The Text Is Not A Definitive Object.

I Cannot Classify The Other, For The Other Is, Precisely, Unique, The Singular Image Which Has Miraculously Come To Correspond To The Speciality Of My Desire. The Other Is The Figure Of My Truth, And Cannot Be Imprisoned In Any Stereotype (which Is The Truth Of Others).

There Are Two Kinds Of Liberalism. A Liberalism Which Is Always, Subterraneously Authoritative And Paternalistic, On The Side Of One's Good Conscience. And Then There Is A Liberalism Which Is More Ethical Than Political; One Would Have To Find Another Name For This. Something Like A Profound Suspension Of Judgment.

For Death Must Be Somewhere In A Society; If It Is No Longer (or Less Intensely) In Religion, It Must Be Elsewhere; Perhaps In This Image Which Produces Death While Trying To Preserve Life. Contemporary With The Withdrawal Of Rites, Photography May Correspond To The Intrusion, In Our Modern Society, Of An Asymbolic Death, Outside Of Religion, Outside Of Ritual, A Kind Of Abrupt Dive Into Literal Death.

Wine Is A Part Of Society Because It Provides A Basis Not Only For A Morality But Also For An Environment; It Is An Ornament In The Slightest Ceremonials Of French Daily Life, From The Snack To The Feast, From The Conversation At The Local Caft To The Speech At A Formal Dinner.

This Endured Absence Is Nothing More Or Less Than Forgetfulness. I Am, Intermittently, Unfaithful. This Is The Condition Of My Survival.