Whoever loves becomes humble. Those who love have, so to speak, pawned a part of their narcissism.

Desire presses ever forward unsubdued.

No one who has seen a baby sinking back satiated from the breast and falling asleep with flushed cheeks and a blissful smile can escape the reflection that this picture persists as a prototype of the expression of sexual satisfaction in later life.

Without love we fall ill.

As everyone knows, the ancients before Aristotle did not consider the dream a product of the dreaming mind, but a divine inspiration, and in ancient times the two antagonistic streams, which one finds throughout in the estimates of dream life, were already noticeable. They distinguished between true and valuable dreams, sent to the dreamer to warn him or to foretell the future, and vain, fraudulent, and empty dreams, the object of which was to misguide or lead him to destruction.

The only person with whom you have to compare ourselves, is that you in the past. And the only per-son better you should be, this is who you are now.

In mourning it is the world which has become poor and empty; in melancholia it is the ego itself.