Quotes About Mind

We read in bed because reading is halfway between life and dreaming, our own consciousness in someone else's mind.

Memories, light the corners of my mind, Misty water-coloured memories, of the way we were . . .' Indeed, Rosie thought

You who understand what a human mind can be, how can you bear it? I don't have the hundredth part of your mind and there are days when I think I'll go mad. I can feel it. Or hear it. It's more like hearing something creeping along the walls, just behind my head, getting closer and closer. A big insect, maybe a scorpion. A dry skittering, that's what madness sounds like to me.

These feelings came from programs that ran in a part of his mind that he couldn't access. He was a user of his own consciousness, but he did not have owner privileges. As a result, Paladin felt many things without knowing why.

He partitioned his mind: 80 percent for combat, 20 percent for searches on faggots.

Touching the face of the wind, dark wings flex and ease. They read the wisps of clouds forming above them, the dark heaves of mountains below. Now the sudden bounce of a thermal, now the yank of a downdraft, The birds of my mind tilt and swing as I lie in the blue bus, until finally, their taut wings bank up against the wind and they streak out of my head, peeling off one by one, like canoes that have been pointing upstream, arcing back into the roll of the river.

The Dimwit's Guide to the Female Mind might assist your efforts in understanding human females. But it must be pointed out that this subject can be a dangerous adventure and should be undertaken with extreme caution. After all, human males have been trying to understand their females for generations, and most of the time they come away from these encounters looking like someone stuck their tails into an electric socket.

Stupid body. Stupider brain for not posting a sign that said DREAM THREAT—PLEASE IGNORE.

It is foolish to wish for beauty. Sensible people never either desire it for themselves or care about it in others. If the mind be but well cultivated, and the heart well disposed, no one ever cares for the exterior.

No, thank you, I don't mind the rain,' I said. I always lacked common sense when taken by surprise.

A thinking mind is not swallowed up by what it comes to know. It reaches out to grasp something related to itself and to its present knowledge (and so knowable in some degree) but also separate from itself and from its present knowledge (not identical with these). In any act of thinking, the mind must reach across this space between known and unknown, linking one to the other but also keeping visible to difference. It is an erotic space.

It is the task of a lifetime. You can never know enough, never work enough, never use the infinitives and participles oddly enough, never impede the movement harshly enough, never leave the mind quickly enough.

Her marble tears run down her marble face. A stranger is someone who has no handkerchief. Who has no words to say. Whose shadow mind is burning as he sits watching her hands and thinks how rare! to see a Roman talk with no gestures at all.

all the tall mad mountains of her mind

The story concerns the reason why we love to fall in love. Beauty spins and the mind moves. To catch beauty would be to understand how the impertinent stability in vertigo is possible. But no, delight need not reach so far. To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived, is itself delightful, a suspended moment of living hope.

It was not fear of ridicule, to which everyday life as a winged red person had accommodated Geryon early in life, but this blank desertion of his own mind that threw him into despair.

Jealousy is a dance in which everyone moves, for it is the instability of the emotional situation that preys upon a jealous lover's mind.

I clutch, all language vanished from my mind. We knock each other over in a violent embrace.

Everything is a naked thought that strikes.

Soul is the place, stretched like a surface of millstone grit between body and mind, where such necessity grinds itself out.

I cannot close my eyes, fear stands over me instead of sleep.

What are you afraid of? The more I struggled and resisted, the stronger the ghost echoes grew and the more a possibility took shape in my mind just as the patio took shape beneath my hands. The saints were ordinary people. You do paint saints. Wherever I went these words of Father Gervase's stayed with me, a ghost staking out territory in my head as certainly as I had staked out the space for the bricks I now

Or reading poetry. Now there was a job that should exist. To spend one's days in the company of Blake and Dickinson, Yeats and Hopkins, Auden and Milton. To fill one's mind with their wisdom, the music of their words. Today

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