We can never put enough distance between ourselves and what we love. To think that God is, is still to think of him as present; this is a thought according to our measure, destined only to console us. It is… — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
“How not to search that space where, for a time span lasting from dusk to dawn, two beings have no other reason to exist… — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
But my silence is real. If I hid it from you, you would find it again a little farther on. — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
“As the German expression has it, the last judgement is the youngest day, and it is a day surpassing all days. Not that judgement… — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
“Writing is not destined to leave traces, but to erase, by traces, all traces, to disappear in the fragmentary space of writing more definitely… — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
“If the sculptor uses stone and if the road builder also uses stone, the first uses it in a way that it is not… — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
A writer who writes, ''I am alone''... can be considered rather comical. It is comical for a man to recognize his solitude by addressing… — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
“I went in; I closed the door. I sat down on the bed. Blackest space extended before me. I was not in this blackness,… — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
“But this is the rule, and there is no way to free oneself of it: as soon as the thought has arisen, it must… — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
The Journal is not essentially a confession, a story about oneself. It is a Memorial. What does the writer have to remember? Himself, who… — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
We can never put enough distance between ourselves and what we love. To think that God is, is still to think of him as… — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
A writer never reads his work. For him, it is the unreadable, a secret, and he cannot remain face to face with it. A… — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
Lovers of painting and lovers of music are people who openly display their preference like a delectable ailment that isolates them and makes them… — Maurice Blanchot Copy Share Image
