The Work Of Memory Collapses Time.

As Hegel Put It, Only When It Is Dark Does The Owl Of Minerva Begin Its Flight. Only In Extinction Is The Collector Comprehend.

Never Stop Writing Because You Have Run Out Of Ideas. Fill The Lacunae Of Inspiration By Tidily Copying Out What Is Already Written.

Books, Too, Begin Like The Week – With A Day Of Rest In Memory Of Their Creation. The Preface Is Their Sunday.

Reminiscences, Even Extensive Ones, Do Not Always Amount To An Autobiography. For Autobiography Has To Do With Time, With Sequence And What Makes Up The Continuous Flow Of Life. Here, I Am Talking Of A Space, Of Moments And Discontinuities. For Even If Months And Years Appear Here, It Is In The Form They Have At The Moment Of Commemoration.

For What Is The Program Of The Bourgeois Parties? A Bad Poem On Springtime, Filled To Bursting With Metaphors.