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the virtuous knight of accuracy (“I don’t have many ideas but at least what I say is true”); the doctor of inexhaustible information (“You haven’t said anything about this thing or that, or even that which I know about and you are certainly ignorant of”); the great witness of Reality (“No grand systems but life, real life, with all its contradictory riches”); the heartbroken scholar who weeps over his little piece of earth just pillaged by barbarians: jut as if after Attila the grass would not grow again.

-Foucault, L’Impossible prison