``taking all my recommendations  I went right over, in the
morning, one hour after my arrival, to the Bodleian.  The
librarian seemed to know me (I didn't understand very well,
she alluded to the difficulty my book seems to have given
her), but this did not get me out of the oath.  She asked
me to _read_ it (it is a question of engaging oneself to
respect the rules of the library, the treasures to be
protected are priceless).  Therefore I read it and handed her
back the cardboard covered with transparent paper that she
had tendered me.  At this point she starts to insist, I had
not understood: no, you have to read it out loud.  I did so,
with the accent you make fun of all the time, you can see
the scene.  We were alone in her office.  I understood
better the marriage ceremony and the profound presuppositions
of Oxonian performativism.  What would an oath that you did
not say out loud be worth, an oath that you would only read,
or that while writing you would only read?  or that you would
telephone?  or whose tape you would send?  I leave you to
follow up.  All that being said, she must have assured herself,
while chatting, that I knew enough English to understand the
text.  Enough?  She didn't notice that my mind was so elsewhere
that I did not seek to translate for myself all the ``details.'' ''

- Derrida,  The Post Card (19 July 1979 entry)