all ambitious rival segments anyway.

     Says Poulet in what must be an irony (p. 85): “For an 
instant! Shattering return to the misery of the human condition 
and to the tragedy of the experience of time: in the very instant 
man catches his prey, experience dupes him, and he knows he 
is duped. His prey is a shadow. In the instant he catches the 
instant, and the instant passes, for it is instant.”

     One gets the uneasy feeling that these philosophers have 
undertaken expressly to dramatize the mechanism of 
Gutenberg in our sensibilities, acting it out like all the King’s 
horses and all the King’s men, around old Humpty Dumpty. 
How can one discover the principle of human identity amidst 
lineal sequences of moments? The self is obliged, such is the 
discontinuity of these typographic moments, “each time to