To Pretend, I Actually Do The Thing:

In Algeria, I Had Begun To Get Into Literature And Philosophy. I Dreamed Of Writing-and Already Models Were Instructing The Dream, A Certain Language Governed It.

I Love Language As I Love Life Itself!

All Sentences Of The Type 'deconstruction Is X' Or 'deconstruction Is Not X', A Priori Miss The Point, Which Is To Say That They Are At Least False. As You Know, One Of The Principal Things At Stake In What Is Called In My Texts 'deconstruction', Is Precisely The Delimiting Of Ontology And Above All Of The Third-person Present Indicative: S Is P.

But Because Me And Myself, As You No Doubt Are Well Aware, We Are Going To Die, My Relation—and Yours Too—to The Event Of This Text, Which Otherwise Never Quite Makes It, Our Relation Is That Of A Structurally Posthumous Necessity. Suppose, In That Case, That I Am Not Alone In My Claim To Know The Idiomatic Code (whose Notion Itself Is Already Contradictory) Of This Event. What If Somewhere, Here Or There, There Are Shares In This Non-secret’s Secret? Even So The Scene Would Not Be Changed. The Accomplices, As You Are Once Again Well Aware, Are Also Bound To Die.

Everything Is Arranged So That It Be This Way, This Is What Is Called Culture.