Introspection (n.) tries to rebuild out of detached fragments what was given all at once, in a single surge.
Introspection (n.) meets with nothing but facts — and my comprehension of myself is dim and inauthentic.
Introspection (n.) can sleuth the heart like a detective for a lifetime and only find the one certain thing: that I acted as I did.
Introspection (n.) misreads the self-reported visual or auditory type as a visualizer, when that person has only failed to observe himself and missed the real word, the movement, behind the image.
Introspection (n.) leads psychologists into two opposite errors: because I sometimes think I love when I hate, I posit an unconscious; because my revulsion is certain, I think my hatred is too.