If I Only Did What

These Years Of The Ecole Normale Were An Ordeal. Nothing Was Handed To Me On The First Try.

Psychoanalysis Has Taught That The Dead – A Dead Parent, For Example – Can Be More Alive For Us, More Powerful, More Scary, Than The Living. It Is The Question Of Ghosts.

An Act Of Naming Should Quite Rightly Enable Me To Call Any-thing A Self-portrait, Not Only Any Drawing, 'portrait' Or Not, But Everything That Happens To Me, That I Can Affect, Or That Affects Me.

A Text Is Not A Text Unless It Hides From The First Comer, From The First Glance, The Law Of Its Composition And The Rules Of Its Game. A Text Remains, Moreover, Forever Imperceptible. Its Laws And Rules Are Not, However, Harbored In The Inaccessibility Of A Secret; It Is Simply That They Can Never Be Booked, In The Present, Into Anything That Could Rigorously Be Called A Perception.

There Is Nothing Outside The Text