Language (n.) is not an expression of what is to be communicated but it brings what is, as something that is, into the open.
Language (n.) is not mental but a public object with a history.
Language (n.) is not only the expression of what is to be communicated. It alone brings what is, as something that is, into the open for the first time. Where there is no language (a stone, a plant), there is also no openness of what is, of that which is not, nor of the empty.
Language (n.) is not only the expression of what is to be communicated. It not only puts out words and statements to be overtly or covertly intended to be communicated. It alone brings what is, as something that is, into the open for the first time. Where there is no language (a stone, a plant), there is also no openness of what is, of that which is not, nor of the empty.
Language (n.) is not shaped and mastered by man. For strictly, it is language that speaks. Man first speaks when, and only when, he responds to language by listening to its appeal.
Language (n.) is not simply the putting-into words of something which is to be communicated. It alone brings what is, as something that is, into the open for the first time. Where there is no language (a stone, a plant), there is also no openness of what is, of that which is not, nor of the empty.
Language (n.) is of an entirely different nature from the phenomena it describes so it always threatens to covers up the being of phenomena when it encounters it.
Language (n.) plays with us, not us with it.
Language (n.) is the idea that it is not us who play with words, but rather, it is the nature of language which plays with us.
Language (n.) is the house of Being. ln its home man dwells.
Language (n.) is an element of the world itself, or of being itself.
Language (n.) is not spoken by humans. But in fact it is language that speaks.
Language (n.) is no more a human activity than technology is. It is the face of being itself; the interplay of world and thing.
Language (n.) is not just a tool for pointing at the world, but rather is the only thing that allows Dasein to stand in the openness of beings, with all the dangers this entails.
Language (n.) is the place where we negotiate whether and how we yield to the gods or withhold ourselves from them by remaining tossed about on the surface of the presence of beings.
Language (n.) is derivative of Dasein’s wider being-in-the-world when largely moves through the world tacitly or unconsciously.
Language's (n.) essence is intimacy, which brings things together even while keeping them apart.
Language (n.) is dangerous in that it poses a threat to being itself, through the allure of individual beings, which hypnotize us with their surface presence and cause us to forget their underlying ground.
Language (n.) is dangerous on account of its ambiguity, which can make the inessential look essential, while also making the essential seem shallow.
Language (n.) is always a conversation. A conversation involves both speaking and hearing, and neither is possible unless being and beings shine forth to us. This can only happen for humans, because only Dasein is temporal—only Dasein finds itself in the midpoint where beings emerge from unconcealment in some specific way.