Fragmentation occurs when a civilization is in decline.
Painting can feign reality without having seen it.
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.
The birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the Author.
Don't say mourning. It's too psychoanalytic. I'm not mourning. I'm suffering.
. . . language is never innocent.
All official institutions of language are repeating machines: school, sports, advertising, popular songs, news, all continually repeat the same structure, the same meaning, often the same words: the stereotype is a political fact, the major figure of ideology.
Baseball represents family. It represents my childhood.
The way to stop financial joyriding is to arrest the chauffeur, not the automobile.
I do hope that for the young women watching the show they know it is heightened reality and just grown ups playing teenagers. That's not how it is supposed to go. Just keep it to yourself.
No, I don’t live in heartache. I don’t cry myself to sleep or any of that. I am, I tell myself, over it. But I do feel a void, icky as that sounds. And—like it or not—I still think about her every single day.