I suppose the main way I coped with it at the time was to see the history of philosophy as a sort of buggery [enculage] or (it comes to the same thing) immaculate conception. I saw myself as taking an author from behind, and giving him a child that would be his own offspring, yet monstrous. It was really important for it to be his own child, because the author had to actually say all I had him saying. But the author was bound to be monstrous too because it resulted from all sorts of shifting, slipping, dislocations, and hidden emissions that I really enjoyed.

Deleuze, Negotiations, p.6

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