The whole progress of society rests upon the opposition between successive generations
The freeing of an individual, as he grows up, from the authority of his parents is one of the most necessary though one of the most painful results brought about by the course of his development. It is quite essential that this liberation should occur and it may be presumed that it has been to some extent achieved by everyone who has reached a normal state. Indeed, the whole progress of society rests upon the opposition between successive generations. On the other hand, there is a class of neurotics whose condition is recognizably determined by their having failed in this task.
For a small child his parents are at first the only authority and the source of all belief. The child’s most intense and most momentous wish during these early years is to be like his parents (that is, the parent of his own sex) and to be big like his father and mother. But as intellectual growth increases, the child cannot help discovering by degrees the category to which his parents belong. He gets to know other parents and compares them with his own, and so comes to doubt the incomparable and unique quality which has he attributed to them. . . .
There are only too many occasions on which a child is slighted, or at least feels he has been slighted, on which he feels he is not receiving the whole of his parents’ love, and, most of all, on which he feels regrets at having to share it with his brothers and sisters. His sense that his own affection is not being fully reciprocated then finds a vent in the idea, which is often consciously recollected from early childhood, of being a step-child or an adopted child. . . .
The latter stage in the development of the neurotic’s estrangement from his parents, begun in this manner, might be described as “the neurotic's family romance.” It is seldom remembered consciously but can almost always be revealed by psycho-analysis. For a quite specific form of imaginative activity is one of the essential characteristics of neurotics and also of all comparatively highly gifted people. This activity emerges first in children’s play, and then, starting roughly from the period before puberty, takes over the topic of family relations. A characteristic example of this particular kind of phantasy is to be seen in the familiar day-dreams which persist far beyond puberty. . . .
At about the period I have mentioned, then, the child’s imagination becomes engaged in the task of getting free from the parents of whom he now has such a low opinion and of replacing them by others, occupying, as a rule, a higher social station. . . .
If anyone is inclined to turn away in horror from this depravity of the childish heart or feels tempted, indeed, to dispute the possibility of such things, he should observe that these works of fiction, which seem so full of hostility, are none of them really so badly intended, and that they still preserve, under a slight disguise, the child’s original affection for his parents. The faithlessness and ingratitude are only apparent. . . .
Indeed the whole effort at replacing the real father by a superior one is only an expression of the child’s longing for the happy, vanished days when his father seemed to him the noblest and strongest of men and mother the dearest and loveliest of women. He is turning away from the father whom he knows to-day to the father in whom he believed in the earlier years of his childhood; and his phantasy is no more than the expression of a regret that those happy days have gone. . . .
Nous n'aimons pas tant les gens pour le bien qu'ils nous ont fait, que pour le bien que nous leur faisons.
Aimer, ce n'est pas se regarder l'un l'autre, c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction.
Ce n'est pas un manque d'amour, mais un manque d'amitié qui rend les mariages malheureux.
La civilité et la politesse consistent essentiellement, si je ne suis pas trompé, en une sorte de façon de traiter ...
[Oprah Winfrey disait dans l'une des interviews :]
« Il y a une merveilleuse phrase de Maya Angelou, tirée d'un poème qu'elle a écrit s’intitulant « À nos grands-mères », elle y dit :
« J’avance seule, mais me tiens devant vous comme dix mille. ».
Donc quand j’entre dans une pièce, et en particulier avant que je ne commence quelque chose de vraiment difficile, une situation où je sens que je vais être face à certaines difficultés ; je m'assoie et pense à la force des dix mille. »