Red (n.) has light and dark shades that share nothing one can point to, as one points to the same bush in two landscapes; asked what is common, one can only say 'Don't you see?'
Red (n.) as what all its shades share has only one criterion, behaviour: whether a person fetches any red, or only shades near the sample.
Red (n.) 'exists'? My watch exists until it is pulled to pieces — but what would we call destroying redness?
Red (n.) is affirmed without justification — yes, that's red — and all men consent in this game without question.
Red (n.) would be called a degenerate green if we saw it only rarely, in tiny patches on autumn leaf-tips.
Red (n.) cannot be explained, not because the experience is specific but because the language-game is so.
Red (n.) could not be learnt if we could see things as red or green at will; there would be no red objects, only things easier to see red.
Red (n.) and green could be one colour in another conceptual world, green a shaded red, a world I can almost enter with dark red and dark green.
Red (n.) called 'complex' leaves us unable to guess what is meant; call a chair complex and several senses spring to mind.
Red (n.) seems to stand there isolated: drink in the colour and you feel it could never be presented by anything else.
Red (n.) and green are separated by a geometrical gap, not a physical one.