What Love Lays Bare In Me Is

The Birth Of The Reader Must Be At The Cost Of The Death Of The Author.

The Realists Do Not Take The Photograph For A 'copy' Of Reality, But For An Emanation Of Past Reality, A Magic, Not An Art.

The Text Is A Tissue Of Quotations Drawn From The Innumerable Centres Of Culture.

Each Of Us Has His Own Rhythm Of Suffering.

It Is No Longer The Sexual Which Is Indecent, It Is The Sentimental.