Thinking (n.) is brought forth by the world in human heads with the same necessity that it brings forth blossoms on the plant.
Thinking (n.) is difficult, which is why most people judge.
Thinking (n.) tells us what it is that a thing is, whereas sensation tells us what a thing is, or feeling tells us what this thing is to us.
Thinking (n.) can be extraverted even when it deals only with ideas — if those ideas were borrowed from tradition or the intellectual atmosphere of the time.
Thinking (n.) however objective carries a running subjective accompaniment; shut that out and you extinguish the very spark of life from thought.
Thinking (n.) comes in two kinds that are incessantly at war: to each other, introverted thought looks arbitrary and extraverted thought looks dull and banal.
Thinking (n.) that is truly alive never merely destroys: even when it analyses it constructs, always putting a fresh value in place of the one it took away.
Thinking (n.) at its two extremes says either “Est, ergo est” — the fact speaks — or “Cogito, ergo cogito” — thought proving only that it thinks.
Thinking (n.) is the linking of ideas by a concept — an act of judgment; a mere stringing together of ideas is not thinking at all but ideation.
Thinking (n.) can claim only a third or a fourth of the world's meaning; the man who crowns the unity of the idea and despises feeling-sensation is like one with good eyes who is totally deaf and numb.
Thinking (n.) is a word only the philosopher fails to understand; every layman uses it daily and knows exactly what it means.
Thinking (n.) is not something the primitive does: he cannot assert that he thinks — rather "something thinks in him."
Thinking (n.) by men at all, and especially about him, is maddeningly disquieting to God and ought somehow to be stopped.
Thinking (n.) began as something that happened to us: the primitive does not think, the thoughts come to him, and we still call our best ideas inspirations.
Thinking (n.) was Goethe's tabooed fourth function: if 'feeling is all,' thinking must be submerged and returns grotesque, like the pot-bellied Cabiri mocking the heavenly gods.
Thinking (n.) has its own principle, coinciding with sexuality only in the polyvalent germ of the very young child; to reduce its origins to mere sexuality runs counter to the basic facts of psychology.
Thinking (n.) happens in the heart, the Pueblo Indians told Jung, and all Americans are crazy because they say they think in their heads.
Thinking (n.) cannot settle the world's problems alone: when you have thought the world you have done a quarter of it, and the other three-quarters may be against you.