Security (n.) cannot rest on one half of a pair of opposites, for the two need each other as back and front make up any object.
Security (n.) has never been more than temporary and apparent, even in the best of times; our age is no more insecure than any other.
Security (n.) means wanting to be separate from the flux of life — and that very separateness is what makes us feel insecure.
Security (n.) fortifies an isolated "I" — the very isolation that makes it lonely and afraid, so the more security I get, the more I want.
Security (n.) made the goal of a whole society turns it into a breath-holding contest, everyone taut as a drum and purple as a beet.
Security (n.) rests on the feeling that something in us is permanent — and we do not grasp there is none until we see that this "I" does not exist.
Security (n.) made total makes life not worth living — a completely foolproof life requires the final abolition of freedom.