Even the blandest (or bluffest) "scholarly work" fears getting into trouble: less with the adversaries whose particular attacks it keeps busy anticipating than through what, but for the spectacle of this very activity, might be perceived as an overall lack of authorization. It is as though, unless the work at once assumed its most densely professional form, it would somehow get unplugged from whatever power station (the academy, the specialization) enables it to speak. Nothing expresses -- or allays -- this separation anxiety better than the protocol requiring an introduction to "situate" the work within its institutional and discursive matrix. The same nervous ritual that attests a positive dread of being asocial -- of failing to furnish the proper authorities with one's papers, and vice versa -- places these possibilities at an infinite remove from a writing whose thorough assimilation, courted from the start, makes it too readable to need to be read much further. If only for this reason, the moment when "explanations are in order" may rightly give rise to the desire to withhold them (like Balzac's Vautrin, whose last words to the police as they open his closets and seize his effects are "Vous ne saurez rien") long enough, at any rate, to draw attention to what is most compelling in the demand for them.
D.A. Miller, The Novel and the Police
The divorce proceedings of post-structuralism: terminable or interminable?
Brian Massumi, "The Autonomy of Affect"
We may agree on the premise that each work of art is at least in part perfect, while each critic is at least in part imperfect. We may then look to each work of art not for its faults and shortcomings, but for its moments of exhilaration, in an effort to bring our own imperfections into sympathetic vibration with these moments, and thus effect a creative change in ourselves.
Matthew Goulish, "Criticism"
The lie, the perfect lie, about people we know, about the relations we have had with them, about our motive for some action, formulated in totally different terms, the lie as to what we are, whom we love, what we feel with regard to people who love us... -- that lie is one of the few things in the world that can open windows for us on to what is new and unknown, that can awaken in us sleeping senses for the contemplation of universes that otherwise we should never have known.