The Lover's Fatal Identity Is Precisely This:

For Me The Noise Of Time Is Not Sad: I Love Bells, Clocks, Watches — And I Recall That At First Photographic Implements Were Related To Techniques Of Cabinetmaking And The Machinery Of Precision: 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.

Pleasure Is Continually Disappointed, Reduced, Deflated, In Favor Of Strong, Noble Values: Truth, Death, Progress, Struggle, Joy, Etc. Its Victorious Rival Is Desire: We Are Always Being Told About Desire, Never About Pleasure.

Language Is Neither Reactionary Nor Progressive; It Is Quite Simply Fascist; For Fascism Does Not Prevent Speech, It Compels Speech.

The Text Is A Tissue Of Quotations Drawn From The Innumerable Centres Of Culture.

Flaubert Had Infinite Correction To Perform.