"O, what a world of unseen visions and heard silences, this insubstantial country of the mind! What ineffable essences, these touchless rememberings and unshowable reveries! And the privacy of it all! A secret theater of speechless monologue and prevenient counsel, an invisible mansion of all moods, musings, and mysteries, an infinite resort of disappointments and discoveries. A whole kingdom where each of us reigns reclusively alone, questioning what we will, commanding what we can. A hidden hermitage where we may study out the troubled book of what we have done and yet may do. An introcosm that is more myself than anything I can find in a mirror. This consciousness that is myself of selves, that is everything, and yet is nothing at all - what is it? And where did it come from? And why?"

At the risk of sounding like a pretentious wanker, I am reading a really intriguing book right now. The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind. The above quote is from the opening chapter. I'm not far into it, so can't tell you much about it yet, but check out the amazon reviews. I've always been fascinated by the nature of consciousness, and thoroughly enjoy entertaining all sorts of foolish notions purely for the freshness of perspective.