I Want A History Of Looking. For

Is Not The Most Erotic Portion Of A Body Where The Garment Gapes? In Perversion (which Is The Realm Of Textual Pleasure) There Are No "erogenous Zones" (a Foolish Expression, Besides); It Is Intermittence, As Psychoanalysis Has So Rightly Stated, Which Is Erotic: The Intermittence Of Skin Flashing Between Two Articles Of Clothing (trousers And Sweater), Between Two Edges (the Open-necked Shirt, The Glove And The Sleeve); It Is This Flash Itself Which Seduces, Or Rather: The Staging Of An Appearance-as-disappearance.

For Me The Noise Of Time Is Not Sad: I Love Bells, Clocks, Watches — And I Recall That At First Photographic Implements Were Related To Techniques Of Cabinetmaking And The Machinery Of Precision: Cameras, In Short, Were Clocks For Seeing, And Perhaps In Me Someone Very Old Still Hears In The Photographic Mechanism The Living Sound Of The Wood.

Language Is Legislation, Speech Is Its Code. We Do Not See The Power Which Is In Speech Because We Forget That All Speech Is A Classification, And That All Classifications Are Oppressive.

Flaubert Had Infinite Correction To Perform.

I Am Simultaneously And Contradictorily Both Happy And Unhappy: 'to Succeed' Or 'to Fail' Have For Me Only Ephemeral, Contingent Meanings (this Does Not Stop My Desires And Sorrows From Being Violent Ones); What Impels Me, Secretly And Obstinately, Is Not Tactical: I Accept And I Affirm, Irrespective Of The True And The False, Of Success And Failure; I Am Withdrawn From All Finality, I Live According To Chance.