All the building blocks of mass culture are the same. * Thoughts are only good for a patchwork blanket, under which it is always cold. * Thought is forever renewed, remaining the same. * In the humanities, only a bad scheme can be explained well. * And there may be nothing special on a special path. * The truth can only be conveyed through unflattering words. * Truth is available only in critical moments. * The ignoramus considers the pit to be the highest point.

Someone left a telescope on a bench in the park with a note: “It only shows naked women.” The men, of course, were most interested. They came up, took the pipe and put it to the eye. And a long steel needle jumped out of the eyepiece. Many lovers of naked women were killed; married people, I heard, also came and lined up. Eventually, a pool of blood gathered around the bench. They pumped it out, and they brought a truck to remove the corpses.

I want art to exist. It existed objectively, somewhere out there, reliable and solid, like an object. One of the concepts that affirms this existence is the author of the work. The reader is the opposite of the author, as a non-producer of meaning. But the author and the reader do the same job of producing meaning. When we perceive a work of art, we create it anew in our heads. The perception of a sign follows the same path as its creation, only in the opposite direction.