Do not ask who I am and do not ask me to remain the same.
MICHEL FOUCAULTI’m no prophet. My job is making windows where there were once walls.
More Michel Foucault Quotes
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With humanity, life has ended up with a living creature that never quite finds itself in the right place, a living creature destined to wander and endlessly make mistakes.
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You may have killed God beneath the weight of all that you have said; but don’t imagine that, with all that you are saying, you will make a man that will live longer than he.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
I don’t feel that it is necessary to know exactly what I am.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
Do not think that one has to be sad in order to be militant, even though the thing one is fighting is abominable.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
Madness is the false punishment of a false solution, but by its own virtue, it brings to light the real problem, which can then be truly resolved.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
Government is the right disposition of things.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
This knowledge, so inaccessible, so formidable, the Fool, in his innocent idiocy, already possesses.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
People know what they do; frequently they know why they do what they do, but what they don’t know is what they do does.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
It would be wrong to say that the soul is an illusion or an ideological effect. On the contrary, it exists, it has a reality.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
Modern man is not the man who goes off to discover himself, his secrets, and his hidden truth; he is a man who tries to invest himself.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
I’m not making a problem out of a personal question; I make of a personal question an absence of a problem.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
Life itself was only futility, vain words, a squabble of cap and bells.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
Nature, keeping only useless secrets, had placed within reach and insight of human beings the things it was necessary for them to know.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
I don’t feel that it is necessary to know exactly what I am. The main interest in life and work is to become someone else that you were not in the beginning.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
Death left its old tragic heaven and became the lyrical core of man: his invisible truth, his visible secret.
MICHEL FOUCAULT