The Infinite (n.) cannot be drawn by any finite thing from itself, yet the finite thinks it.
The Infinite (n.) "is unto itself its own idea" — Malebranche's saying, not yet meditated on enough.
The Infinite (n.) can never be an object, since it is speech — the origin of meaning and of the world.
The Infinite (n.) is given only to the moral view: it is not known, but is in society with us.
The Infinite (n.) has an in that signifies both the non and the within — the negation of the finite is the Infinite in me.
The Infinite (n.) was never treated by Descartes except to submit to it — the beyond-measure placed in the measured, which the Same undergoes but can never encircle.
Infinite (n.) approached by an atheist does not burn the eyes lifted toward him: he speaks; he is not numinous.
The Infinite (n.) is not God's absolute, which nothing can determine, but the act of thinking the Absolute, which never reaches it — and has its own way of missing it.
The Infinite (n.) affects thought by devastating it and at the same time calling on it — putting it back in its place, it puts thought in place.
The Infinite (n.) is perceived before the finite: there is more reality in infinite substance, so my perception of God is somehow prior to my perception of myself.
The Infinite (n.) is within us as obedience to a Law that remains heteronomy — and that is how it transcends the finite and accomplishes its infinity.
The Infinite (n.) is a withdrawal like a farewell — signified not by flooding the gaze with light but by being extinguished in the incognito of the face that faces.
The Infinite (n.) put in me devastates its site like a devouring fire — a dazzling where the eye takes in more than it can hold, a burning of the skin that touches what cannot be grasped.
The Infinite (n.) cannot be tracked down like game by a hunter; it wipes out its traces, not to trick the one who obeys, but because it transcends the present in which it commands.
The Infinite (n.) affects thought by devastating it, and so calls to it: it puts thought back in its place and thereby puts it in place — the infinite wakes thought up.
The Infinite (n.) is approached in the responsibility of a mortal being for a mortal being — Abraham interceding for Sodom: "I am, myself, ashes and dust."
The Infinite (n.) always remains a third person — 'He' — in spite of the 'You' whose face concerns me; it affects the I anarchically, as a trace in a passivity prior to all freedom.
The Infinite (n.) in Hegel excludes every "other" that might relate to it and limit it: like Aristotle's god it refers only to itself, now at the end of a history — and for a particular to join it is to enter a State's sovereignty.
The Infinite (n.) would be belied in representation, as if it were an infinite object that subjectivity tries to approach but misses; it is no extrapolation of the finite, no invisible behind the visible.