I am astonished, disappointed, pleased with myself. I am distressed, depressed, rapturous. I am all these things at once, and cannot add up the sum. I am incapable of determining ultimate worth or worthlessness; I have no judgment about myself and my life. There is nothing I am quite sure about. I have no definite convictions- not about anything, really. I know only that I was born and exist, and it seems to me that I have been carried along. I exist on the foundation of something I do not know.
In a considerable number of cases, […] the analysis divides itself into two clearly separated stages. In the first one, the doctor procures from the patient the necessary information, makes him familiar with the premises and postulates of psycho-analysis, and unfolds to him the rendering of the genesis of his disorder, as deduced from the material brought up in the analysis. In the second stage the patient himself lays hold of the analytic material, works on it, recollects what he can from the apparently repressed memories, and tries to live over again the rest. […] It is only during this work that he experiences, through overcoming resistances, the inner change aimed at, and acquires for himself the convictions that make him independent of the doctor’s authority.
One may institute a comparison with two corresponding stages of a journey. The first comprises all the necessary preparations, […] till at last, ticket in hand, one goes on to the platform and secures a seat in the train. One now has the right, and the possibility, to travel into the distant country, but after all these preliminary exertions one is not yet there—indeed, one is not a single kilometer nearer one’s goal. For this to happen one has to make the journey itself from one station to another, and this part of the travel may well be compared with the second stage in the analysis.
I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.
All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life—where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it.
You become what you think about all day long.
In all chaos there is a cosmos, in all disorder a secret order.
Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness. It is far better take things as they come along with patience and equanimity.
That’s the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it’s impossible to ever see the end.
When people are ready to, they change. They never do it before then, and sometimes they die before they get around to it. You can’t make them change if they don’t want to, just like when they do want to, you can’t stop them.
The most successful people recognize that in life they create their own love, they manufacture their own meaning, they generate their own motivation.