The Body (n.) turns obscene once it has no reference, no direction, no action and no situation, and exists as bare flesh.
The Body (n.) of a half-paralysed man tolerates, hardly noticing, the tiny parasitic existence that borrows his right arm and cheek to bring itself into being.
The Body (n.) is the visible, tangible symbol for the I — the illusory filling of an empty I-concept as I watch my hands break the wood.
The Body (n.) is not the instrument or cause of my relations with others, but it constitutes their meaning and marks their limits.
The Body (n.) collaborates in the image: my eyes do not converge because the imagined object is near — their convergence mimes its nearness.
The Body (n.) cannot be suppressed: no matter where I put my hand it will go on existing, insinuatingly, like a weight at the end of my arm.
The Body (n.) cannot be emotional, for it cannot attribute a meaning to its own manifestations; joy is joy only in so far as it appears as such.