Science (n.) can never be complete, because it is always one organized thing, a mind, trying to think another organized thing, matter.
Science (n.) is what remains of action when emotion is subtracted: the leftover sediment of a monument of indifferent eternity.
Science (n.) is possible only of the individual: genus and species are parts of the individual just as much as its most singular marks.
Science (n.) and technics are one gesture: both get matter to reveal its hidden forms by pressing it into an operation.
Science (n.) does not refute its old doctrines so much as destabilize them: a doctrine is left less stable, and its territory is restructured around the new one.
Science (n.) is technical perception: it is the extension of ordinary seeing into a meeting with the world that goes through tools.
The Science (n.) walked out of philosophy in the third century before Christ, and the break between theory and practice lasted until the Renaissance.
Science (n.) is for the Platonist not discovery but reminiscence: the soul, sister of the Ideas, can only recall the forms, never induce them from things.
A Science (n.) is like a single person who is always learning and never forgetting; a culture is like many who must forget.
Science (n.) has few visualizers: scientists answered Galton that they had no mental images, since the more abstract the habit of thought, the fewer pictures reported.
A Science (n.) is itself a technician: it borrows other sciences as instruments to bring about the effect it studies.
Science (n.) is born in the gap between the theory of technics and the theory of religion; ethics in the gap between their two practices.
Science (n.) and ethics are steered by technics and religion as an angle's bisector is steered by its two sides: short markers, an unlimited line.
Science (n.) waits at the edge of technics: while a technique works nobody asks why, and when it fails, science is near.
Science (n.) looks at a machine and sees a theory put to work — which is another way of missing the machine.
Science (n.) never completely knows its object, and for that very reason the scientific object is never completely concrete.
Science (n.) rests on a wager that a transfer can happen with nothing lost — which is why only continuous things fall within its reach.