History (n.) never effaces what it buries but keeps within it the secret of all it encrypts.
History (n.) and knowledge have always been detours for the reappropriation of presence.
History (n.) is nothing but the history of philosophy, and absolute knowledge is fulfilled in it.
History (n.) runs only between two poles, an absolute pictography and an absolutely formal writing, two forms of transparence.
History (n.) can be told fastest where its events came slowest: the slower the events, the more rapidly they may be described.
History (n.) reigns only by the oppression of madness, by the more or less disguised internment of the madman within us.
History (n.) may be nothing but the history of several metaphors, as Borges saw.
History (n.) is violence, the truism from which Levinas always draws his inspiration, and the movement of transcendence itself.
History (n.) is not the totality that eschatology transcends; it is transcendence itself.
History (n.) is difference itself, and God is inscribed in it.
History (n.) begins with the question of why, and that question is originally a question about history.
History (n.) falls into time: spirit, which alone has a history, falls into time.
History (n.) has a determinate East, and there the sun of self-consciousness rises as the outward sun sinks in the West.
History (n.) is not a given but a deliberate effort of abstraction that sorts important from unimportant events.
History (n.) can be without events: heroes without heroic deeds, passions without truth.