Freedom (n.) measures itself against nothing.
Freedom (n.) is singularly born each time — and it is birth that frees.
Freedom (n.) must be desired even where there is none and never will be.
Freedom (n.) allies itself with what restrains it, and receives everything from a buried origin.
Freedom (n.) is a triumph, and every triumph keeps the traces of the struggle it was won in.
Freedom (n.) that is formless and merely formal gives no ground at all from which to criticize violence.
Freedom (n.) cannot be the autonomy of a subject in charge of itself, evolving free of every obstacle.
Freedom (n.) at its root means to spare: to preserve from harm, and to set something free into its own essence.
Freedom (n.) and obligation, generosity and saving, luxury and utility — the opposed notions of law and economics need to go back into the melting pot.
Freedom (n.) in a democracy is hardly different from license: its good and its evil have always been nearly impossible to tell apart.
Freedom (n.) worth thinking is not the established kind but the kind that seizes itself in the act of beginning, and beginning again.
Freedom (n.) is no mere attribute of an ego: it extends to everything that comes into presence, the nonhuman and the thing included.
Freedom (n.) and selfhood imply each other: no freedom without an "I can," and so none without a certain sovereignty.
Freedom (n.) rethought as anything but the power to do as one pleases gives democracy no foundation — which is why Heidegger was least of all a democrat.
Freedom (n.) is what spaces and singularizes: the discreet play of the interval in which each singular time can occur.
Freedom (n.) shows itself more in arbitrary signs than in natural symbols: the less a sign resembles its meaning, the more mind is master of it.
Freedom (n.) cannot escape excess: heroism and ecstasy are its names, but so are serenity, grace, forgiveness and the surprises of language.