The birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the Author.
Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire.
Each of us has his own rhythm of suffering.
...language is never innocent.
Every photograph is a certificate of presence.
The Text is plural. Which is not simply to say that it has several meanings, but that it accomplishes the very plural of meaning: an irreducible (and not merely an acceptable) plural. The Text is not a co-existence of meanings but a passage, an overcrossing; thus it answers not to an interpretation, even a liberal one, but to an explosion, a dissemination.
How does meaning get into the image? Where does it end? And if it ends, what is there beyond?
The photograph is literally an emanation of the referent. From a real body, which was there, proceed radiations which ultimately touch me, who am here; the duration of the transmission is insignificant; the photograph of the missing being, as Sontag says, will touch me like the delayed rays of a star.
We know that the war against intelligence is always waged in the name of common sense.
Literature is the question minus the answer.
Am I in love? --yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn't wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover's fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.
A light without shadow generates an emotion without reserve.
Language is legislation, speech is its code. We do not see the power which is in speech because we forget that all speech is a classification, and that all classifications are oppressive.
Who speaks is not who writes, and who writes is not who is.
The author enters into his own death, writing begins.
The photographic image... is a message without a code.
Every exploration is an appropriation.
Man does not exist prior to language, either as a species or as an individual.
All official institutions of language are repeating machines: school, sports, advertising, popular songs, news, all continually repeat the same structure, the same meaning, often the same words: the stereotype is a political fact, the major figure of ideology.
I am interested in language because it wounds or seduces me.
All those young photographers who are at work in the world, determined upon the capture of actuality, do not know that they are agents of Death.
I encounter millions of bodies in my life; of these millions, I may desire some hundreds; but of these hundreds, I love only one.
I love you is unsubtle. It removes explanations, facilities, degrees, scruples.
Painting can feign reality without having seen it.
Isn’t desire always the same, whether the object is present or absent? Isn’t the object always absent? —This isn’t the same languor: there are two words: Pothos, desire for the absent being, and Himéros, the more burning desire for the present being.
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