Quotes About Consciousness

They taught me to pay attention, but not so much attention to my tiny princess mind.

you're instantly in a bind once you arrive here on earth, of need, self-will, a body and a separate personality, even before teh crippling self-consciousness kicks in, even before the seventh grade ... you're fucked at cell division ... it's all downhill from there. After that, it's all survival, and trying to keep yourself either entertained or convinced that the things you're obsessed with are of any importance at all in the big scheme.

Becoming a writer is about becoming conscious. When you're conscious and writing from a place of insight and simplicity and real caring about the truth, you have the ability to throw the lights on for your reader. He or she will recognize his or her life and truth in what you say, in the pictures you have painted, and this decreases the terrible sense of isolation that we have all had too much of.

Becoming a writer is about becoming conscious. When you're conscious and writing from a place of insight and simplicity and real caring about the truth, you have the ability to throw the lights on for your reader

You pay twenty-five dollars to hear one of my heroes, Thich Nhat Hanh, say: "When you walk, just walk." You think: I paid good money for this? Notice your feet as they connect to the earth? Left foot, right foot, breathe? Crazy.

Time is so full for people who are dying in a conscious way, full in the way that life is for children. They spend big round hours.

I remind myself of this when I cannot get any work done: to live as if I am dying, because the truth is we are all terminal on this bus. To live as if we are dying give us a chance to experience some real presence. Time is so full for people who are dying in a conscious way, full in the way that life is for children.

Then Mason made an astonishing comment. He said to the girl, adamantly, in his slightly garbled and mumbly way, "You know, I used to have brain cancer. I was in a coma, and then I was here again." I had to close my eyes at the beauty of his understanding—that he was here again. He had woken up, as we are all called to do. I said, "You are a miracle.

And if there was something to be grokked—a vibrational core in us, a consciousness, an essential self, that was not our charm and successes—then didn't it mean there was some kind of capital-T Truth to seek?

You unconscious can't work when youare breathing down it's neck. You'll sit there going, Are you done in there yet? Are you done in there yet?. But it is trying to tell you nicely, Shut up and go away.

I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being concious of living.

And then, some morning in the second week, the mind wakes, comes to life again. Not in a city sense—no—but beach-wise. It begins to drift, to play, to turn over in gentle careless rolls like those lazy waves on the beach. One never knows what chance treasures these easy unconscious rollers may toss up, on the smooth white sand of the conscious mind; what perfectly rounded stone, what rare shell from the ocean floor. Perhaps a channeled whelk, a moon shell, or even an argonaut.

I do not always observe the rules of society, but I am quite aware of what they are!

la debilidad era peligrosa. Quienes eran conscientes de sus desventajas eran quienes atacaban. Alguien

Every moment must be first known and then savored.

I resolved to move just a little bit more slowly through the world, to look around myself with greater care, and to try to remain conscious of all that was going on around me at all times.

Oh, the lies that I have told myself and others. I knew it yet I didn't know.

But I still did not realize how mad she was, and how accustomed to dreaming; and that she would not cry out for reality, rather would feed reality to her dreams

If only we would wake from (these) states of oblivion with some certain sense that there was no mystery to life at all, that cruelty was purely impersonal, but we don't.

If drugs really numb your consciousness, they'd be a good thing. As it was, they slowed you down, confused you, kept you vulnerable to violent flashes of recall, and then agitated you and made you unsure of what you knew and didn't know.

I'm not myself, I added hesitantly. I haven't survived all this as well as I should have survived it. My body's healed - the old miracle. But I don't understand my present view of things. The bitterness. the utter darkness. Never has life itself seemed so senseless. It's a joke, isn't it? Consciousness, it's a kind of joke.

But joy, the joy you've known, the love you've known, that is what matters, and we, the conscious ones, the ones who can grieve, only we can know joy.

All you can do, he thought, is fight to stay alive, to stay conscious, to remain a witness and hope somehow there is a meaning to it.

O se trataba también de un sueño en una vida donde el sueño y la realidad están tan íntimamente ligados que inevitablemente uno acaba por triunfar sobre la otra?