Life is a solitary cell whose walls are mirrors.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
Life is for each man a solitary cell whose walls are mirrors.
Life needs a membrane to contain itself so it can replicate and mutate.
The living cell almost always contains, locked in its interior, the visible or invisible products of its physiological activity or its nourishment.
I have always preferred the reflection of the life to life itself.
It is the cells which create and maintain in us, during the span of our lives, our will to live and survive, to search and experiment, and to struggle.
Life, in my estimation, is a biological misadventure that we terminate on the shoulders of six strange men whose only objective is to make a hole in one with you.
The mark of a living thing is to be involved in opposites (impossibilities): the living cell that has to be continually adapting itself to stay alive, with its identity.
Life is a canvas of many strokes where shades from different palettes meet into a picture so concrete that some forget it is their own, so become framed themselves.
Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged; life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end.
We dwell in the house of the body, but its perfection and intricate life are the work of a wisdom which never relaxes dominion over a single cell.