Idiot. Above her head was the only stable point in the cosmos, the only refuge from the damnation of the panta rei, and she guessed it was the Pendulum's business. A moment later the couple went off -- he, trained on some textbook that had blunted his capacity for wonder, she, inert and insensitive to the thrill of the infinite, both oblivious of the awesomeness of their encounter -- their first and last encounter -- with the One, the Ein-Sof, the Ineffable. How could you fail to kneel down before this altar of certitude?

If photography is to be likened to perception, this is not because the former is a natural process but because the latter is also coded.

Today I realize that many recent exercises in "deconstructive reading" read as if inspired by my parody. This is parody's mission: it must never be afraid of going too far. If its aim is true, it simply heralds what others will later produce, unblushing, with impassive and assertive gravity.

... luckily, Eden is soon populated. The ethical dimension begins when the other appears on the scene.

What does culture want? To make infinity comprehensible.

To survive, you must tell stories.

The only truth lies in learning to free ourselves from insane passion for the truth.