No self is of itself alone.

Science cannot tell us a word about why music delights us, of why and how an old song can move us to tears.

The self is not so much linked to its ancestors, it is not so much the product, and merely the product, of all that, but rather, in the strictest sense of the word, the same thing as all that: the strict, direct continuation of it, just as the self aged fifty is the continuation of the self aged forty.

The sensation of colour cannot be accounted for by the physicist's objective picture of light-waves.

Whence come I and whither go I? That is the great unfathomable question. Science has no answer to it.

Matter and energy seem granular in structure, and so does “life”, but not so mind.

[A living organism] ... feeds upon negative entropy ... Thus the device by which an organism maintains itself stationary at a fairly high level of orderliness (= fairly low level of entropy) really consists in continually sucking orderliness from its environment.