A Light Without Shadow Generates An Emotion

The Incapacity To Name Is A Good Symptom Of Disturbance.

Literature Is Like Phosphorus: It Shines With Its Maximum Brilliance And The Moment When It Attempts To Die.

The Discourse On The Text Should Itself Be Nothing Other Than Text, Research, Textual Activity, Since The Text Is That Social Space Which Leaves No Language Safe, Outside, Nor Any Subject Of The Enunciation In Position As Judge, Master, Analyst, Confessor, Decoder. The Theory Of The Text Can Coincide Only With A Practice Of Writing.

One Day, Quite Some Time Ago, I Happened On A Photograph Of Napoleon’s Youngest Brother, Jerome, Taken In 1852. And I Realized Then, With An Amazement I Have Not Been Able To Lessen Since: ‘i Am Looking At Eyes That Looked At The Emperor.’ Sometimes I Would Mention This Amazement, But Since No One Seemed To Share It, Nor Even To Understand It (life Consists Of These Little Touches Of Solitude), I Forgot About It.

I Want To Be Both Pathetic And Admirable, I Want To Be At The Same Time A Child And An Adult. Thereby I Gamble, I Take A Risk: For It Is Always Possible That The Other Will Simply Ask No Question Whatever About These Unaccustomed Glasses; That The Other Will See, In The Fact, No Sign.