She told Camillus not to cry, it was only the angels moving the furniture in heaven. Sometimes, after the storms, she sensed that the mountains were prowling around the house, in two opposing lines, like a grand chain.

Derrida gives a rather tentative beginning of an answer: The unfolding of difference is perhaps not solely the truth of Being, or of the epochality of Being.

The cub-reporter cannot make a name for himself unless he is favoured by fortune.

“I can answer a civil question civilly,” said the youth ; “and will pay fitting respect to your age, if you do not urge my patience with mockery. Since I have been here in France and Flanders, men have called me, in their fantasy, the Varlet with the Velvet Pouch, because of this hawk-purse which I carry by my side ; but my true name, when at home, is Quentin Durward.”