Quotes About Consciousness

How do you know but ev'ry Bird that cuts the airy way, Is an immense world of delight, clos'd by your senses five?

As a man is, so he sees. As the eye is formed, such are its powers.

Man has no Body distinct from his soul; for that called Body is a portion of a Soul discerned by the five senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age.

none can desire what he has not perceiv'd.

Each man is haunted until his humanity awakens.

He who sees the Infinite in all things sees God. He who sees the Ratio only sees himself only.

All that we saw was owing to your metaphysics.

One thought fills immensity.

Man's desires are limited by his perceptions; none can desire what he has not perceiv'd.

Mans perceptions are not bounded by organs of perception, he percieves more than sense (tho' ever so acute) can discover

Little fly thy summers play my thoughtless hand has brushed away am not I a fly like thee, art not thou a man like me? for I dance and drink and sing til some blind hand shall brush my wing

He who sees the Infinite in all things sees God. He who sees the Ratio only sees himself only. Therefore God becomes as we are, that we may be as he is

All deities reside in the human breast.

GöÄŸü kesip geçen her KuÅŸun, nereden biliyorsun ki, Senin beÅŸ duyuna kapal? hazz?n engin dünyas? olmad???n??

If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite

Mümkün deÄŸil DüÅŸüncenin kendisinden Daha büyük bir ÅŸeyi tan?mas?

insanlar? insan k?lan ÅŸey, türe konulmuÅŸ özel biyolojik, toplumsal ve tarihsel s?n?rlamalar deÄŸil; onlara verilmiÅŸ Sonsuz'a ve Mutlak'a nüfuz etme olgusudur

There are no "others". What appears to be "other than God" is in fact foam upon the Ocean, forms manifesting meanings, the Hidden Treasure displaying itself outwardly, sunlight upon a wall. All multiplicity is the manifestation of Unity. (p. 304)

I have had my dream—like others— And it has come to nothing, so that I remain now carelessly With feet planted on the ground, And look up at the sky— Feeling my clothes about me, The weight of my body in my shoes, The rim of my hat, air passing in and out At my nose—and decide to dream no more.

Say it! No ideas but in things. Mr. Paterson has gone away to rest and write. Inside the bus one sees his thoughts sitting and standing. His thoughts alight and scatter– Who are these people (how complex the mathematic) among whom I see myself in the regularly ordered plateglass of his thoughts, glimmering before shoes and bicycles?

and that beauty is related not to loveliness but to a state in which reality plays a part

Writing is not a searching about in the daily experience for apt similies and pretty thoughts and images. I have experienced that to my sorrow. It is not a conscious recording of the day's experiences freshly and with the appearance of reality – This sort of thing is seriously to the development of any ability in a man, it fastens him down, makes him a – It destroys, makes nature an accessory to the particular theory he is following, it blinds him to his world, –

Memory believes before knowing remembers. [Light in August]

I seemed to be lying neither asleep nor awake looking down a long corridor of gray half light where all stable things had become shadowy paradoxical all I had done shadows all I had felt suffered taking visible form antic and perverse mocking without relevance inherent themselves with the denial of the significance they should have affirmed thinking I was I was not who was not was not who.