Literature Is The Question Minus The Answer.

Cameras, In Short, Were Clocks For Seeing, And Perhaps In Me Someone Very Old Still Hears In The Photographic Mechanism The Living Sound Of The Wood.

What I Claim Is To Live To The Full The Contradiction Of My Time, Which May Well Make Sarcasm The Condition Of Truth.

There Are Two Kinds Of Liberalism. A Liberalism Which Is Always, Subterraneously Authoritative And Paternalistic, On The Side Of One's Good Conscience. And Then There Is A Liberalism Which Is More Ethical Than Political; One Would Have To Find Another Name For This. Something Like A Profound Suspension Of Judgment.

A Paradox: The Same Century Invented History And Photography. But History Is A Memory Fabricated According To Positive Formulas, A Pure Intellectual Discourse Which Abolishes Mythic Time; And The Photograph Is A Certain But Fugitive Testimony.

The Author Enters Into His Own Death, Writing Begins.