But what then am I? A thing which thinks. What is a
thing which thinks? It is a thing which doubts, understands,
[conceives], affirms, denies, wills, refuses, which also
imagines and feels.
Certainly it is no small matter if all these things
pertain to my nature. But why should they not so pertain? Am
I not that being who now doubts nearly everything, who
nevertheless understands certain things, who affirms that one
only is true, who denies all the others, who desires to know
more, is averse from being deceived, who imagines many things,
sometimes indeed despite his will, and who perceives many
likewise, as by the intervention of the bodily organs? Is
there nothing in all this which is as true as it is certain
that I exist, even though I should always sleep and though he
who has given me being employed all his ingenuity in deceiving
me? Is there likewise any one of these attributes which can
be distinguished from my thought, or which might be said to be
separated from myself? For it is so evident of itself that it
is I who doubts, who understands, and who desires, that there
is no reason here to add anything to explain it.
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