We celebrate peace. Yet we pay no attention to the ways of curing aggression in human beings. And when one sees in psychoanalysis hostility disappearing as people conquer their fears, one wonders if the cure is not there.
What I cannot love, I overlook. Is that real friendship?
Sometimes we reveal ourselves when we are least like ourselves.
Adolescence is like cactus.
Some people read to confirm their own hopelessness. Others read to be rescued from it.
We are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.