The soul is the effect and instrument of a political anatomy; the soul is the prison of the body.
MICHEL FOUCAULTI don’t write a book so that it will be the final word; I write a book so that other books are possible, not necessarily written by me.
More Michel Foucault Quotes
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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 -
Do not ask who I am and do not ask me to remain the same. More than one person, doubtless like me, writes in order to have no face.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
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 -
The ‘Enlightenment, which discovered the liberties, also invented the disciplines.
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 -
Maybe the target nowadays is not to discover what we are but to refuse what we are.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
Where there is power, there is resistance.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
Death as the destruction of all things no longer had meaning when life was revealed to be a fatuous sequence of empty words, the hollow jingle of a jester’s cap and bells.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
The court is the bureaucracy of the law. If you bureaucratize popular justice then you give it the form of a court.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
We are entering the age of infinite examination and of compulsory objectification.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
My point is not that everything is bad, but that everything is dangerous.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
As the archeology of our thought easily shows, man is an invention of recent date. And one perhaps nearing its end.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
Schools serve the same social functions as prisons and mental institutions- to define, classify, control, and regulate people.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
I’m no prophet. My job is making windows where there were once walls.
MICHEL FOUCAULT -
Life itself was only futility, vain words, a squabble of cap and bells.
MICHEL FOUCAULT