I Would Like To Metamorphose Into A

I Am Unpacking My Library. Yes I Am. The Books Are Not Yet On The Shelves, Not Yet Touched By The Mild Boredom Of Order.

What Has Been Forgotten Is Never Something Purely Individual. Everything Forgotten Mingles With What Has Been Forgotten Of The Prehistoric World, Forms Countless, Uncertain, Changing Compounds, Yielding A Constant Flow Of New, Strange Products.

The Nourishing Fruit Of The Historically Understood Contains Time As A Precious But Tasteless Seed.

All Great Works Of Literature Either Dissolve A Genre Or Invent One.

In The Convulsions Of The Commodity Economy, We Begin To Recognize The Monuments Of The Bourgeoisie As Ruins Even Before They Have Crumbled.