We Know That The War Against Intelligence

When We Look At A Photograph Of Ourselves Or Of Others, We Are Really Looking At The Return Of The Dead.

One Day, Quite Some Time Ago, I Happened On A Photograph Of Napoleon’s Youngest Brother, Jerome, Taken In 1852. And I Realized Then, With An Amazement I Have Not Been Able To Lessen Since: ‘i Am Looking At Eyes That Looked At The Emperor.’ Sometimes I Would Mention This Amazement, But Since No One Seemed To Share It, Nor Even To Understand It (life Consists Of These Little Touches Of Solitude), I Forgot About It.

If I Had To Create A God, I Would Lend Him A “slow Understanding”: A Kind Of Drip-by-drip Understanding Of Problems. People Who Understand Quickly Frighten Me.

To Whom Could I Put This Question (with Any Hope Of An Answer)? Does Being Able To Live Without Someone You Loved Mean You Loved Her Less Than You Thought...?

The Photographic Image... Is A Message Without A Code.