Change (n.) is a concept that is itself constantly changing.
Change (n.) in discourse is not denied; what is denied is the sovereign subject's exclusive and instantaneous right to it.
Change (n.) is not a given whose cause we must find; the first, more radical task is to ask what a change actually consists of — which variables held, and which moved.
Change (n.) that a writer seeks — to end the book quite other than at the start — usually proves small: a turned perspective on the same old problem.
Change (n.) outran its vocabulary in the 1960s: things were coming apart and there were no words for it, so people were angered by a book that sensed the difference in an unfamiliar idiom.
Change (n.) is an empty, abstract notion — at once a general container for all events and the principle of their succession — that must be replaced by the analysis of specific transformations.
Change (n.) has its own mythology — evolution, perpetual motion — which must give way to a sober description of types of events, systems of transformation, and series of series.
Change (n.) is the most singular part of who one is — one's own way of no longer being the same — yet ideological traffic police blow their whistles: go left, go right, not now.