A Beginning (n.) is what grounds itself by reaching ahead — into the ground it is itself to engrounding.
A Beginning (n.) always contains the undisclosed abundance of the awesome — and so strife with the familiar and ordinary.
A Beginning (n.) can never be grasped as the same, because each time it reaches beyond what it began and determines its own retrieval.
A Beginning (n.) is not the origin but its veil — an unavoidable veil behind which the origin keeps itself concealed.
The Beginning (n.) is still existing. It does not lie behind us, as something long past, but it stands before us.
A Beginning (n.) is not super-temporal or eternal but greater than eternity: a thrust of time that spatializes be-ing's opening.
A Beginning (n.) is lost the moment it is turned into a start and a progression — and everything academic is impossible within it.
A Beginning (n.) is not the same as the first: what is first in substance need not stand at the beginning — perhaps it cannot.
The Beginning (n.) of Western philosophy reached later ages only through its end: the 'inception' they inherited was Plato and Aristotle, and it covered up the inceptive inception.
Beginning (n.) is necessarily the most abstract, simplest and poorest — "and thus the most ancient philosophers are the poorest of all."
Beginning (n.) is the result, says the speculative sentence about Hegel, and turned around it holds just as well: the result is the beginning.
A Beginning (n.) alone can rescue us from getting lost in the bustle of mere happenings and machinations: it is the origin not yet misused or managed.
The Beginning (n.) must leave itself behind: what initiates can never directly preserve its initiating, except by being re-trieved more originally — so its collapse springs from its greatness, not from a deficiency.
A Beginning (n.) of the genuine kind is a leap that prepares itself for the longest time and wholly inconspicuously — a head start that already contains the end latent within itself.
The Beginning (n.) as what is primally early shows itself to men only last; so rethinking what was first thought is not nostalgia but the sober readiness to be astounded before the coming of the dawn.
The Beginning (n.) of history is not primitive, clumsy and weak but the most uncanny and mightiest; what follows is not development but flattening into mere widening, greatness reduced to number and mass.
The Beginning (n.) is not behind us. It stands before us -the beginning has invaded our future. The beginning still is. There it stands as the distant command to us to catch up with its greatness.