Quotes About Mind

The weight, the pace, the stride of a man's mind are too unlike her own for her to lift anything substantial from him successfully. The ape is too distant to be sedulous.

Si doveva avere la tempra di una testa calda per dire a se stesse, Oh, ma non possono comprare anche la letteratura. La letteratura è aperta a tutti. Non ti riconosco l'autorità, anche se sei il guardiano, di scacciarmi dal prato. Chiudete pure a chiave le vostre biblioteche se volete, ma non c'è cancello, serratura o chiavistello che possiate mettere alla libertà della mia mente.

A great brush swept smooth across his mind, sweeping across it moving branches, children's voices, the shuffle of feet, and people passing, and humming traffic, rising and falling traffic. Down, down he sank into the plumes and feathers of sleep, sank, and was muffled over.

She was climbing up those branches, this way and that, laying hands on one flower and then another. Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose, she read, and so reading she was ascending, she felt, on to the top, on to the summit. How satisfying! How restful! All the odds and ends of the day stuck to this magnet; her mind felt swept, felt clean. And then there it was, suddenly entire; she held it in her hands, beautiful and reasonable, clear and complete, here—the sonnet.

sembrava fosse diventato fisicamente quello che loro avevano segretamente custodito nella loro mente – quella solitudine che era per entrambi la verità delle cose.

My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring, roaring, diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?

Nothing exists outside us except a state of mind, he thinks; a desire for solace, for relief, for something outside these miserable pigmies, these feeble, these ugly, these craven men and women.

Her mind was like a wound exposed to dry in the air.

And as she lost consciousness of outer things, and her name and her personality and her appearance, and whether Mr. Carmichael was there or not, her mind kept throwing up from its depths, scenes, and names, and sayings, and memories and ideas, like a fountain spurting over that glaring, hideously difficult white space, while she modelled it with greens and blues.

Los ojos de los demás, nuestras prisiones; sus pensamientos, nuestras jaulas.

Our minds are all threaded together… Any live mind today is of the very same stuff as Plato's & Euripides. It is only a continuation & development of the same thing. It is this common mind that binds the whole world together; & all the world is mind.

Seduti per terra parlarono - lui e Clarissa. Senza nessuno sforzo entravano e uscivano l'uno dalla mente dell'altra.

Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt, that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.

How could any Lord have made this world? she asked. With her mind she had always seized the fact that there is no reason, order, justice: but suffering, death, the poor.

We are what our thoughts have made us; so take care about what you think. Words are secondary. Thoughts live; they travel far.

I mean, I have the feeling that something in my mind is poisoning everything else.

Loneliness as a situation can be corrected, but as a state of mind it is an incurable illness.

There are two kinds of visual memory: one when you skillfully recreate an image in the laboratory of your mind, with your eyes open (and then I see Annabel in such general terms as: honey-colored skin, thin arms, brown bobbed hair, long lashes, big bright mouth); and the other when you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark innerside of your eyelids, the objective, absolutely optical replica of a beloved face, a little ghost in natural colors (and this is how I see Lolita).

that swimming, sloping, elusive something about the dark-bluish tint of the iris which seemed still to retain the shadows it had absorbed of ancient, fabulous forests where there were more birds than tigers and more fruit than thorns, and where, in some dappled depth, man's mind had been born...

I see the awakening of consciousness as a series of spaced flashes, with the intervals between them gradually diminishing until bright blocks of perception are formed, affording memory and a slippery hold.

There are two kinds of visual memory: one when you skillfully recreate an image in the laboratory of your mind, [...]; and the other when you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark innerside of your eyelids, the objective, absolutely optical replica of a beloved face, a little ghost in natural colors.

I discovered there was an endless source of robust enjoyment in trifling with psychiatrists.

It occurred to me that I had a fine brain in beautiful working order and that I might as well use it.

I have never seen a more lucid, more lonely, better balanced mad mind than mine.