“But more subtly the written press, are quite spectacular powers of unreason and ignorance.”

There is a kind of serenity in love which is almost a paradise.

I am surprised to see that today everything that does not amount to surrender pure and simple to generalized capitalism.

The aesthetic process decentres the specular relation with which ideology perpetuates its closed infinity.

Love can only consist in failure…on the fallacious assumption that it is a relationship. But it is not. It is a production of truth.

All resistance is a rupture with what is. And every rupture begins, for those engaged in it, through a rupture with oneself.

We could say that love is a tenacious adventure. The adventurous side is necessary, but equally so is the need for tenacity. To give up at the first hurdle, the first quarrel, is only to distort love. Real love is one that triumphs lastingly, sometimes painfully, over the hurdles erected by time, space and the world.

In order to improve democracy, then, it’s necessary to change the people, as Brecht ironically proposed.

We must point out that in what concerns its material the event is not a miracle.

I feel really assured by the fact that the women I have loved I have loved for always.

Without mathematics, we are blind.

For a politics of emancipation, the enemy that is to be feared most is not repression at the hands of the established order. It is the interiority of nihilism, and the unbounded cruelty that can come with its emptiness.

In order to be cured of the Plato sickness, has swallowed such doses of a relativist, vaguely skeptical, lightly spiritualist and insipidly moralist medicine, that it is in the process of gently dying, in the small bed of its supposed democratic comfort.

The aesthetic effect is certainly imaginary; but this imaginary is not the reflection of the real, since it is the real of this reflection.

The absolute contingency of the encounter takes on the appearance of destiny.

Evil is the moment when I lack the strength to be true to the Good that compels me.

The declaration of love marks the transition from chance to destiny and that’s why it is so perilous and so burdened with a kind of horrifying stage fright.

Nothing left to do but smile.

The problem in Afghanistan is really not so much land as water. It’s a dry country with ample amounts of water running through it, but not to good enough effect.

I probably should put a little more energy into it.

For this occurs just as clay is first molded into one, then shaped into another form, for the Devil is a potter and his witches are but clay.

And trust dies from ifs and buts

You have work anytime. But love? Not always.

I’d probably support it, but I can’t do much.

The first visitor has an easier time, but I think the second visitor sees more.