Wittgenstein Jr
Page 15
by Lars Iyer
After philosophy, there will be a name for everything, and not just for every kind of thing.
He embraces me. Presses a notebook into my hand.
It’s all there, he says. His path into the pathless. The way out.
WITTGENSTEIN: Remember me, Peters.
He climbs into the taxi, his mackintosh folded over his arm. He’s gone.