Where can an interrogation lead us which does not follow reason in its horizontal course, but seeks to retrace in time that constant vertically which confronts European culture with what it is not? — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
One thing in any case is certain: man is neither the oldest nor the most constant problem that has been posed for human knowledge. — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
One should try to locate power at the extreme of its exercise, where it is always less legal in character. — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
The book is not simply the object that one holds in one's hands, and it cannot remain within the little parallelpiped that contains it:… — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
“But a punishment like forced labour or even imprisonment – mere loss of liberty – has never functioned without a certain additional element of… — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
Death left its old tragic heaven and became the lyrical core of man: his invisible truth, his visible secret. — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
I'm no prophet. My job is making windows where there were once walls. — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
Let us ask... how things work at the level of on-going subjugation, at the level of those continuous and uninterrupted processes which subject our… — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
What makes power hold good, what makes it accepted, is simply the fact that it doesn't only weigh on us as a force that… — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
“It was a matter of showing by what conjunctions a whole set of practices-- from the moment they became coordinated with a regime of… — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
“The preferred medications were those that forestalled corruption. We know 'as a result of more than three thousand years of experience that Myrrh and… — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
“The man described for us, whom we are invited to free, is already in himself the effect of a subjection much more profound than… — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
“Confined on the ship, from which there is no escape, the madman is delivered to the river with its thousand arms, the sea with… — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
