The book is a character in the book. Between the author of the book and him not everything falls by its own weight. The moment the author ("I") thinks he can close the door of a chapter, the book puts its foot in the door. If I want to explain myself, the book cuts my word and takes its place in my place.

I have to count the violence of writing. I want to write what I can not write. The book helps me. The book leads me astray. He wants to write, he. He wants me to write him, but I want to write the book I pursue in my dreams. Will I ever write it?

A book is not just writing; It is a weapon; It is a misdeed; Is a race to the secret (s). It is a struggle against memory, for memory. We are tattered, we mend. [...] There is to drink and to eat, and to cry with laughter, in books where the book is a scandal and "lacks alibi" as my friend Derrida would say.

Hélène Cixous