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“I am nothing but I must be everything.”
― Karl Marx, Critique of Hegel's Philosophy of Right

“(And at this point it must be said that there's truth to the saying *make your name, then sleep and reap fame*, because Espinoza's and Pelletier's participation in the conference "Reflecting the Twentieth Century: The Work of Benno Von Archimboldi," not to mention their contribution to it, was as best null, at worst catatonic, as if they were suddenly spent or absent, prematurely aged or in a state of shock, a fact that didn't pass unnoticed by the attendees used to Espinoza's and Pelletier's displays of energy [sometimes brazen] at this sort of event, nor did it go unnoticed by the latest litter of Archimboldians, recent graduates, boys and girls, their doctorates tucked still warm under their arms, who planned, by any means necessary, to impose their particular readings of Archimboldi, like missionaries ready to instill faith in God, even if to do so meant signing a pact with the devil, for most were what you might call rationalists, not in the philosophical sense but in the pejorative literal sense, denoting people less interested in literature than in literary criticism, the one field, according to them - some of them, anyway - where revolution was still possible, and in some way they behaved not like youths but like *nouveau* youths, in the sense that there are the rich and the *nouveau riches*, all of them generally rational thinkers, let us repeat, although often incapable of telling their ases from their elbows, and although they noticed a there and a not-there, an absence-presence in the fleeting passage of Pelletier and Espinoza through Bologna, they were incapable of seeing what was really important: Pelletier's and Espinoza's absolute boredom regarding everything said there about Archimboldi or their negligent disregard for the gaze of others, as if the two were so much cannibal fodder, a disregard lost on the young conferencegoers, those eager and insatiable cannibals, their thirtysomething faces bloated with success, their expressions shifting from boredom to madness, their coded stutterings speaking only two words: *love me*, or maybe two words and a phrase: *love me, let me love you*, though obviously no one understood.)”
― Robert Bolano, 2666