I lean over you, your equal, offering you a mirror for your perfect nothingness, for your shadows which are neither light nor absence of light, for this void which contemplates. To all that which you are, and, for our language,… — 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
