We are all in a race for dear life: that is to say, we are fugitives from death.
Love is an attempt to change a piece of a dream world into reality.
In order to be happy oneself it is necessary to make at least one other person happy.
The man who has never made a fool of himself in love will never be wise in love.
The small share of happiness attainable by man exists only insofar as he is able to cease to think of himself.
The repressed memory is like a noisy intruder being thrown out of the concert hall. You can throw him out, but he will bang on the door and continue to disturb the concert. The analyst opens the door and says, If you promise to behave yourself, you can come back in.