I Live In The Facial Expressions Of

My Hold On The Past And The Future Is Precarious And My Possession Of My Own Time Is Always Postponed Until A Stage When I May Fully Understand It, Yet This Stage Can Never Be Reached, Since It Would Be One More Moment Bounded By The Horizon Of Its Future, And Requiring In Its Turn, Further Developments In Order To Be Understood.

Like The Weaver, The Writer Works On The Wrong Side Of His Material. He Has Only To Do With The Language, And It Is Thus That He Suddenly Finds Himself Surrounded By Sense.

We Know Not Through Our Intellect But Through Our Experience.

I Am Not In Front Of My Body, I Am In It Or Rather I Am It... If We Can Still Speak Of Interpretation In Relation To The Perception Of One's Own Body, We Shall Have To Say That It Interprets Itself.

Thought Without Language, Says Lavelle, Would Not Be A Purer Thought; It Would Be No More Than The Intention To Think. And His Last Book Offers A Theory Of Expressiveness Which Makes Of Expression Not "a Faithful Image Of An Already Realized Interior Being, But The Very Means By Which It Is Realized.