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.

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Maturity is the ability to postpone gratification.

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The only shame in masturbation is the shame of not doing it well.

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One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful.

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We choose not randomly each other. We meet only those who already exists in our subconscious.

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Love is a state of temporary psychosis.

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Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways.

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All family life is organized around the most damaged person in it.

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The aim of psychoanalysis is to relieve people of their neurotic unhappiness so that they can be normally unhappy.

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We are what we are because we have been what we have been.

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