You May Have Killed God Beneath The

Literature Is A Form Of Language That Breaks With The Whole Definition Of Genres As Forms Adapted To An Order Of Representations, And Becomes Merely A Manifestation Of A Language Which Has No Other Law Than That Of Affirming In Opposition To All Other Forms Of Discourse Its Own Precipitous Existence.

There Are Moments In Life Where The Question Of Knowing Whether One Might Think Otherwise Than One Thinks And Perceive Otherwise Than One Sees Is Indispensable If One Is To Continue To Observe Or Reflect... What Is Philosophy Today... If It Does Not Consist In, Instead Of Legitimizing What We Already Know, Undertaking To Know How And How Far It Might Be Possible To Think Otherwise?

To Seek In The Great Accumulation Of The Already-said The Text That Resembles "in Advance" A Later Text, To Ransack History In Order To Rediscover The Play Of Anticipations Or Echoes, To Go Right Back To The First Seeds Or To Go Forward To The Last Traces, To Reveal In A Work Its Fidelity To Tradition Or Its Irreducible Uniqueness, To Raise Or Lower Its Stock Of Originality, To Say That The Port -royal Grammarians Invented Nothing, Or To Discover That Cuvier Had More Predecessors Than One Thought, These Are Harmless Enough Amusements For Historians Who Refuse To Grow Up.

During The Years 1945-1965 (i Am Referring To Europe), There Was A Certain Way Of Thinking Correctly, A Certain Style Of Politicaldiscourse, A Certain Ethics Of The Intellectual. One Had To Be On Familiar Terms With Marx, Not Let One's Dreams Stray Too Far From Freud.... These Were Therequirements That Made The Strange Occupation Of Writing And Speaking A Measure Of Truth About Oneself And One's Time Acceptable.

People Can Tolerate Two Homosexuals They See Leaving Together, But The Next Day They're Smiling, Holding Hands, Tenderly Embracing One Another, Then They Cannot Be Forgiven. It Is Not The Departure For Pleasure That Is Unacceptable, It Is Waking Up Happy.