Quotes About Consciousness

The image of a country of great dreams and universal prosperity, created by all the forces of a gigantic propaganda machine, has become the greatest deception that has poisoned the minds of millions around the world, but above all the Americans themselves. Their consciousness is still in sweet captivity and this captivity turned out to be stronger than the survival instinct.

If truth and reality can clearly come only from the subject and his consciousness, then illusion, which is the opposite of these, must necessarily come from elsewhere. From the world of the object, from some other thing than the subject. Illusion, like profusion, comes to us from the world.

Three elements which balance out: a rural unconscious, an urban subconscious and a cosmopolitan consciousness.

Instead of dreams being the place where desires from real life are fulfilled, it would be the real that was the place where desires born of dreams would be fulfilled. Dreams would be a search engine. The Aborigines, for example, scorning biological paternity, give priority to begetting by dreams. Reality would gain by this in becoming much more mysterious and dreams would cease to be the dumping ground of the unconscious.

Theory does not derive its legitimacy from established facts, but from future events. Its value is not in the past events it can illuminate, but in the shockwave of the events it prefigures. It does not act upon consciousness, but directly on the course of things from which it draws its energy. It therefore has to be dis tinguished from the academic practice of philosophy and from all that is written with an eye to the history of ideas.

En último término, el objeto y el sujeto son lo mismo.

When we awake it is the animal, the plant, that thinks in us. Primitive thought without the least disguise. We see a terrible universe, because we see clearly. A little later, intelligence introduces its impeding contrivances. It brings the little toys which man invents in order to hide the void. It is then that we think we are seeing clearly. We attribute our uneasiness to the miasmas of the brain as it passes from dream to reality.

Il y a une parte de vérité qui sort de nous que ce n'est pas le rêve, ce n'est pas la rêverie. .... C'est notre vrai moi, il est caché dans les ténèbres, il nous donne désordre....nous voulons travailler sans lui et est alors que nous commettons nos plus graves erreurs.

Unii sunt ocupaÅ£i cu absurda m?reÅ£ie a visului,în timp ce ceilalÅ£i f?ptuiesc ÅŸi nu viseaz?.Ceea ce provoac? pe nesimÅ£ite o circulaÅ£ie de unde contrarii pe care sufletul le înregistreaz?,în timp ce mintea nu-i capabil? de a le descifra.

Teach him to live rather than to avoid death: life is not breath, but action, the use of our senses, our mind, our faculties, every part of ourselves which makes us conscious of our being. Life consists less in length of days than in the keen sense of living. A man maybe buried at a hundred and may never have lived at all. He would have fared better had he died young.

In fact, the real source of all thosedifferences, is that the savage lives within himself, whereas thecitizen, constantly beside himself, knows only how to live in theopinion of others; insomuch that it is, if I may say so, merely fromtheir judgment that he derives the consciousness of his own existence.

Your wolf doesn't need to hate what he kills. It would be easier if we could kill without compunction, like your wolf does, but then, we wouldn't be human.

I do not neglect myself, quite the contrary: this morning I took a bath and shaved. Only when I think back over those careful little actions, I cannot understand how I was able to make them, They are so vain. Habit, no doubt, made them for me. They aren't dead, they keep on busying themselves, gently, insidiously weaving their webs, they wash me, dry me, dress me, like nurses. Did they also lead me to this hill? I can't remember how I came anymore.

Nada, sólo existo.

A mo?e nikt nie rozumie w?asnej twarzy?

MdÅ'oÅ›ci nie znajdujÄ… siÄ™ we mnie: czujÄ™ je tam na Å›cianie, na szelkach, wszÄ™dzie wokóÅ' mnie. ??czÄ… siÄ™ z kawiarniÄ…, to ja znajdujÄ™ siÄ™ w nich.

I exist. It's sweet, so sweet, so slow. And light: you'd think it floated all by itself. It stirs. It brushes by me, melts and vanishes. Gently, gently. There is bubbling water in my mouth. I swallow. It slides down my throat, it caresses me—and now it comes up again into my mouth. For ever I shall have a little pool of whitish water in my mouth—lying low—grazing my tongue. And this pool is still me. And the tongue. And the throat is me.

My thought is me: that's why I can't stop. I exist because I think...and I can't stop myself from thinking. At this very moment- it's frightful -if I exist, it is because I am horrified at existing.

Cómo se puede mentir poniendo a la razón de parte de uno?

The last time you were happy about nothing; the first time you were afraid about nothing. Which came first?

You are walking along a road peacefully. You trip. You fall into blackness. That's the past - or perhaps the future. And you know that there is no past, no future, there is only this blackness, changing faintly, slowly, but always the same.

If you think I minded, then you've never lived like that, plunged in a dream, when all the faces are masks and only the trees are alive and you can almost see the strings that are pulling the puppets. Close-up of human nature - isn't it worth something?

We're slaves, not idiots. That's all you have to understand.

Do you wake up as I do, having forgotten what it is that hurts or where, until you move? There is a second of consciousness that is clean again. A second that is you, without memory or experience, the animal warm and waking into a brand new world. There is the sun dissolving the dark, and light as clear as music, filling the room where you sleep and the other rooms behind your eyes.