At the bottom, I know that Louis doesn’t hear me; he hears me only inside me, inside us (though we are only ever ourselves from that place within us where the other, the mortal other, resonates). And I know well that his voice within me is insisting that I not pretend to speak to him. And I also know that I can have nothing to teach you who are here, since you are here.

Jacques Derrida, “Text Read At Louis Althusser’s Funeral” p.117