaning. Either by drinking oneself to death or by painting oneself to death or by loving oneself to death.
The point is that only one thing matters in this world, to prepare oneself for death. One can try to be as comfortable as possible until one dies. . . Because being comfortable does not have any meaning either. It just does not. Everything is only a big meaninglessness that one must bear.
Because modernism has conquered art, kitsch is the savior of talent and devotion.
Everything is a meaningless struggle against nothing and when people say that the world has become a better place that is a false development-optimism. Nothing exists which ever becomes better. Everything stays the same. Somehow, there is nothing. That is so sad. Nothing to come to. Everything is an illusion. A very sweet illusion.
Kitsch is deep in its superficiality. Art is superficially deep.
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.
To win, we will need to keep building the movement, networking with one another, planning, strategizing, and moving forward. Our children's futures, and those of their unborn children, are at stake.
Earth is the insane asylum of the universe.
They wordlessly excused each other for not loving each other as much as they had planned to. There were empty rooms in the house where they had meant to put their love, and they worked together to fill these rooms with midcentury modern furniture. ("Birthmark").