Every normal person, in fact, is only normal on the average. His ego approximates to that of the psychotic in some part or other and to a greater or lesser extent.
Every man is a poet at heart.
My love is something valuable to me which I ought not to throw away without reflection.
In mourning it is the world which has become poor and empty; in melancholia it is the ego itself.
The creative writer does the same as the child at play; he creates a world of fantasy which he takes very seriously.
We are never so vulnerable as when we love, and never so hopelessly unhappy as when we lose the object of our love.