Imagination continually outruns the creature it inhabits.

Is there no way out of the mind?

my mind is
a big hunk of irrevocable nothing

From a man’s face, I can read his character. If I can see him walk, I know his thoughts.

The real question is not whether machines think but whether men do.

In psychoanalysis nothing is true except the exaggerations.

What is the hardest task in the world? To think.

If anything affects your eye, you hasten to have it removed; if anything affects your mind, you postpone the cure for a year.

The mind is not, I know, a highway but a temple, and its doors should not be carelessly left open.

A mind lively and at ease can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer.

Any man could, if he were so inclined, be the sculptor of his own brain.

Imagination is the secret and marrow of civilization. It is the very eye of faith.

The brain may be regarded as a kind of parasite of the organism, a pensioner, as it were, who dwells with the body.