Consciousness (n.) is the single thin thread by which the whole immeasurable, massive world hangs.
Consciousness (n.) is not requisite for acting. Most existences are without it and do just fine.
Consciousness (n.) is the mere surface of our minds, of which, as of the earth, we do not know the inside, but only the crust.
Consciousness (n.) is filled by will. We are the mere subject of that unceasing throng of desires which fills us with constant hopes and fears.
Consciousness (n.) is the tone the will produces once knowledge, its sounding-board, is added — as a vibrating string makes no sound without air, and sunlight no day without bodies to reflect it.
Consciousness (n.) is not a condition of will: plants plainly have none, yet the will is the prius, and consciousness only appears with the intellect, the posterius.
Consciousness (n.) at its lowest in animals, hunger, watchfulness and snapping at prey, is the first twilight of the world as representation, with everything but the present motive still shrouded in darkness.
Consciousness (n.) was called in as a device, a mechane: when creatures grew too many to wait for food to drift by, the will lit a lamp to find it — and with that, the whole world as idea came into existence at a stroke.