Quotes About Awareness

It is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is

Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.

Be secret and exult Because of all things known That is most difficult

Never leave the door open at this hour, or evil may come to you.

Zira güzellik bu dünyaya ait olmad???n? bilelim diye bizim aylakl?k ettiÄŸimiz yerde sürer üzünç dolu hayat?n?.

The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.

I sometimes think since I've retired, sitting in the shade here and feeling the winds shift, I must have been filled with a child dread you could catch somebody's dying if you got too close. And you can't be too sure.

Cast a cold eye on life, on death Horseman pass by

There is but one coward on earth, and that is the coward that dare not know.

A real book is not one that we read, but one that reads us.

The center that I cannot find is known to my unconscious mind.

Time will say nothing but I told you so, Time only knows the price we have to pay; If I could tell you I would let you know.

A daydream is a meal at which images are eaten. Some of us are gourmets, some gourmands, and a good many take their images precooked out of a can and swallow them down whole, absent-mindedly and with little relish.

Choice of attention--to pay attention to this and ignore that--is to the inner life what choice of action is to the outer. In both cases, a man is responsible for his choice and must accept the consequences, whatever they may be.

Happy the hare at morning, for she cannot read The hunter's waking thoughts.

An honest self-portrait is extremely rare because a man who has reached the degree of self-consciousness presupposed by the desire to paint his own portrait has almost always also developed an ego-consciousness which paints himself painting himself, and introduces artificial highlights and dramatic shadows.

So long as we think of it objectively, time is Fate or Chance, the factor in our lives for which we are not responsible, and about which we can do nothing; but when we begin to think of it subjectively, we feel responsible for our time, and the notion of punctuality arises.

Let not Time deceive you, You cannot conquer Time.

O plunge your hands in water, Plunge them in up to the wrist; Stare, stare in the basin And wonder what you've missed

The primary function of poetry, as of all the arts, is to make us more aware of ourselves and the world around us. I do not know if such increased awareness makes us more moral or more efficient: I hope not. I think it makes us more human, and I am quite certain it makes us more difficult to deceive, which is why, perhaps, all totalitarian theories of the State, from Plato's downwards, have deeply mistrusted the arts. They notice and say too much, and the neighbors start talking.

Our researchers into Public Opinion are content That he held the proper opinions for the time of year; When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war, he went. He was married and added five children to the population, Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his generation, And our teachers report that he never interfered with their education. Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd: Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.

And the truth cannot be hid; Somebody chose their pain, What needn't have happened did.

But ideas can be true although men die, And we can watch a thousand faces Made active by one lie: And maps can really point to places Where life is evil now: Nanking; Dachau.

Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd: Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.