I would like to write you so simply, so simply, so simply. Without having anything ever catch the eye, excepting yours alone, … so that above all the language remains self-evidently secret, as if it were being invented at every step, and as if it were burning immediately. — Jacques Derrida, The Post Card: From… Continue reading Jacques Derrida
How can another see into me, into my most secret self, without my being able to see in there myself? And without my being able to see him in me. And if my secret self, that which can be revealed only to the other, to the wholly other, to God if you wish, is a… Continue reading Jacques Derrida
Alone, very alone on a line — a line of poetry. — Jacques Derrida, Schibboleth: pour Paul Cela. (Editions Galilée, 1986)
The Vale of Soul-Making 