Beauty Only Happens Once.

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.

These Years Of The Ecole Normale Were An Ordeal. Nothing Was Handed To Me On The First Try.

That Is What Deconstruction Is Made Of: Not The Mixture But The Tension Between Memory, Fidelity, The Preservation Of Something That Has Been Given To Us, And, At The Same Time, Heterogeneity, Something Absolutely New, And A Break.

Still Today, I Cannot Cross The Threshold Of A Teaching Institution Without Physical Symptoms, In My Chest And My Stomach, Of Discomfort Or Anxiety. And Yet I Have Never Left School.

Monsters Cannot Be Announced. One Cannot Say: 'here Are Our Monsters,' Without Immediately Turning The Monsters Into Pets.