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“The self,” Blackmore writes, “is just a fleeting impression that arises with each experience and fades away again. . . . There is no inner self,” she argues, “only multiple parallel processes that give rise to a benign inner delusion—a useful fiction.” She argues that consciousness itself is a fiction.”
― The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness
― The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness
“Extending the Airport Runway
The good citizens of the commission
cast their votes
for more of everything.
Very early in the morning
I go out
to the pale dunes, to look over
the empty spaces
of the wilderness.
For something is there,
something is there when nothing is there but itself,
that is not there when anything else is.
Alas,
the good citizens of the commission
have never seen it,
whatever it is,
formless, yet palpable.
Very shining, very delicate.
Very rare.”
― A Thousand Mornings: Poems
The good citizens of the commission
cast their votes
for more of everything.
Very early in the morning
I go out
to the pale dunes, to look over
the empty spaces
of the wilderness.
For something is there,
something is there when nothing is there but itself,
that is not there when anything else is.
Alas,
the good citizens of the commission
have never seen it,
whatever it is,
formless, yet palpable.
Very shining, very delicate.
Very rare.”
― A Thousand Mornings: Poems
“Holy Mica, we were true humanists over there, on Earth. Humanism was the backbone of our personalities; in our worship of Man, in our love of Man, we even approached anthropocentrism - and here we are suddenly horrified to catch ourselves thinking, 'Are these really humans? Is it possible they are capable of becoming humans, even with time?'.”
― Hard to Be a God
― Hard to Be a God
“As far as I am concerned, poetry is a statement concerning the human condition, composed in verse.”
―
―
“The search for this inner truth is the search for beauty. People whose vision does not penetrate beyond the narrow limits of the commonplace, and to whom a cabbage is but a vulgar vegetable, are surprised if they see a beautiful picture painted of one, and say that the artist has idealised it, meaning that he has consciously altered its appearance on some idealistic formula; whereas he has probably only honestly given expression to a truer, deeper vision than they had been aware of. The commonplace is not the true, but only the shallow, view of things.
[...]
Our moments of peace are, I think, always associated with some form of beauty, of this spark of harmony within corresponding with some infinite source without. [...]. In moments of beauty (for beauty is, strictly speaking, a state of mind rather than an attribute of certain objects [...]) we seem to get a glimpse of this deeper truth behind the things of sense. And who can say but that this sense, dull enough in most of us, is not an echo of a greater harmony existing somewhere the other side of things, that we dimly feel through them, evasive though it is”
― The Practice and Science of Drawing
[...]
Our moments of peace are, I think, always associated with some form of beauty, of this spark of harmony within corresponding with some infinite source without. [...]. In moments of beauty (for beauty is, strictly speaking, a state of mind rather than an attribute of certain objects [...]) we seem to get a glimpse of this deeper truth behind the things of sense. And who can say but that this sense, dull enough in most of us, is not an echo of a greater harmony existing somewhere the other side of things, that we dimly feel through them, evasive though it is”
― The Practice and Science of Drawing
Mia’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Mia’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
152 books
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44 friends
522 books
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2,100 books
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1,001 friends
5,646 books
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286 friends
369 books
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87 friends
190 books
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823 friends
683 books
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116 friends
1,182 books
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99 friends
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