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TEXT CITATIONS FEATURED IN FILM
'We no longer consider the biography of a philosopher as a set of empirical accidents that leaves one with a name that would then itself be offered up to philosophical reading, the only kind of reading held to be philosophically legitimate. Neither readings of philosophical systems nor external empirical readings have ever in themselves questioned the dynamics of that borderline between the work and the life, between the system and the subject of the system. This borderline is neither active nor passive; it's neither outside nor inside. It is most especially not a thin line, an invisible or indivisible trait that lies between the philosophy on the one hand, and the life of an author on the other.' JACQUES DERRIDA THE EAR OF THE OTHER, SCHOCKEN B00KS, 1985 L'OREILLE DE L'AUTRE VLB EDITEUR, 1982
'The very condition of a deconstruction may be at work in the work,
within the system to be deconstructed. It may already be located there,
already at work. Not at the center, but in an eccentric center, in a
corner whose eccentricity assures the solid concentration of the system,
participating in the construction of what it, at the same time,
threatens to deconstruct. One might then be inclined to reach this
conclusion: deconstruction is not an operation that supervenes
afterwards, from the outside, one fine day. It is always already at work
in the work. Since the destructive force of Deconstruction is always
already contained within the very architecture of the work, all one
would finally have to do to be able to deconstruct, given this always
already, is to do memory work. Yet since I want neither to accept nor to
reject a conclusion formulated in precisely these terms, let us leave
this question suspended for the moment.'
'Who is it that is addressing you? Since it is not an author, a narrator,
or a deus ex machina, it is an I that is both part of the spectacle and
part of the audience, an I that, a bit like you, undergoes its own
incessant violent reinscription within the arithmetical machinery. An I
that functioning as a pure passageway for operations of substitution is
not some singular and irreplaceable existence, some subject or life. But
only rather moves between life and death, between reality and fiction.
An I that is a mere function or phantom.'
'There is not narcissism and non-narcissism. There are narcissisms that
are more or less comprehensive, generous, open, extended. What is called
non-narcissism is in general but the economy of a much more welcoming
and hospitable narcissism. One that is much more open to the experience
of the Other as Other. I believe that without a movement of narcissistic
reappropriation, the relation to the Other would be absolutely
destroyed, it would be destroyed in advance. The relation to the Other,
even if it remains asymmetrical, open, without possible reappropriation,
must trace a movement of reappropriation in the image of one's self for
love to be possible. Love is narcissistic.'
'And I am writing here at the moment when my mother no longer recognizes
me, and at which, though still capable of speaking or articulating, a
little, she no longer calls me and for her and therefore for the rest of
her life, I no longer have a name, that is what is happening, and when
she nonetheless seems to reply to me, she is presumably replying to
someone who happens to be me without her knowing it, if knowing means
anything here, like the other day in Nice when I asked her if she was in
pain (yes) then where? It was February 5 1989, she had in a rhetoric
that could never have been hers, the audacity of this stroke about which
she will alas, never know anything, no doubt knew nothing, and which,
piercing the night replies to my question: I have a pain in my mother,
as though she were speaking for me, both in my direction and in my
place. I stop for a moment over a pang of remorse, in any case over the
admission I owe the reader, in truth that I owe my mother herself for
the reader will have understood that I am writing for my mother, perhaps
even for a dead woman, for if I were here writing for my mother, it
would be for a living mother who does not recognize her son, and I am
paraphrasing here for whomever no longer recognizes me, unless it be so
that one should no longer recognize me, another way of saying, another
version, so that people think they finally recognize me.'
'As soon as there is the one, there is murder, wounding, traumatism. The
one guards against the other, it protects itself from the other. But in
the movement of this jealous violence it compromises in itself its
self-otherness or self difference. The difference from within one's
self, which makes it one. The one as the other. At one and the same
time, but in the same time that is out of joint. The one forgets to
remember itself to its self. It keeps and erases the archive of this
injustice that it is, of this violence that it does. The one makes
itself violence, it violates and does violence to itself. It becomes
what it is, the very violence that it does to itself. The determination
of the self as one is violence.'
'It's not easy to improvise, it's the most difficult thing to do. Even
when one improvises in front of a camera or microphone, one
ventriloquizes or leaves another to speak in one's place the schemas and
languages that are already there. There are already a great number of
prescriptions that are prescribed in our memory and in our culture. All
the names are already preprogrammed. It's already the names that inhibit
our ability to ever really improvise. One can't say what ever one wants,
one is obliged more or less to reproduce the stereotypical discourse.
And so I believe in improvisation and I fight for improvisation. But
always with the belief that it's impossible. And there where there is
improvisation I am not able to see myself. I am blind to myself. And
it's what I will see, no, I won't see it. It's for others to see. The
one who is improvised here, no I won't ever see him.'
'That philosophy died yesterday, since Hegel or Marx, Nietzsche, or
Heidegger, and that philosophy should still wander toward the meaning of
its death, or that it has always lived knowing itself to be dying; that
philosophy died one day, within history, or that it has always fed on
its own agony, on the violent way it opens history by opposing itself to
nonphilosophy, which is its past and its concern, its death and
wellspring; that beyond the death, or dying nature of philosophy,
perhaps even because of it, thought still has a future, or even, as is
said today, is still entirely to come because of what philosophy has
held in store; or more strangely still, that the future itself has a
future all these are unanswerable questions. By right of birth, and for
one time at least, these are problems put to philosophy as problems
philosophy cannot resolve.'
'The question of the archive is not a question of the past. It is not the
question of a concept dealing with the past that might already be at our
disposal. An archivable concept of the archive. It is a question of the
future, the question of the future itself, the question of a response,
of a promise, and of a responsibility for tomorrow. The archive, if we
want to know what that will have meant, we will only know in times to
come; not tomorrow, but in times to come. Later on, or perhaps never.'
'How can another see into me, into my most secret self, without my being
able to see in there myself? And without my being able to see him in me.
And if my secret self, that which can be revealed only to the other, to
the wholly other, to God if you wish, is a secret that I will never
reflect on, that I will never know or experience or possess as my own,
then what sense is there in saying that it is my secret, or in saying
more generally that a secret belongs, that it is proper to or belongs to
some one, or to some other who remains someone. It's perhaps there that
we find the secret of secrecy. Namely, that it is not a matter of
knowing and that it is there for no one. A secret doesn't belong, it can
never be said to be at home or in its place. The question of the self:
who am I not in the sense of who am I but rather who is this I that can
say who? What is the- I and what becomes of responsibility once the
identity of the I trembles in secret?'
'We will wonder what he may have kept of his unconditional right to
secrecy, while at the same time burning with the desire to know, to make
known, and to archive the very things he concealed forever. What did he
conceal even beyond the intention to conceal? Beyond the intention to
lie or to perjure. We will always wonder what, sharing with compassion
in this archive fever, what may have burned of his secret passions, of
his correspondences, or of his life. Burned without him, without remains
and without knowledge. Without the least symptom, and without even an
ash.'
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