If thought is to set in motion again, one first has to bring it to a halt. It has to be struck in fear or amazement, must allow itself to be ravished even at the risk of loosing itself.
Stop, start up again. Astonishment, then discovery. Bewilderment, then insight. Immobility, then mobility.
A thought that seeks to be constantly agile and which never undergoes the tribulation of failure, a kind of intelligence that fears idiocy, a kind of word that would never weaken, would ignore what was at the base of thought, of intelligence, of the word. It is what I am calling the infans or the silence of beginning.