If the life is conceived as a travel, it should be admitted that the individual cannot precisely determine by his consciousness its starting point and its end.
He knows more precisely that he continually returns to the same places, as the places where he works and lives.
Though we use to classify the animals and plants according to their specific environments, when we speak about our lives, it is only seldom accepted that the places of our perpetual returning also describe our existence.
For we refuse to recognize that the many artificial things which constitutes our environment partake in our way of being. The life about which we do not know when it starts and ends promises through such ignorance to be something else than the ridicule turning on and off which represent the life of an artificial thing.
However, the perpetual returning to the same places is close to such a mechanical life than to the wide perspective of a travel.