There Is Nothing Outside Of The Text.

I Do Not Believe In Pure Idioms. I Think There Is Naturally A Desire, For Whoever Speaks Or Writes, To Sign In An Idiomatic, Irreplaceable Manner.

I Love Language As I Love Life Itself!

Every Discourse, Even A Poetic Or Oracular Sentence, Carries With It A System Of Rules For Producing Analogous Things And Thus An Outline Of Methodology.

The Trace I Leave To Me Means At Once My Death, To Come Or Already Come, And The Hope That It Will Survive Me. It Is Not An Ambition Of Immortality; It Is Fundamental. I Leave Here A Bit Of Paper, I Leave, I Die; It Is Impossible To Exit This Structure; It Is The Unchanging Form Of My Life. Every Time I Let Something Go, I Live My Death In Writing.

As Soon As We Cease To Believe In Such An Engineer And In A Discourse Which Breaks With The Received Historical Discourse, And As Soon As We Admit That Every Finite Discourse Is Bound By A Certain Bricolage And That The Engineer And The Scientist Are Also Species Of Bricoleurs , Then The Very Idea Of Bricolage Is Menaced And The Difference In Which It Took On Its Meaning Breaks Down.