Man (n.) is a toy for God, because the real individual is the city, and a single person holds neither the whole of his explanation nor his own ethics.
Man (n.) taken as purely actual is a monster, a chimera; he makes sense only as a being who harbors potentials he does not contain.
Man (n.) is a complete animal who still feels unfinished, as if one individuation were not enough and he needed a second on top.
Man (n.) falls between two kinds of individual in Plato: the one built up from its parts, the other imposed from a whole above; he is made by neither.
A Man (n.) is never more or less a man: Aristotle's essence admits no degrees, and that is exactly why it has no room for becoming.
Man (n.) is God's serf, said Bradwardine, a willing and unforced one: even his freest act is something God necessitates.
Man (n.) is not only a political animal but a technical one, and technical thought is universal even in its crudest forms.
Man (n.) is no divine spark stuck in mud, Paul told the Gnostics: his doubleness is virtual, a product of sin, and grace can end it.
Man (n.) is not merely the foreman of creation: he carries God's creative work forward by building knowledge on principles God made.
A Man (n.) in the mind is always a particular man, white or black, crooked or straight, tall or low: you cannot imagine man without qualities.
Man (n.) can free himself from being a machine only by first taking on that role and then understanding it well enough to go beyond it.
Man (n.) is the witness of machines: responsible for them not as their maker but as the third party who alone can see a difficulty between them.
Man (n.) is not the overseer of a gang of machine-slaves but the conductor of an orchestra of machines, which need him as much as he needs them.
Man (n.) is, among machines, an invention that never ends: his very presence beside them has to be reinvented as they run.
Man (n.) becomes, with a machine in hand, a machine-bearer, the way the machine is a tool-bearer — still the living centre of the whole arrangement.