In Our Day There Are No Longer

Light Is Meaningful Only In Relation To Darkness, And Truth Presupposes Error. It Is These Mingled Opposites Which People Our Life, Which Make It Pungent, Intoxicating. We Only Exist In Terms Of This Conflict, In The Zone Where Black And White Clash.

As If One Could Do What One Wanted With One's Own Body!

I Must Confess That I And A Few Others Are Burdened With Heavy Responsibilities Regarding The Future Of Criticism. I Am Certainly, If Not The Inventor, Then At Least One Of The First Systematizers Of An Absurd Critical Practice That, As Soon As It Had Peeked Its Beak Out Of The Nest, Flapping Its New Wet Wings, Took Flight In The Minds Of The Young, Becoming A Wild Ox And Sowing Avant-garde Literature With The Mighty Tomes Of What Might As Well Be Called The Abstract Bear.

I Shall Always Rebel Against Any Attempt To Reduce A Human Being To A Kind Of Mannequin, Whose Deeds And Questions Would Be Comprehensible Like The Deeds And Gestures Of Monarchs Recorded Day After Day In Official Communiques. Six Months Of A Life Cannot Catalogue The Vitality, The Activity Of An Individual; Only Death Stops Development And Then, What Is Important Is The Overall Meaning Of A Life, Not The Details Of That Life, Edifying To Some, Scandalous To Others.

I Demand That My Books Be Judged With Utmost Severity, By Knowledgeable People Who Know The Rules Of Grammar And Of Logic, And Who Will Seek Beneath The Footsteps Of My Commas The Lice Of My Thought In The Head Of My Style.