To The Lover The Loved

... [l]ess Than At Any Time Does A Simple Reproduction Of Reality Tell Us Anything About Reality. A Photograph Of The Krupp Works Or Gec Yields Almost Nothing About Those Institutions. Reality Proper Has Slipped Into The Functional. The Reification Of Human Relationships, The Factory, Let's Say, No Longer Reveals These Relationships. Therefore Something Has To Be Constructed, Something Artificial, Something Set Up.

In The Fields With Which We Are Concerned, Knowledge Comes Only In Flashes. The Text Is The Thunder Rolling Long Afterward.

Thinking Involves Not Only The Flow Of Thoughts, But Their Arrest As Well.

The Power Of A Text When It Is Read Is Different From The Power It Has When It Is Copied Out. Only The Copied Text Thus Commands The Soul Of Him Who Is Occupied With It, Whereas The Mere Reader Never Discovers The New Aspects Of His Inner Self That Are Opened By The Text, That Road Cut Through The Interior Jungle Forever Closing Behind It: Because The Reader Follows The Movement Of His Mind In The Free Flight Of Day-dreaming, Whereas The Copier Submits It To Command.

To The Lover The Loved One Always Appears As Solitary.