Quotes About Thought

I know," said Polly, and as gently as she was able said, "Have you thought about maybe another line of work?" "What, like making cakes?" Chris scoffed. "No, you see it's kind of different for me. I'm a professional." Polly decided it was best they leave before she hit him with the teapot.

You've never thought of me that way, not ever, so don't go trying to reinvent history now when I have somebody.

I mean I'm definitely curious about it. It's definitely a thought. But I don't see myself doing it anytime soon. With anybody including you.

What Singer said: I wonder what these people thought thousands of years ago of these sparks they saw when they took off their woolen clothes?

Birds are colder than animals that live on the earth, because they are not conceived in such intense and heated desire. Just as birds are lifted up into the air by their feathers and can remain wherever they wish, the soul in the body is elevated by thought and spreads its wings everywhere.

I thought about having a proper room, breathing life into it, and nobody minding.

Never speak more clearly than you think.

Ideas are the finery we wrap our brains in, to hide the reptile core that we can't escape. The reptile brain, Ron, is a vestige of the past from which we can't seem to slip loose. We chug-chug-chug toward the future, and the world of ideas grows exponentially, but we are still base creatures at times. We all have those sad, tragic moments where we neglect thought and act on old, withered snippets of instinct.

The cerebral processing of that visceral input as a signal of death was accurate. Without the kinds of therapy that had been developed over the decades, this cancer would have been fatal. Hope, then, is constructed not just from rational deliberation, from the conscious weighing of information; it arises as an amalgam of thought and feeling, the feelings created in part by neural input from the organs and tissues.

After a cup of tea (two spoonsful for each cup, and don't let it stand more than three minutes,) it says to the brain, "Now, rise, and show your strength. Be eloquent, and deep, and tender; see, with a clear eye, into Nature and into life; spread your white wings of quivering thought, and soar, a god-like spirit, over the whirling world beneath you, up through long lanes of flaming stars to the gates of eternity!

If the Mentalese story about the content of thought is true, then there couldn't be a private language argument. Good. That explains why there isn't one. (In Critical Condition, p. 68)

Thought about the world is prior to thought about how to change the world. Accordingly, knowing-that is prior to knowing-how. Descartes was right and Ryle was wrong. Why, after all these years, does one still have to say these things?

She said she hadn't thought of that. Not finishing the test might be part of the test.

If there was any truth to the legend of the Nine Daughters of Russaka, Petunia thought suddenly, this is precisely what one of them would look like now.

The only way in which the world can be grasped ultimately lies, not in thought, but in the act, in the experience of oneness. Thus paradoxical logic leads to the conclusion that the love of God is neither the knowledge of God in thought, nor the thought of one's love of God, but the act of experiencing the oneness with God.

This axiom of Aristotelian logic has so deeply imbued our habits of thought that it is felt to be "natural" and self-evident, while on the other hand the statement that X is A and not A seems to be nonsensical. (Of course, the statement refers to the subject X at a given time, not to X now and X later, or one aspect of X as against another aspect.)

Even to begin to understand the problem of faith one must differentiate between rational and irrational faith. By irrational faith I understand the belief (in a person or an idea) which is based on one's submission to irrational authority. In contrast, rational faith is a conviction which is rooted in one's own experience of thought or feeling.

In a successful manipulation of the mind the person is no longer saying the opposite of what he thinks, but he thinks the opposite of what is true.

Opposition is a category of man's mind, not in itself an element of reality.

Ä°deoloji, doÄŸas? gereÄŸi etkin düÅŸünceye de, etkin duyguya da çekici gelmez. Ä°nsan? ya heyecanland?ran ya da uyutan hap gibidir. Hitler, Mein Kampfda (Kavgam'da) halk? toplay?p galeyana getirmek için en elveriÅŸli zaman?n, insanlar?n yorgun ve etkilenmeye aç?k olduÄŸu akÅŸam saatleri olduÄŸunu söylerken bu noktay? aç?kça gördüÄŸünü belirtiyordu.

The problem of knowing man is parallel to the religious problem of knowing God. In conventional Western theology the attempt is made to know God by thought, to make statements about God. It is assumed that I can know God in my thought. In mysticism, which is the consequent outcome of monotheism, the attempt is given up to know God by thought, and it is replaced by the experience of union with God in which there is no more room—and no need—for knowledge about God.

I want that quiet rapture agin. I want to feel the same powerful, nameless urge that I used to feel when I turned to my books. The breath of desire that then arose from the coloured backs of the books, shall fill me again, melt the heavy, dead lump of lead that lies somewhere in me and waken again the impatience of the future, the quick join the world of thought, it shall bring back again the lost eagerness of my youth. I sit and wait.

I want to feel that quiet rapture again. I want to feel the same powerful, nameless urge that I used to feel when I turned to my books. The breath of desire that then arose from the coloured backs of the books, shall fill me again, melt the heavy dead lump of lead that lies somewhere in me and waken again the impatience of the future, the quick joy in the world of thought, it shall bring back again the lost eagerness of my youth. I sit and wait.

I feel excited; but I do not want to be, for that is not right. I want that quiet rapture again. I want to feel the same powerful, nameless urge that I used to feel when I turned to my books. The breath of desire that then arose from the coloured backs of the books, shall fill me again, melt the heavy, dead lump of lead that lies somewhere in me and waken again the impatience of the future, the quick joy in the world of thought, it shall bring back again