The mind is not, I know, a highway but a temple, and its doors should not be carelessly left open.

Is there no way out of the mind?

Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.

The brain may be regarded as a kind of parasite of the organism, a pensioner, as it were, who dwells with the body.

The brain is an unreliable organ, it is monstrously great, monstrously developed. Swollen, like a goiter.

In psychoanalysis nothing is true except the exaggerations.

What is outside my mind means nothing to it.

Any man could, if he were so inclined, be the sculptor of his own brain.

The march of the human mind is slow.

The universe is an object of thought at least as much as it is a means of satisfying needs.

There is no female mind. The brain is not an organ of sex. As well speak of a female liver.

As is the face, so is the mind.

A mind lively and at ease can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer.