Quotes About Mind

There's simply no way around the limited ceiling of my own mind.

Its easier to believe there's a monster under the bed if you've spent the last six months arguing with a monster.

With insomnia, you're never really awake; but you're never really asleep.

Here in your mind you have complete privacy. Here there's no difference between what is and what could be.

Anymore, no one's mind is their own.

The photographer in my head says: Give me peace. Flash. Give me release. Flash.

Anymore, no one's mind is their own. You can't concentrate. You can't think. There's always some noise worming in. Singers shouting. Dead people laughing. Actors crying. All those little doses of emotion.

Anymore, no one's mind is their own. You can't concentrate. You can't think. There's always some noise worming in. Singers shouting. Dead people laughing. Actors crying. All these little doses of emotion. Someone's always spraying the air with their mood.

With the world always filling you, no one has to worry about what's in your mind. With everyone's imagination atrophied, no one will ever be a threat to the world.

Am I sleeping? Have I slept at all? This is the insomnia. Try to relax a little more with every breath out, but your heart's still racing and your thoughts tornado in your head. Nothing works. Not guided meditation. You're in Ireland. Not counting sheep. You count up the days, hours, minutes since you can remember falling asleep.

The French philosopher Jacques Derrida likens writing fiction to a software code that operates in the hardware of your mind. Stringing together separate macros that, combined, will create a reaction.

When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep and you're never really awake.

No memory is anything more than a personal choice.

Our greatest creation is our selves. The way we cultivate our appearance and behavior. And nowhere is our artwork more apparent than in our own minds. They way we each have an idea of self. The one perfect self we've chosen by rejecting all other options.

Rant Casey on DRVR Radio Graphic Traffic: . . . What if reality is nothing but some disease?

It's worth noting up front that I have always conceived of my mind as a digestive organ. A stomach for processing knowledge, if you will. As a looping, wrinkled mass, a human brain unmistakably looks like gray intestines, and it's within these thinking bowels that my experiences are broken down, consumed to become my life story. My thoughts occur as flavorful burps or acrid barf. The indigestible gristle and bone of my memories are expelled as these words.

VÅ¡ichni jsme myÅ¡lenky, které bojují o vlastní pÃ…â"¢ežití.

Parásito» no es la palabra adecuada, pero es la primera palabra que viene a la mente.

You can't keep the whole Bible balanced in your head. You wouldn't have room to remember your name.

ALL NIGHT LONG, your thoughts are on the air. Am I sleeping? Have I slept at all? This is the insomnia. Try to relax a little more with every breath out, but your heart's still racing and your thoughts tornado in your head. Nothing works. Not guided meditation.

Ich ärgere mich, also bin ich.

The music and laughter eat away at your thoughts.

life is strange. It's full of mistakes and regrets, and our minds are very good at bringing those out at the worst times, the times when we're most vulnerable. Like dreams. The best we can do, I think, is to figure out how to move forward. How we correct the errors that we made to give some peace to ourselves.

The mind is less precarious than we think it is, Nate. Often, I believe it is our fear of losing it that's more dangerous than actually losing it, if you'll follow my logic. The fear of a thing is quite often worse than the thing we fear