How small a thought it takes to fill a life.

All I know is what I have words for.

We are asleep. Our Life is a dream. But we wake up sometimes, just enough to know that we are dreaming.

I act with complete certainty. But this certainty is my own.

Our civilization is characterized by the word "progress." Progress is its form rather than making progress being one of its features. Typically it constructs. It is occupied with building an ever more complicated structure. And even clarity is sought only.

Suppose someone were to say: 'Imagine this butterfly exactly as it is, but ugly instead of beautiful'?!

If there were a verb meaning "to believe falsely," it would not have any significant first person, present indicative.