Learning (n.) of an author is measured not by quotations or library lists but by the polemical directions of his work — against whom its concepts are aimed.
Learning (n.) is building a space of encounter with signs, and apprenticeship always breeds images of death at the edges of the space it creates.
Learning (n.) begins when the philosopher-monkey's errors start to fall before it knows the answer — producing the true by entering the coloured thickness of a problem.
Learning (n.) happens not between a representation and an action but between a sign and a response: the swimmer's stroke does not resemble the wave.
Learning (n.) is the subjective act of confronting the objectivity of a problem; knowledge is only the calm possession of a rule for solutions.
Learning (n.) to swim or to speak a foreign language means composing the singular points of your body with those of another element — it tears you apart and throws you into an unheard-of world of problems.
Learning (n.) cannot be planned: we never know through what loves someone gets good at Latin, what encounters make a philosopher, in which dictionaries one learns to think.