Writings scatter to the winds blank checks in an insane charge. And were they not such flying leaves, there would be no purloined letters.
Jacques LacanAbout author
- Author's profession: Psychologist
- Nationality: french
- Born: April 13, 1901
- Died: September 9, 1981
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To deny that there was this dark side of life would be like pretending that the cold of winter was somehow only a temporary illusion, a way station on the way to the higher "reality" of long, warm, pleasant summers. But summer, it turned out, was no more real than the snow that melted in wintertime.
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After the trial, I watched as another female pathologist collected maggots from a spinal column found in the desert. There was a decomposed head, too, and before leaving work she planned to simmer it and study the exposed cranium for contusions. I was asked to pass this information along to the chief medical examiner, and, looking back, I perhaps should have chosen my words more carefully. 'Fire up the kettle,' I told him. 'Ol'-fashioned skull boil at five p. m.
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