The New Is Not A Fashion, It

Through The Mythology Of Einstein, The World Blissfully Regained The Image Of Knowledge Reduced To A Formula.

Those Who Fail To Reread Are Obliged To Read The Same Story Everywhere.

Fashion Postulates An Achrony, A Time Which Does Not Exist; Here The Past Is Shameful And The Present Is Constantly "eaten Up" By The Fashion Being Heralded.

I Cannot Classify The Other, For The Other Is, Precisely, Unique, The Singular Image Which Has Miraculously Come To Correspond To The Speciality Of My Desire. The Other Is The Figure Of My Truth, And Cannot Be Imprisoned In Any Stereotype (which Is The Truth Of Others).

One Day, Quite Some Time Ago, I Happened On A Photograph Of Napoleon’s Youngest Brother, Jerome, Taken In 1852. And I Realized Then, With An Amazement I Have Not Been Able To Lessen Since: ‘i Am Looking At Eyes That Looked At The Emperor.’ Sometimes I Would Mention This Amazement, But Since No One Seemed To Share It, Nor Even To Understand It (life Consists Of These Little Touches Of Solitude), I Forgot About It.