O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap May who ne'er hung there.

Here! creep, Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night!

Consciousness, then, does not appear to itself chopped up in bits...A 'river' or a 'stream' are the metaphors by which it is most naturally described. In talki…

We probed into the nature of space and time, and of the universal, both with regard to external nature and with regard to mind. But then, we went on to conside…

The most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed.