Little information is published on prisons, it is one of the hidden regions of our social system, one of the dark zones of our life. — Michel Foucault Copy Share Image
We should not be content to say that power has a need for such-and-such a discovery, such-and-such a form of knowledge, but we should add that the exercise of power itself creates and causes to emerge new objects of 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
