ABSTRACT
So much to say, and I don’t have the heart for it today. So much to say about what has happened to us, about what has happened to me too, with the death of Gilles Deleuze; so much to say about what happens with a death that was undoubtedly feared – we knew he was very ill – but yet so much to say about what happens with this death, this unimaginable image which in any event would still hollow out, if it were possible, the sad infinity of another event. More than anything else, Deleuze the thinker is the thinker of the event and always of this event in particular. From beginning to end, he remained a thinker of this event. I reread what he said concerning the event, already in 1969, in one of his greatest books, The Logic of Sense. He quotes Jos Bousquet, who says, ‘For my inclination toward death which was a failure of the will I substituted a longing for dying which is the apotheosis of the will.’ Then Deleuze adds, ‘From this inclination to this longing there is, in a certain respect, no change except a change of the will, a sort of a leap in place of the whole body which exchanges its organic will for a spiritual will. It wills now not exactly what occurs, but something in that which occurs, in accordance with the laws of an obscure, humorous conformity: the Event. It is in this sense that Amor fati is one with the struggle of free men.’ 1 (One could go on quoting endlessly.)
