It's with a heavy heart that I note the passing of Jacques Derrida. He was a gifted philosopher and linguist, and many of the central tenets of his work have made their way into my own view of the world.
For the past several hours, I've been attempting to qualify and quantify the effects that his writing has had on my life, and I find myself unable to unravel the skein of cause and effect far enough to determine precisely what, in me, is of his creation. Such is the mark of a great idea, that in its communication, those who understand it feel as if they knew it all along somewhere beneath the surface of their mind. Mssr. Derrida would probably argue against that statement, but, at least when I read it, I know it to be true.