I cannot muster the “we” except by finding the way I am tied to “you,” by trying to translate but finding that my own language must break up and yield if I am to know you. You are what I gain through this disorientation and loss. This is how the human comes into being, again and again, as that which we have yet to know. (49)
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| — | Judith Butler, Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence |
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