Le corps, l'amour, la mort, ces trois ne font qu'un. Car le corps, c'est la maladie et la volupté, et c'est lui qui fait la mort, oui, ils sont charn… - Thomas Mann

However opinionated, perhaps even high-handed his presentations were, he was unquestionably an ingenious man — that was evident in the stimulating, thought-provoking effect his words had on a highly gifted young mind like Adri Leverkühn's. What had chiefly impressed him, as he revealed on the way home and the following day in the schoolyard, was the distinction Kretzschmar had made between cultic and cultural epochs and his observation that the secularization of art, its separation from worship, was of only a superficial and episodic nature. The high-school sophomore was manifestly moved by an idea that the lecturer had not even articulated, but that had caught fire in him:: that the separation of art from any liturgical context, its liberation and elevation to the isolated and personal, to culture for culture's sake, had burdened it with a solemnity without any point of reference, an absolute seriousness, a pathos of suffering epitomized in Beethoven's terrible appearance in the doorway — but that did not have to be its abiding destiny, its perpetual state of mind. Just listen to the young man! With almost no real, practical experience in the field of art, he was fantasizing in a void and in precocious words about art's apparently imminent retreat from its present-day role to a happier, more modest one in the service of a higher fellowship, which did not have to be, as at one time, the Church. What it would be, he could not say.

Never had he felt the joy of the word more sweetly, never had he known so clearly that Eros dwells in language.

O, čarobna organsko lepoto, koja se ne sastojiš ni iz uljane boje ni iz kamena, već iz materije žive i raspadljive, pune grozničave tajne života i truljenja! Pogledaj divnu simetriju ljudskog sklopa, ramena i bedra i rascvetane bradavice s jedne i s druge strane grudi, i rebra poređana po parovima, i pupak usred mekote trbuha, i tamni pol između butina! Pogledaj samo kako se lopatice miču pod svilastom kožom na leđima i pogledaj kičmu koja se spušta ka dvostrukoj i svežoj bujnosti stražnjice, i velike grane sudova i živaca koje prelaze sa stabla u grane preko pazuha, i pogledaaj kako sklop ruku odgovara sklopu nogu. O da milih predela u udubljenju zgloba na laktu i kolenu, sa njihovim obiljem organskih tananosti obloženih mesom! Kakva neizmerna radost, milovati ta divna mesta ljudskoga tela! Radost posle koje čovek ne žali da umre! Oh, daj da osetim miris kože pod tvojom čašicom, pod kojom večno načinjena zglobna čaura luči svoje mazivo! Pusti me da sneno dodirnem ustima arteriju femoralis koja kuca na vrhu butine i koja se dole deli u dve golenične arterije! Pusti me da osetim isparavanje tvojih pora i da opipam tvoje malje, tu ljudsku sliku vode i belančevine, određenu za anatomiju groba, i pusti me da umrem sa usnama položenim na tvoje.