Express Only That Which Cannot Be Expressed.

If Nothing Were Substituted For Everything, It Would Still Be Too Much And Too Little.

The Disaster Ruins Everything, All The While Leaving Everything Intact.

Every Artist Is Linked To A Mistake With Which He Has A Particular Intimate Relation. There Is The Mistake Of Homer, Of Shakespeare — Which Is Perhaps, For Both, The Fact Of Not Existing. Every Art Draws Its Origin From An Exceptional Fault, Every Work Is The Implementation Of This Original Fault, From Which Come To Us A New Light And A Risky Conception Of Plenitude.

I Wanted To See Something In Full Daylight; I Was Sated With The Pleasure And Comfort Of The Half Light; I Had The Same Desire For The Daylight As For Water And Air. And If Seeing Was Fire, I Required The Plenitude Of Fire, And If Seeing Would Infect Me With Madness, I Madly Wanted That Madness.

The Less Manifest The Work, The Stronger: As Though A Secret Law Demanded It Always Be Hidden In What It Shows, Thus Showing What Must Remain Hidden, Only Showing It, In The End, By Dissimulation.