Jean Baudrillard

The surprises of thought are like those of love: they wear out. But here too you can carry on for read more

The surprises of thought are like those of love: they wear out. But here too you can carry on for a long time doing your conjugal duty.

We are becoming like cats, slyly parasitic, enjoying an indifferent domesticity. Nice and snug in the social, our historic passions read more

We are becoming like cats, slyly parasitic, enjoying an indifferent domesticity. Nice and snug in the social, our historic passions have withdrawn into the glow of an artificial coziness, and our half-closed eyes now seek little other than the peaceful parade of television pictures.

Every woman is like a timezone. She is a nocturnal fragment of your journey. She brings you unflaggingly closer to read more

Every woman is like a timezone. She is a nocturnal fragment of your journey. She brings you unflaggingly closer to the next night.

Perhaps our eyes are merely a blank film which is taken from us after our deaths to be developed elsewhere read more

Perhaps our eyes are merely a blank film which is taken from us after our deaths to be developed elsewhere and screened as our life story in some infernal cinema or dispatched as microfilm into the sidereal void.

Boredom is like a pitiless zooming in on the epidermis of time. Every instant is dilated and magnified like the read more

Boredom is like a pitiless zooming in on the epidermis of time. Every instant is dilated and magnified like the pores of the face.