Horror as for me is the best choice, you can gain a lot of. I like to be afraid like to see this shit happening on me, I feel happy.

It wasn__ that she necessarily wanted to __ocialize_ at the bonfire, but she wanted to broadcast to the general population that her antisocial behavior was a personal choice not a sentence to social leprosy.

The universe has become not only conscious and aware of itself but capable in some respects of choosing its path into the future--though all three, the consciousness, the knowledge, and the choice, are dispersed over a vast crowd of beings, acting both individually and collectively.

Our consciousness on the physical plane is relatively crude. We view choice making in terms of language, but like time, language is a construct of the physical plane. Nonetheless, on some level and in some way that may be incomprehensible to us now, we chose all the components of who we are__hey are not imposed upon it.

There are many, many, many worlds branching out at each moment you become aware of your environment and then make a choice.

A notion of character, not so much discredited as simply forgotten, once held that people only came into themselves partway through their lives. They woke up, were they lucky enough to have consciousness, in the act of doing something they already knew how to do: feeding themselves with currants. Walking the dog. Knotting up a broken bootlace. Singing antiphonally in the choir. Suddenly: This is I, I am the girl singing this alto line off-key, I am the boy loping after the dog, and I can see myself doing it as, presumably, the dog cannot see itself. How peculiar! I lift on my toes at the end of the dock, to dive into the lake because I am hot, and while isolated like a specimen in the glassy slide of summer, the notions of hot and lake and I converge into a consciousness of consciousness__n an instant, in between launch and landing, even before I cannonball into the lake, shattering both my reflection and my old notion of myself.