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position at the Centre National de Recherche Scientifique. During this time he published the seminalNietzsche and Philosophy (1962) and befriended Michel Foucault. From 1964 to 1969 he was a professor at the University of Lyon. In 1968 he published his two dissertations, Difference and Repetition (supervised by Gandillac) and Expressionism in Philosophy: Spinoza (supervised by Alquié).

In 1969 he was appointed to the University of Paris VIII at Vincennes/St. Denis, an experimental school organized to implement educational reform. This new university drew a number of talented scholars, including Foucault (who suggested Deleuze's hiring), and the psychoanalyst Félix Guattari. Deleuze taught at Vincennes until his retirement in 1987.

Deleuze suffered from a debilitating pulmonary ailment throughout the final 25 years of his life. In his last decade this condition grew more severe and was compounded by respiratory problems.^[5] Although he had a lung removed, the disease had spread throughout his pulmonary system. Deleuze underwent a tracheotomy, lost the power of speech^[6] and considered himself "chained like a dog" to an oxygen machine.^[7] By the last years of his life, simple tasks such as handwriting required laborious effort. In 1995, he committed suicide, throwing himself from the window of his apartment.^[8] At the time of his death, Deleuze had announced his intention to write a book entitled La Grandeur de Marx, and left behind two chapters of an unfinished project entitled Ensembles and Multiplicities (these chapters have been published as the essays "Immanence: A Life" and "The Actual and the Virtual").^[9] He is buried in the cemetery of the village of Saint-Léonard-de-Noblat.^[10]

Deleuze himself almost entirely demurred from autobiography. When once asked to talk about his life, he replied: "Academics' lives are seldom interesting."^[11] When a critic seized upon Deleuze's unusually long, uncut fingernails as a revealing eccentricity, he replied: "I haven't got the normal protective whorls, so that touching anything, especially fabric, causes such irritation that I need long nails to protect them."^[12] Deleuze concludes his reply to this critic thus:

"What do you know about me, given that I believe in secrecy? ... If I stick where I am, if I don't travel around, like anyone else I make my inner journeys that I can only measure by my emotions, and express very obliquely and circuitously in what I write. ... Arguments from one's own privileged experience are bad and reactionary arguments."^[13]