The unconscious is structured like a language.

All sorts of things in this world behave like mirrors.

Since Freud, the center of man is not where we thought it was; one has to go on from there.

Love means giving something you don't have to someone who doesn't want it.

As is known, it is in the realm of experience inaugurated by psychoanalysis that we may grasp along what imaginary lines the human organism, in the most intimate recesses of its being, manifests its capture in a symbolic dimension.

Writings scatter to the winds blank checks in an insane charge. And were they not such flying leaves, there would be no purloined letters.

The only thing of which one can be guilty is of having given ground relative to one's desire.