People are more fun than anyone.
The three major mother gods of the Eastern populations seemed to be generating and destroying entities at the same time; both goddesses of life and fertility as well as goddesses of death.
Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways.
Human beings are funny. They long to be with the person they love but refuse to admit openly. Some are afraid to show even the slightest sign of affection because of fear. Fear that their feelings may not be recognized, or even worst, returned. But one thing about human beings puzzles me the most is their conscious effort to be connected with the object of their affection even if it kills them slowly within.
We choose not randomly each other. We meet only those who already exists in our subconscious.
The aim of psychoanalysis is to relieve people of their neurotic unhappiness so that they can be normally unhappy.
One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful.
If you've got no responsibility and don't have to generate a certain amount of cash each month, and can live on a shoestring, and are ambitious enough, then you might have a chance. You can be dedicated but that is no guarantee that you'll make it. I rely on a hunch, a little luck, and some cunning.
Considered in its entirety, psychoanalysis won't do. It is an end product, moreover, like a dinosaur or a zeppelin; no better theory can ever be erected on its ruins, which will remain for ever one of the saddest and strangest of all landmarks in the history of twentieth century thought.
Dear Diary: My teen angst bullshit now has a body count.
I think I got a bruise from landing on you. I hear bacon is real good for healing a bruise.