The curtains were wide open, and the rich orangey sunset drowned everything in evening colour.

And I just can't pour my heart out, to another living thing, I'm a whisper, I'm a shadow, but I'm standing up to sing.

Take off, loser!

But I would now like to argue that there was for Derrida a privileged site in Ancient Philosophy for this question, one to which Derrida would repeatedly return in his writing and thinking – Socrates’ denigration or denunciation of writing, his attempt in the Phaedrus to exclude writing from thinking and philosophy proper. As I suggested at the outset, this claim regarding Derrida’s relation to the Greeks is one that Derrida himself would have been reticent to accept.