A Being (n.) is never completely individualized: to exist it must keep solving the problems of the surroundings that are its own.
The Being (n.) that gave rise to an individual has lost its unity and totality by doing so: it is both inside the individual and outside it, and has never been wholly either.
A Being (n.) holds together by being its own symbol, echoing and harmonizing inside itself.
A Being (n.) is plural not as a heap of parts below its unity but as a series of phases above it.
A Being (n.) has several entelechies, not one: what shows is only the phase currently actualizing, while other real phases wait as potential.
Being (n.) does not go through becoming; it becomes. It is not becoming that modifies being.
Being (n.) is never one: even in its first, undivided state it is more than one, richer than its own coherence.
A Being (n.) lives the death of one thing and dies the life of another: becoming is a destruction made by birth and a birth made by destruction.
A Being (n.) is what it has been, not what it is: the fact of being what it was no longer points to a permanent essence but to the novelty of an endless drama.
A Being (n.) can be known by analogy without reserve only if it is nothing more than what it does.
Being (n.) is the emptiest word we own: for Aristotle, each climb from species to genus sheds some information, so the notion that fits everything says almost nothing.
Being (n.) is conserved not by staying put but by changing — it travels in quantum leaps from one balance to the next.
Being (n.) is held together not by staying identical but by its power to slip out of phase with itself and overrun its own edges.