Quotes About Consciousness

I doubt if he ever confronted and acknowledged his own deeper motivations, except when they were as pure as spring water.

Designed from DNA to compute," I said, appalled at the thought of Core machines being given the benefit of the doubt when it came to souls.

We are created for precisely this sort of suffering. In the end, it is all we are, these limpid tide pools of self-consciousness between crashing waves of pain. We are destined and designed to bear our pain with us, hugging it tight to our bellies like the young Spartan thief hiding a wolf cub so it can eat away our insides. What other creature in God's wide domain would carry the memory

In his twenties, John Bridgens most identified with Hamlet. The strangely aging Prince of Denmark—Bridgens was quite sure that the boy Hamlet had magically aged over a few theatrical weeks to a man who was, at the very least, in his thirties by Act V—had been suspended between thought and deed, between motive and action, frozen by a consciousness so astute and unrelenting that it made him think about everything, even thought itself.

The critic had added a personal note: Most of us, I hope, have had some child or spouse or friend like Beatrice, someone who by his very nature, his seemingly innate goodness and intelligence, makes us uncomfortably conscious of our lies when we lie.

there must be some hope that we can rise to a higher level Ã¢â'¬Â¦ that consciousness can evolve to a plane more benevolent than its counterpoint of a universe hardwired to indifference.

For our race to achieve the true satori, for us to move to that next level of consciousness and evolution that so many of our philosophies proclaim, all facets of human endeavor must become conscious strivings for art.

And what was our DNA designed to do for the first few hundred million years, my son? Eat? Kill? Procreate? Were we any less ignoble in our beginnings than the pre-Hegira silicon and DNA-based AIs? As Teilhard would have it, it is consciousness which God has created to accelerate the universe's self-awareness as a means to understanding His will.

Is there another Life? Shall I awake and find all this a dream? There must be, we cannot be created for this sort of suffering." Oh, Fanny, if only you knew! We are created for precisely this sort of suffering. In the end, it is all we are, these limpid tide pools of self-consciousness between crashing waves of pain.

We are created precisely for this type of suffering. In the end, it is all we are, these limpid tide pools of self-consciousness between crashing waves of pain. We are destined and designed to bear our pain with us, hugging it tight to our bellies like the young Spartan thief hiding a wolf cub so it can eat away our insides.

The infant looked up at him and Sol felt the contact of her consciousness as surely as if she had spoken aloud.

Her eyes are open but she does not see.

The beauty of being dead, he knows now, is that there is no pain and no sense of self.

I did not know if androids could dream—

Most of us, I hope, have had some child or spouse or friend like Beatrice, someone who by his very nature, his seemingly innate goodness and intelligence, makes us uncomfortably conscious of our lies when we lie. Sol

Thinking none of this but feeling all of it

Most of us, I hope, have had some child or spouse or friend like Beatrice, someone who by his very nature, his seemingly innate goodness and intelligence, makes us uncomfortably conscious of our lies when we lie.

On the contrary, it made me feel that faith is all the more essential. Pain and darkness have been our lot since the Fall of Man. But there must be some hope that we can rise to a higher level Ã¢â'¬Â¦ that consciousness can evolve to a plane more benevolent than its counterpoint of a universe hardwired to indifference.

pero sobre todo se basaban en el descubrimiento del siglo XX de que, en el fondo, todo es información. Datos. Consciencia. Materia. Energía. Todo es información.

In the end, it is all we are, these limpid tide pools of self-consciousness between crashing waves of pain.

One of my favorite things was from the Tattireeya Upanishads. It goes—'I am this world, and I eat this world. Who knows this, knows.

dreams are all that separates us from the machines

But who the hell cares if the flowers bloom if no one is around to see them, to smell them?

Human thought can be described as a standing wavefront. Sort of a superhologram. Or, maybe more precisely, a hologram containing a few million smaller holograms.