What I claim is to live to the full the contradiction of my time, which may well make sarcasm the condition of truth.

When we look at a photograph of ourselves or of others, we are really looking at the return of the dead.

I am simultaneously and contradictorily both happy and unhappy: 'to succeed' or 'to fail' have for me only ephemeral, contingent meanings (this does not stop my desires and sorrows from being violent ones); what impels me, secretly and obstinately, is not tactical: I accept and I affirm, irrespective of the true and the false, of success and failure; I am withdrawn from all finality, I live according to chance.

This endured absence is nothing more or less than forgetfulness. I am, intermittently, unfaithful. This is the condition of my survival.

The haiku reproduces the designating gesture of the child pointing at whatever it is (the haiku shows no partiality for the subject), merely saying: that!

The incapacity to name is a good symptom of disturbance.

Those who fail to reread are obliged to read the same story everywhere.