“My dear doctor,
I shall make you a confession … I have been struggling with the question of why I have never, in all these years, made an effort to meet you … I think I have avoided you out of a kind of fear of finding my own double . . . When I read one of your beautiful works I seem to encounter again and again, behind the poetic fiction, the very presumptions, interests and conclusions so well known to me from my own thoughts . . . Your ability to be deeply moved by the truths of the unconscious, the recurrence of your thoughts to the polarity of love and death—all of this had for me an uncanny familiarity . . . Forgive me for straying into analysis—that is, after all, all I know. ” - letter from Freud to Arthur Schnitzler
You must stay there and be wonderful, any kind of closeness will ruin me. I shall lose identity and fragrant pillows over you, tigress of my soul, epidemics of my fabric.
