We know not through our intellect but through our experience.

We know not through our intellect but through our experience.

I may speak many languages, but there remains one in which I live.

The photograph keeps open the instants which the onrush of time closes up forthwith; it destroys the overtaking, the overlapping, the metamorphosis of time.

Because we are in the world, we are condemned to meaning, and we cannot do or say anything without its acquiring a name in history.

True reflection presents me to myself not as idle and inaccessible subjectivity, but as identical with my presence in the world and to others, as I am now realizing it: I am all that I see, I am an intersubjective field, not despite my body and historical situation, but, on the contrary, by being this body and this situation, and through them, all the rest.

I live in the facial expressions of the other, as I feel him living in mine.