Friendship (n.) is defined by the way one friend is almost certain to outlive the other.
Friendship (n.) moves in the future anterior: its time is a past never present and a future that never quite arrives.
Friendship (n.) holds two warring feelings in unstable balance: love, an attraction that fuses, and respect, a repulsion that keeps at a distance.
Friendship (n.) forbids us to speak of our friends, only to them; even on the most familiar terms they keep an infinite distance.
Friendship (n.) lies more in loving than in being loved — which is why we praise those who go on loving their dead, who know without being known.
Friendship (n.) is written in mourning: its great texts, from Cicero to Montaigne to Blanchot, are composed at the moment the friend is lost.
Friendship (n.) is never something given in the present; it lives in waiting, in promise, in engagement — and it speaks the language of prayer.
Friendship (n.) has no reason to give: asked why he loved La Boétie, Montaigne could only answer, because it was he, because it was me.
Friendship (n.) of the most basic kind is sealed whenever we share a language — even a declaration of war presupposes it.
Friendship (n.) is where false coin is hardest to spot: one has to be on guard to recognize the counterfeit money a friend gives.
Friendship (n.) has an authentic sign: no potlatch — giving no more than your friend, so as not to enter into competition with him.
Friendship (n.) broke with Greek reciprocity in Montaigne, who said his friend surpassed him by an infinite distance and that he would sooner trust himself to him than to himself.
Friendship (n.) as philosophy has thought it shuts women out twice — between women, and between a woman and a man — and so takes the sublime shape of a manly homosexuality.