To Pretend, I Actually Do The Thing:

If I Only Did What I Can Do, I Wouldn't Do Anything

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.

During The Fifteen Or Twenty Years In Which I Tried - It Was Not Always Easy With Publishers, Newspapers, Etc. - To Forbid Photographs, It Was Not At All In Order To Mark A Sort Of Blank, Absence, Or Disappearance Of The Image; It Was Because The Code That Dominates At Once The Production Of These Images, The Framing They Are Made To Undergo, The Social Implications (showing The Writer's Head Framed In Front His Bookshelves, The Whole Scenario) Seemed To Me To Be, First Of All, Terribly Boring, But Also Contrary To What I Am Trying To Write And To Work On.

The Poet…is The Man Of Metaphor: While The Philosopher Is Interested Only In The Truth Of Meaning, Beyond Even Signs And Names, And The Sophist Manipulates Empty Signs…the Poet Plays On The Multiplicity Of Signifieds.

What Cannot Be Said Above All Must Not Be Silenced But Written.