In general, I try to distinguish between what one calls the future and “l’avenir.” The future is that which - tomorrow, later, next century - will be. There’s a future that is predictable, programmed, scheduled, foreseeable. But there is a future, l’avenir (to come), which refers to someone who comes whose arrival is totally unexpected. For me, that is the real future. That which is totally unpredictable. The Other who comes without my being able to anticipate their arrival. So if there is a real future beyond this other known future, it’s l’avenir in that it’s the coming of the Other when I am completely unable to foresee their arrival.Jacques Derrida
'Speak when you are spoken to, Jones,' cried the clerk of the court.
‘That’s precisely what I did,’ said Bev. ‘He spoke a lie, and I corrected it. Is there anything wrong with that?’ The assistant magistrate whispered something at great length to old Ashthorn, who kept nodding and nodding.
‘You have broken the law,’ said old Ashthorn. ‘Society must be protected from people of your type.’ Bev came as rapidly to the boil as a pan full of alcohol. He said:
‘My type? What do you mean, my type? I’m a scholar forbidden to transmit my scholarship. I’m a widower whose wife was burnt to death while the firemen of London sat on their arses and picked their teeth.’
‘You will apologise to Mrs Featherstone for using that word,’ bellowed the clerk of the court.
‘I apologise, Mrs Featherstone,’ said Bev to the assistant magistrate, ‘for using that word. Words are terrible things, aren’t they? Far more deadly than fires allowed to burn on while firemen sit on their fundaments. I am not a type, your worship or honour or whatever you like to be called. I’m a human being deprived of work because I stand by a principle. I object to being a unionized sheep.’