My Work As A Psychoanalyst Is To

Solitude Is For Me A Fount Of Healing Which Makes My Life Worth Living.

The God-image In Man Was Not Destroyed By The Fall But Was Only Damaged And Corrupted (“deformed”), And Can Be Restored Through God's Grace. The Scope Of The Integration Is Suggested By The Descensus Ad Inferos, The Descent Of Christ's Soul To Hell, Its Work Of Redemption Embracing Even The Dead. The Psychological Equivalent Of This Is The Integration Of The Collective Unconscious Which Forms An Essential Part Of The Individuation Process.

It Is Proverbial, Of Course, That Man Never Learns From History, And, As A Rule, In Respect To A Problem Of The Present, It Can Teach Us Simply Nothing. The New Must Be Made Through Untrodden Regions, Without Suppositions, And Often, Unfortunately, Without Piety Also.

If You Are Unhappy, You Are Too High Up In Your Mind.

Life Has Always Seemed To Me Like A Plant That Lives On Its Rhizome. Its True Life Is Invisible, Hidden In The Rhizome. The Part That Appears Above Ground Lasts Only A Single Summer. Then It Withers Away—an Ephemeral Apparition. When We Think Of The Unending Growth And Decay Of Life And Civilizations, We Cannot Escape The Impression Of Absolute Nullity. Yet I Have Never Lost A Sense Of Something That Lives And Endures Underneath The Eternal Flux. What We See Is The Blossom, Which Passes. The Rhizome Remains.