Life (n.) is the totality of forces that resist death.
Life (n.) is the totality of forces that resist death.
Life (n.) is a notion speaking beings get only from the animal world, where their knowledge is pointless.
Life (n.) can only be approached, lived or thought about from the place of the limit where it is already lost.
Life (n.) is a detour, a stubborn detour — transitory, precarious, and empty of any significance.
Life (n.) has, for Freud, not no meaning but only one: the meaning in which desire is borne by death.
Life (n.) depends on something irreducible that does not know 'I am dead' — and in its name, I don't want to know either.
Life (n.) does not want to be healed; the negative therapeutic reaction is fundamental to it.
Life (n.) is a closed precinct that holds an equilibrium against the free and unlimited passage of energy crisscrossing inanimate reality.
Life (n.) is concerned with nothing but seeking repose while awaiting death — which is why the suckling baby sleeps away its first hours and must be dragged into the world's rhythm.
Life (n.) is essentially alienated, ex-sisting, a life in the other, and always returns to death, drawn only into ever larger and more roundabout circuits by the external world.
Life (n.) has been defined since Bichat in relation to death — and biology's concepts, born of the machine, have nothing to do with life itself, which remains impenetrable.
Life (n.) in psychoanalysis is the horrible palpitation of the undead lamella, and death is the symbolic order itself, a parasite colonizing the living.
Life (n.) is not an exalting goddess climbing towards the most beautiful forms; it is a blister, a mould, characterised by nothing beyond its aptitude for death.