“Literature is that which denounces and slashes apart the repressing machine at the level of the signified.”

“Whether there is such a thing as Reality, of which the various levels are only partial aspects, or whether there are only levels, is something that literature cannot decide. Literature recognizes rather the *reality of the levels.* ”

“[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.”

“When last I checked, you were a sorcerer, not a Jedi.""You've seen Star Wars?""Seen it and denounced it.""You've denounced Star Wars?"She looked me straight in the eye and said, "Hollywood should not glorify witches.""I think you've missed the point...""I also denounce Harry Potter.""Really?""Yes.""Because...""...because literature, especially children's literature, should not glorify witches.""Oda, what do you do for fun?"She thought about it, then said, without a jot of humor, "I denounce things.”

“Let us being again. To take some examples: why should “literature” still designate that which already breaks away from literature—away from what has always been conceived and signified under that name—or that which, not merely escaping literature, implacably destroys it? (Posed in these terms, the question would already be caught in the assurance of a certain fore-knowledge: can “what has always been conceived and signified under that name” be considered fundamentally homogeneous, univocal, or nonconflictual?) To take other examples: what historical and strategic function should henceforth be assigned to the quotation marks, whether visible or invisible, which transform this into a “book,” or which still make the deconstruction of philosophy into a “philosophical discourse”?”

“The experience of time translates itself into language, and language translates itself into distance, which translates itself into longing, which is the realization of time. (…) how sad and strange that I, Jenny Boully, should be the sign of a signifier or the signifier of a sign, moreover, the sign of a signifier searching for the signifies.”