An Animal (n.) acts from within and so is practical — but has no will, because it cannot set before its mind what it desires.
An Animal (n.) life seems in general to be sick, its feeling insecure, anxious and unhappy, under the perpetual violence of external contingency.
An Animal (n.) gives itself its own place: its subjectivity is like light, ideality freed from gravity, a free time that determines where it stands.
An Animal (n.) reaches its height in feeling the universality of its kind in the sexual couple, but never has that universal as an object — else it would be thought.
An Animal (n.) is in-itself universal, but the universal is never there for it — it sees only this food, this man; only man is the universal that is present for the universal.
Animal (n.) is a self reflected into itself: it moves of its own accord, has a voice that expresses its soul, keeps its own warmth, can break off feeding, and above all feels.
Animal (n.) are the ones most deeply initiated into the Mysteries: despairing of the reality of sensuous things and certain of their nothingness, they pitch in without ceremony and devour them.
An Animal (n.) is built around its mouth: nose to sniff out food, eye to spy it, and the whole skeleton down to the hoofs follows from the kind of teeth — a face that wears an expression of spiritual absence.