
'[Anyone] who leaves behind him a written manuscript ... on the
supposition that such writing will provide something reliable and
permanent, must be exceedingly simple minded... [That's] the strange
thing about writing that makes it truly analogous to painting. The
painter's products stand before us as though they were alive, but
if you question them, they maintain the most majestic silence. It
is the same with written words; they seem to talk to you as though
they were intelligent, but if you ask them anything about what they
say, from a desire to be instructed, they go on saying the same
thing forever. And once a thing is put into writing, the composition...
drifts all over the place... And when it is ill treated and unfairly
abused it always needs its parent to come to its help, being unable
to defend or help itself... But now tell me, is there another sort
of discourse that is the brother to the written speech, but of unquestioned
legitimacy? ...'