There's a fine line between a stream of consciousness and a babbling brook to nowhere.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
There's a constant drip and trickle of life that goes into one's awareness really and consciousness of things.
Life is a state of consciousness.
Anyone who claims to have an entirely clear conscience is almost certainly a bore.
Consciousness - that, to me, is the theme of the modern novel.
If I take refuge in ambiguity, I assure you that it's quite conscious.
Where you are in consciousness has everything to do with what you see in experience.
Consciousness is a disease.
Conscious thought is the tidying up at the end.
Consciousness is an end in itself. We torture ourselves getting somewhere, and when we get there it is nowhere, for there is nowhere to get to.
Ill habits gather unseen degrees, as brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.