Roland Barthes by Roland Barthes

From the past, my childhood is what amazes me most; it alone does not evoke in me, as I look into it, regret for the time that has passed and gone. Because I do not discover in it what does not return, but what is responded to and not summarized: all that still remains in me, without order in the child, I read with the bare body, the black spot that I have, boredom, the defective stamp, the readiness for forms of despair (which are fortunately, in the plural form), the inner disturbance, cut off from its misery, from every phrase.