Action (n.) alone shows the stuff one's made of: it's what one does, and nothing else.
Action (n.) for a great cause is ambiguous — it may vanish like water into sand; action for one person is concrete but small.
Action (n.) even when purely mental — reasoning, meditating, doubting — is a thing taken from the world, a transcendent unity spread over time.
Action (n.) carries its real result inside the imaginary act — pushed through Marx's metaphor, it is like the actor playing Hamlet, who crosses his mother's room to kill Polonius and also crosses a stage to earn his living.
Action (n.) cannot touch only appearances: if a cup's appearance can be modified up to its annihilation as a cup, action must modify the very being of the cup.
Action (n.) provides its own clarification in the course of its accomplishment: becoming conscious of the situation is not the source of an action but a moment of it.
Action (n.) cannot be judged by the intention behind it: the subjective exists only to be objectified, so it is on the basis of its realization that it must be judged.