The dead are dead, and it makes no difference to them whether I pay homage to their deeds. But for us, the living, it does mean something. Memory is of no use to the remembered, only to those who remember. We build ourselves with memory and console ourselves with memory.

As Umberto Eco might say: for communicating, language is perfect; there could be nothing better. And yet, language doesn’t say everything. The body speaks, objects speak, history speaks, individual or collective destinies speak, life and death speak to us constantly in a thousand different ways. Man is an interpreting machine and, with a little imagination, he sees signs everywhere.

The good thing about writing a true story is that you don’t have to worry about giving an impression of realism.

So, to cut a long story short, they jumped.

You had to choose between war and dishonor. You chose dishonor. You will have war.

How many forgotten heroes sleep in history’s great cemetery?

We always fail to talk about love’. He quickly scans the text – it’s about Stendhal. Simon is moved by the thought of Barthes sitting at his desk, thinking about Stendhal, about love, about Italy, completely unaware that every hour spent typing this article was bringing him closer to the moment when he would be knocked over by a laundry van.

The homosexuals are the new Jesuits.

The slalom race of syntax!

Glory to the logos, my friends! Long live dialectics! Let the party begin! May the verb be with you!