We Are All Mediators, Translators.

Everything Is Arranged So That It Be This Way, This Is What Is Called Culture.

It Is To Have A Compulsive, Repetitive, And Nostalgic Desire For The Archive, An Irrepressible Desire To Return To The Origin, A Homesickness, A Nostalgia For The Return To The Most Archaic Place Of Absolute Commencement

These Critics Organize And Practice In My Case A Sort Of Obsessive Personality Cult Which Philosophers Should Know How To Question And Above All, To Moderate.

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 Would Like To Write You So Simply, So Simply, So Simply. Without Having Anything Ever Catch The Eye, Excepting Yours Alone, ... So That Above All The Language Remains Self-evidently Secret, As If It Were Being Invented At Every Step, And As If It Were Burning Immediately