Recognition (n.) is the only satisfaction for what insists in us.
Recognition (n.) of the Other means invoking him as what he does not know about himself — as elusive as I am.
Recognition (n.) runs one way first: you can get yourself recognized by the Other only because you have already recognized it.
Recognition (n.) is the subject's fundamental need — the smallest investment of it is enough to turn the day's leftovers into material for the secret discourse.
Recognition (n.) is not knowledge: it needs a third — the symbolic system breaking into the mirror-duel of egos so that, instead of a collision, an exchange can take place.
Recognition (n.) of desire, not its satisfaction, is what speech brings: only once named in the presence of the other is a desire recognised in the full sense.
Recognition (n.) is what lets me know the curtain hasn't moved: a forgotten marquis's face, glimpsed once in its fringe, reappears — and only that tells me it was like this eight days ago.