I conceive a man's body as a sort of fiery mist enmeshed in the cage of the skeleton, and mostly resulting from the circulation of the blood.

The true paradox of consciousness is that we become most fully conscious precisely when we lose the sense of being conscious at all, when the instrument becomes so perfectly attuned to its object that subject and object merge into one continuous act of perception.

We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles. Meantime within man is the soul of the whole.

The mind of man is capable of anything—because everything is in it, all the past, all the future, all the possibilities of existence.

The true paradox of consciousness is that we become most fully conscious precisely when we cease to be aware of ourselves—when the self dissolves into action, perception, or creation.

The mind of man is capable of anything because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future.

The true paradox of consciousness is that we become most fully conscious precisely when we cease to think about consciousness at all, and surrender ourselves to the world.

The mind of man is capable of anything—because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future. What he has to do is to accept it or reject it, take it or leave it.

The mind itself is the seat of action. We do not act because we think, but we think because we act.

We are made of starstuff. We are a way for the cosmos to know itself. We have come from the interstellar medium and into the form of conscious beings able to ask the supreme questions.

The true paradox of consciousness is that the more narrowly we examine it, the more it seems to elude us, as if consciousness were not an object to be grasped but a field in which the grasping occurs.

The purpose of consciousness is to orchestrate behavior, and consciousness succeeds brilliantly at this task when it stays in the background, when it doesn't interfere with the smooth operation of the automatic processes that have been honed by natural selection.

The true paradox of consciousness is that it cannot be fully grasped by introspection alone; the observer is always part of the observed, creating an irreducible gap between the thinking subject and its own thought.

The true paradox of consciousness is that the more we think about it directly, the more it eludes us; yet in the very act of eluding our grasp, it reveals itself most fully.

The mind is furnished with a set of instincts which seek out certain kinds of phenomena and are peculiarly sensitive to their presence, and which, once awakened, work and grow by exercise. Our forefathers had convictions; we have only opinions.

The mind is furnished with a set of instincts which seek out certain kinds of phenomena and tend to ignore the rest, and all the phenomena thus ignored are as if non-existent for the mind. The consequence is that the mind, by the mere fact of attending to a limited set of phenomena, creates, in a sense, a limited world.

The true paradox of the human condition is that we are simultaneously utterly insignificant and infinitely precious—strangers to the universe yet the only part of it that knows itself.

The mind is like a vast library in which the books are in constant flux—some volumes fade into obscurity while others suddenly illuminate corners previously left in shadow, and the librarian himself is often the last to know what treasures or horrors his collection contains.

The human species is engaged in the act of creating itself. We are shaping our own evolution through the choices we make, yet we proceed as though we were merely passive observers of our own development.

A human being is part of a whole, called by us the Universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness.

The mind of man is capable of anything—because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future.