Logan Pearsall Smith Quotes

Without ego I don't know how identity works, I don't know... I need to sit down and re-read some philosophy or something.

We're all just bags of bones and muscle and hormones; I'll never understand what makes our minds do the things we do. It's like that statue of the monkey holding a skull. We're trying to use a thing we don't understand to understand ourselves.

Breathless and unharmed, we emerge from the mazes of metaphysics and psychology where man and the soul are playing hide-and-seek.

For every seeing soul, there are two absorbing facts - I, and the abyss.

Who am I? is the only question worth asking and the only one never answered.

A long time ago, Descartes sad, “I think, therefore I am.” But if you are not thinking, what?

There is a basin in the mind where words float around on thought and thought on sound and sight. Then there is a depth of thought untouched by words, and deeper still a gulf of formless feelings untouched by thought.

Is Life itself a dream, I wonder?

I secretly think reality exists so we can speculate about it.

I like writing about what to me are like questions that I have about myself and the human condition. I find quantum physics fascinating, so I like to write about that, and I like things that make me laugh.

I think and that is all that I am.

How do you know, right now, that you are aware of being aware, or conscious?

The unexamined life is not worth living.

I can get very philosophical and ask the questions Keats was asking as a young guy. What are we here for? What's a soul? What's it all about? What is thinking about, imagination?

I have no inner monologue.

To live is to think.

A man is what he thinks about all day long.

What's on your mind, if you will allow the overstatement.

Man is a creative retrospection of nature upon itself.

The desire to live in our imagination is driven by this suspicion that we're disembodied sensibilities cobbled into our bodies. That idea has infused most of human thought since the very beginning.

What is the meaning of the togetherness of the perceiving mind, in that peculiar modification of perceiving which makes it perceive not a star but a tree, and the tree itself, is a problem for philosophy.

We live on the circumference of a hollow circle. We draw the circumference, like spiders, out of ourselves: it is all criticism of criticism.

I looked below and saw my people there, and all were well and happy except one, and he was lying like the dead - and that one was myself.

Everything tends to make us believe that there exists a certain point of the mind at which life and death, the real and the imagined, past and future, the communicable and the incommunicable, high and low, cease to be perceived as contradictions.

At times I think and at times I am.