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Then, as our baby lies, happy and concentrated, on his red blanket with the white lilies, and we are sitting silently on the couch listening with astonishment to the modulations of his sounds, we (you, I) conceive the same thought: with the baby, a voice was born to us. A voice in which language practices itself – the language that came into the world together with the baby. But it isn’t practice, we realize then, it is a second birth (beginning with the conclusion of the first), and that birth goes on and will continue to go on for a long time (just as it goes on and will continue to go on for a long time in us). Maybe this is why: it is not the first birth of language, even though it sounds that way.

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