After the destruction of “all things solid,” the radical has nothing further to offer.
Lawrence Knowles, Styles of Mendacity: The Life and Work of Max Horkheimer.
Selfhood is the thing, yes. But they do not want to examine the self. They just want to proceed.
Hill Boothby, Essays in Disappointment Management.
“He warned us about artists. No, it was about painters. Painters and adulterers.”
H. S. Hecatone, A Botched Civilization.
“The museums are next,” muttered Hopkins somewhat cryptically.
Marston Moore, Sweet Meteor of Death.
“I want to become an action painter,” confessed Edward. “Is it too late for that?”
Benedict Elder, A Cosmopolitan Paradise.
Hedonism is laziness.
Godfrey Tooke, Collected Aphorisms.
Philosophy a la carte.
Godfrey Tooke, Collected Aphorisms.
The triumph of subjectivity. Its roots in England, in the 1820s. And onward did it march.
Amanda Willcoxen, ed., The Literary and Philosophical Fragments of Gregory James Sallust.
Does an old chipped mug, by virtue of holding [Duchamp’s] fingerprints, qualify now for full curatorial support?
Crispin Trove, The Viewer as Pest.
He found consolation in his old indecipherable books. And in the walls all around him.
Agatha Vox, When Everything Was Singing.
dennis scharnberg 