Life (n.) is never just life but is always sustained by an excess of life going even beyond death.
Life (n.) has its contrary in the mechanical and its opposite in the machine.
Life (n.) is a continuous descent toward death, held up only by the tensions of desire.
Life (n.) is impoverished when its highest stake, life itself, may not be risked — it becomes as shallow as an American flirtation, in which it is understood that nothing is to happen.
Life (n.) is like chess, where one false move may force us to resign — except that there is no second game, no return-match.
Life (n.) must be tolerated: that remains the first duty of all living beings — and illusion becomes valueless if it makes this harder.
Life (n.) falls into two halves: in the first we wish the second would come, in the second we wish the first were back.
Life (n.) has one purpose only as the id sees it: satisfying needs we were born with; staying alive is the ego's worry, not the id's.