Force (n.) has become the modern face of being, and man becomes a quantifiable power among forces.
Force (n.) is the highest concealment of being, and it hides best where it is most exposed to view.
A Force (n.) that is nearly nonexistent is nearly infinite when it is strictly alien to the system it sets going.
Force (n.) is what resists geometrical metaphorization, and so is the proper object of literary criticism.
Force (n.) becomes a phenomenon by its very articulation, and is the other of language without which language would not be what it is.
Force (n.) explains nothing: to explain a phenomenon by a force is a tautology.
Force (n.) is stifled under form: the opening that liberates time and genesis also risks enclosing them.
Force (n.) produces meaning and space through repetition alone, which lives in it as its own death.
Force (n.) is never present; it is only a play of differences and quantities.
Force (n.) is not always stronger than weakness; Benjamin tied historical materialism to a “weak messianic force.”