The Ventoux is a god of Evil, to which sacrifices must be made. It never forgives weakness and extracts an unfair tribute of suffering.
ROLAND BARTHESLanguage is legislation, speech is its code. We do not see the power which is in speech because we forget that all speech is a classification, and that all classifications are oppressive.
More Roland Barthes Quotes
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In front of the photograph of my mother as a child, I tell myself: she is going to die: I shudder, like winnicott’s psychotic patient, over a catastrophe which has already occurred. Whether or not the subject is already dead, every photograph is this catastrophe.
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To make someone wait: the constant prerogative of all power.
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One must turn the tongue seven times in the mouth before speaking.
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Man does not exist prior to language, either as a species or as an individual.
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Architecture is always dream and function, expression of a utopia and instrument of a convenience.
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Each of us has his own rhythm of suffering.
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The lover who does not forget sometimes dies from excess, fatigue, and the strain of memory (like Werther).
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Frontiers are physical as well as symbolic constructions.
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The haiku reproduces the designating gesture of the child pointing at whatever it is (the haiku shows no partiality for the subject), merely saying: that!
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The best principals are not heroes; they are hero makers.
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I am interested in language because it wounds or seduces me.
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The art of living has no history: it does not evolve: the pleasure which vanishes vanishes for good, there is no substitute for it. Other pleasures come, which replace nothing. No progress in pleasures, nothing but mutations.
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I have tried to be as eclectic as I possibly can with my professional life, and so far it’s been pretty fun.
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Whereas the work is understood to be traceable to a source (through a process of derivation or “filiation”), the Text is without a source – the “author” a mere “guest” at the reading of the Text.
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Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire.
ROLAND BARTHES