Quotes About Awareness

Early in my conscious life one of my fingers, not then subject to my influence, brushed past a shrimp-like protuberance between my legs. And though shrimp and fingertip lay at differing distances from my brain, they felt each other simultaneously, a diverting issue in neuroscience known as the binding problem.

I've heard it argued that long ago pain begat consciousness. To avoid serious damage a simple

Vreau s? zic c? am v?zut lucrurile într-o lumin? stranie, ca pentru prima oar?. Toate mi s-au p?rut altfel: prea precis conturate, prea reale. Chiar È™i mâinile mele arat? altfel. Alteori mi se pare c? m? uit la tot ce se întâmpl? în jur ca È™i cum s-ar fi întâmplat foarte demult.

And perhaps that was typical of a certain . . . imbalance in their friendship that had always been there and which Clive had been aware of somewhere in his heart and had always pushed away, disliking himself for unworthy thoughts. Until now.

Adversity forced awareness on us, and it works, it bites us when we go too near the fire, when we love too hard. Those felt sensations are the beginning of the invention of the self. And if that works, why not feeling disgust for shit, fearing the cliff edge and strangers, remembering insults and favours, liking sex and food? God said, Let there be pain. And there was poetry. Eventually. So what's the use of

How could he fail to love someone so strangely and warmly particular, so painfully honest and self-aware, whose every thought and emotion appeared naked to view, streaming like charged particles through her changing expressions and gestures?

was listening out for him

It bore her no malice, this animal, it was indifferent to her misery. It would move as a cage panther might: because it is awake, out of boredom, for the sake of movement itself, or for no reason at all, and with no awareness.

It is difficult to step outside the moment on any given day and ask the unnecessary, essential question, or to realize that however familiar, parents are also strangers to their children.

I made the enthusiast's mistake of assuming that everyone shared my previous ignorance.

All day long, she realized, she had been feeling strange, and seeing strangely, as though everything was already long in the past, made more vivid by posthumous ironies she could not quite grasp.

We'll always be troubled by how things are—that's how it stands with the difficult gift of consciousness.

She was one of those people who could not say if one note was lower or higher than another. This was no less a disability and misfortune than a clubfoot or a harelip...

The phrase was "in two places at once," and the memory was of early morning.

It's already clear to me how much of life is forgotten even as it happens. Most of it.

From this new and intimate perspective, she learned a simple, obvious thing she had always known, and everyone knew: that a person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn, not easily mended.

There was never a time when he thought he was fully himself, and besides, he soon forgot that self and settled into a state of mild and extended psychosis...

This is what death is like. Less than nothing. Less than blackness. The edge of vision is a good representation of the edge of consciousness. Life then death. It's a foretaste.

They both knew the vitality of the unsaid, whose invisible spirits danced around them now.

What must it be, to burst out of deep infant sleep into the shocking singular fact of existence.

It was either hilarious or it was tragic, that people should go about their daily business in the conventional way when they knew there was this.

My advice to newborns: don't cry, look around, taste the air.

We don't think about the fact that some of us are Christians and some of us are Muslims unless you remind us of it.

Then she heard him say, "One!" And she realized that a third of her lifetime had just passed, never to return.