for rest is less than movement.

In this way the true philosophical method, which is the inverse of the
common method, consists in taking up a position from the very outset in the
bosom of becoming, in adopting its changing curves and variable tension, in
sympathising with the rhythm of its genesis, in perceiving all existence
from within, as a growth, in following it in its inner generation; in
short, in promoting movement to fundamental reality, and, inversely, in
degrading fixed states to the rank of secondary and derived reality.

And thus, to come back to the example of the human personality, the
philosopher must seek in the ego not so much a ready-made unity or
multiplicity as, if I may venture the expression, two antagonistic and
correlative movements of unification and plurification.

There is then a radical difference between philosophic intuition and
conceptual analysis. The latter delights in the play of dialectic, in
fountains of knowledge, where it is interested only in the immovable
basins; the former goes back to the source of the concepts, and seeks to
possess it where it gushes out. Analysis cuts the channels; intuition
supplies the water. Intuition acquires and analysis expends.

It is not a question of banning analysis; science could not do without it,
and philosophy could not do without science. But we must reserve for it
its normal place and its just task.

Concepts are the deposited sediment of intuition: intuition produces the
concepts, not the concepts intuition. From the heart of intuition you will
have no difficulty in seeing how it splits up and analyses into concepts,
concepts of such and such a kind or such and such a shade. But by