The Present (n.) is something you have no right to despise.
The Present (n.) is the one thing, Baudelaire warns, that you have no right to despise.
The Present (n.) is too easily cast as the chief enemy — as if what has just happened were always the main oppression to escape.
The Present (n.) is not a stage in a grand story but a question of difference: what does today change about yesterday?
The Present (n.) is prized most by those desperate to imagine it otherwise, and to change it not by destroying it but by seizing what it is.
The Present (n.) may be the most certain of all philosophical problems: what we are, in this very moment.
The Present (n.) is the only reality we have: an infinitely small moment, before which nothing exists any longer and after which everything is still uncertain.
The Present (n.) was, for Kant, neither an era, nor a sign of what is coming, nor a dawn, but a difference: what does today introduce with respect to yesterday?
The Present (n.) cannot simply be described like a past age; to see the system of discourse we still live inside, the archeologist must take a hammer to words still ringing in our ears.
Present (n.) is wrongly treated by every philosopher as history's break, climax or rebirth; it takes humility to admit one's own lifetime is not the revolutionary moment where everything begins.