Don't you believe that there is in man a deep so profound as to be hidden even to him in whom it is?
I think we're all mysteries to ourselves.
Like blind hens, we are ignorant of our own self and the depths within us.
Coastal people never really know what the ocean symbolizes to landlocked inland people--what a great distant dream it is, present but unseen in the deepest level of subconsciousness, and when they arrive at the ocean and the conscious images are compared with the subconscious dream there is a sense of defeat at having come so far to be stopped by a mystery that can never be fathomed. The source of it all.
I think of myself as a complete mystery. To myself.
I am as mysterious to myself as I am mysterious to others.
Consciousness is the mere surface of our minds, of which, as of the earth, we do not know the inside, but only the crust.
I am a mystery to myself.
The thing with your heart's desire is that your heart doesn't even know what it desires until it turns up.
On him does death lie heavily, who, but too well known to all, dies to himself unknown.
He had supposed for years that he had no secrets from himself. Here was proof that he had a great big secret somewhere inside, and he could not imagine what it was.
