It is not clear, when we look at Heidegger’s writing scene — the wooden desk, with the ink blotter, the old chair — whether these items have some deep meaning, or whether they are the recessive background that makes possible a certain concentration. Most of the items visible in the images available to us are generic and without distinction. Perhaps that is important. The sad truth may be that while we (especially we writers) hope to learn something of the secret of the author from his or her workspace we are often disappointed, just as meeting a famous person can be a letdown.

¶ 5:19 PM