Life (n.) is a luminous pause between two mysteries that are yet one.
Life (n.) is a constantly changing thing. We cannot live the afternoon of life according to the program of life's morning... for what in the morning was true will in evening become a lie.
Life (n.) is teleology par excellence... it is the intrinsic striving towards a goal, and the living organism is a system of directed aims which seek to fulfill themselves.
Life (n.) itself, not the mother, lays the poisonous worm in our path: it wills itself to complete the sun's course, and past the meridian hastens toward evening, desiring the descent and the end.
Life (n.) and beauty are by nature morally neutral — so any new life-giving symbol is interwoven with evil, or it would lack the glow of life.
Life (n.) not only flows along in commonplaces but makes everything else commonplace, as every stream seeks the valley.
Life (n.) is born only of the spark of opposites.
Life (n.) is like the course of the sun: at noon the enantiodromia comes, and forward movement means decrease — the old must be helped to descend as the young to climb.
Life (n.) makes its every line provisional — "All truth is crooked," says Nietzsche; a drop in vitality or an upsurge of feeling marks where one line ends and another should begin.
Life (n.) is not physical energy turned into something else; the transformation of energy is itself the expression of life.
Life (n.) can never be a function of matter, only a process in its own right that energy and matter serve; make it a function of matter and you are waiting for spontaneous generation.
Life (n.) is the touchstone for the truth of the spirit: a spirit that drags a man away from life is false — and spirit's truth is nothing if it cannot live.
Life (n.) is an irreversible energy-process aimed at rest — like a projectile's parabola, disturbed from repose, it rises and with the same urgency returns: after the zenith the goal lies not on the summit but in the valley where the ascent began.
Life (n.) is not good only but also bad; body and psyche alike have the impudence to get along much better without conventional morality.
Life (n.) is crazy and meaningful at once; if we don't laugh at the one and speculate about the other, it shrinks to the littlest scale.
Life (n.) is, for Paracelsus, nothing but a sort of embalmed mummy guarding the mortal body against the mortal worms.
Life (n.) would become the supreme moral principle if each of us had a better relation to the animal within.
Life (n.) cannot go forward except from the place where one happens to be.
Life (n.) is a disease with a very bad prognosis — the kind of thinking that is the prerogative of grumblers with bad digestions.
Life (n.) holds the secret that only that which can destroy itself is truly alive.