Life (n.) is individuation that was never allowed to finish.
Life (n.) is not the body's fixed structure but a fire that radiates through it and animates it.
A Life (n.) can be cut in two, the first individual dying when the books appear and the second being born.
Life (n.) is a birth that never finishes: to live is to perpetuate an ongoing, relative birth.
Life (n.) and inert matter are two speeds of one evolution of the real, not two kingdoms with a border between them.
Life (n.) is a relay race: each individual carries the flame a moment, passes it on, and collapses in exhaustion.
Life (n.) differs from the nonliving by degree of listening, not by substance: how much news a system can take in.
Life (n.) has one concrete reality, the vital unit, which may be a single creature or a whole differentiated group.
Life (n.) is the discovery, in the middle of a conflict, of a new set of rules that gathers all the warring parts into one system.
Life (n.) is a solution complete in itself that leaves a residue outside its system; what it leaves over is not vital but pre-vital.
Life (n.) is impossible without taking on time: to live as an individual is to exert both memory and anticipation.
Life (n.) is a chain of solved problems, each one taken up and absorbed by the next, which is why it looks like a tower of ever more elaborate forms.
Life (n.) may take more than the right chemicals to make: it may need the right space, a particular relation of an inside to an outside.
Life (n.) does not rise above the physical; it delays it, stretching out its initial phase until physical individuation is neotenized.
Life (n.) is the yardstick for reality: take the living individual as your starting point and you can read everything beneath it and everything beyond it.
Life (n.) is an individuation that never ends: a crystal is born once and finished, while a living thing keeps on being born.
Life (n.) is physics put on hold: individuation caught before it settles, kept spreading in its unfinished state instead of repeating a perfect structure.
Life (n.) is the stretch between the first dust and the last dust that does not itself turn to dust; it lives in its present resolution, not in its leftovers.
Life (n.) runs between two vaguenesses, the open potential of the beginning and the spent dust of the end, and the individual is what makes them speak to each other.
A Life (n.) is not the unfolding of its origin, nor a voyage toward an end, nor a tension between an Alpha and an Omega; it is found in its present.