Although Barthes meanders into all the places a lover wanders, his pitch remains passionate. As I read him, falling in and out of love, I trace my emotional peaks and valleys by his words.
“Language is a skin; I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire.” (73)
Reading Notes 
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
