Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through.
The secret of life was Breath. That was what I always wanted my words to do, to Breathe.
I was stirred only like a leaf in the wind, that is all. . .
This diary is my kief, hashish and opium pipe. This is my drug and my vice.
I was thinking of my patients, and how the worst moment for them was when they discovered they were masters of their own fate. It was not a matter of bad or good luck. When they could no longer blame fate, they were in despair.
All the art of analysis consists in saying a truth only when the other person is ready for it, has been prepared for it by an organic process of gradation and evolution.