Why Should The Lamp Or The House

Confined On The Ship, From Which There Is No Escape, The Madman Is Delivered To The River With Its Thousand Arms, The Sea With Its Thousand Roads, To That Great Uncertainty External To Everything. He Is A Prisoner In The Midst Of What Is The Freest, The Openest Of Routes: Bound Fast At The Infinite Crossroads. He Is The Passenger Par Excellence: That Is, The Prisoner Of The Passage. And The Land He Will Come To Is Unknown—as Is, Once He Disembarks, The Land From Which He Comes. He Has His Truth And His Homeland Only In That Fruitless Expanse Between Two Countries That Cannot Belong To Him.

Political Power Goes Much Deeper Than One Suspects; There Are Centres And Invisible, Little-known Points Of Support; Its True Resistance, Its True Solidity Is Perhaps Where One Doesn't Expect It.

[t]hus One Should Not Think That Desire Is Repressed, For The Simple Reason That The Law Is What Constitutes Both Desire And The Lack On Which It Is Predicated. Where There Is Desire, The Power Relation Is Already Present: An Illusion, Then, To Denounce This Relation For A Repression Exerted After The Event.

The Intellectual Was Rejected And Persecuted At The Precise Moment When The Facts Became Incontrovertible, When It Was Forbidden To Say That The Emperor Had No Clothes.

One Makes War To Win, Not Because It's Just.