I was reading Dostoevsky's short story The Dream of a Ridiculous Man and there was a thought there that I have thought many a times myself. I think I have mentioned it at some points on this blog too. A strange, almost ludicrous thought in a way, but maybe not. It's whether other than me, my consciousness, my experience, my perception, etc, whether anything outside of me, exists in any true sense at all? Do people just appear when I encounter them or are they living their own lives even when I do not see or hear them? Are only the things I see, hear, feel, touch real at that moment or are they real whether I am around or not? Does everything revolve around me (like the main character in a movie) or am I just an insignificant speck of matter like everybody else for whom it feels so because my consciousness and perception is all I can get a grip on...? Will everything just stop existing when I don't?

Following are lines from Dostoevsky...

"I may almost say that the world now seemed created for me alone: if I shot myself the world would cease to be at least for me. I say nothing of its being likely that nothing will exist for anyone when I am gone, and that as soon as my consciousness is extinguished the whole world will vanish too and become void like a phantom, as a mere appurtenance of my consciousness, for possibly all this world and all these people are only me myself."