Child (n.) ren (n.) must often re-enact, under unconscious compulsion, the unlived lives of their parents — the son of the man of mere industriousness becomes sheer erotic passion.
A Child (n.) is born with an immense split: on one side more or less an animal, on the other the final embodiment of an age-old, endlessly complicated inheritance.
A Child (n.) is potential future in dreams and myth — not a backwash but an anticipation of the personality to come; that is why so many saviours are child gods.
A Child (n.) is both beginning and end — the creature that existed before man was and will be when man is not: our pre-conscious and post-conscious essence.
A Child (n.) is at first a functional appendage of the parents' psyche — proof: he speaks of himself in the third person.
Child (n.) ren (n.) are the cement of a marriage: without them each partner's interest turns on the other, and each blames the other for the dissatisfaction felt by both.
Child (n.) ren (n.) complete their parents' growing up, forcing them into the role of father and mother which, infantile, they had always seen only in others.
Child (n.) ren (n.) are not listened to at any stage: in all essentials we treat them as non compos mentis, and in all unessentials drill them to the perfection of automatons.
A Child (n.) whose difficulties look like sexuality usually reflects not its own psychology but the sexually disturbed psychology of the parents.
A Child (n.) who is difficult — obstinate, disobedient, peculiar — is mistakenly read as especially individual; almost without exception the only valid reasons lie in the parents.
A Child (n.) who is backward may, for all poverty of intellect, be distinguished by a richness of heart — loyalty, affection, devotion, self-sacrifice.
A Child (n.) takes the imprint of the parents' self-deception, hypocrisy and cowardice as wax takes the seal: repressed suffering seeps through the thickest walls of silence.
Child (n.) ren (n.) have an almost uncanny nose for a teacher's personal failings and can tell false from true far better than adults care to admit.
A Child (n.) is not an appendage of the mother but a new creature, sometimes frighteningly alien: children are only nominally descended from their parents and actually born from the ancestral stock — sometimes one must go back centuries to see the family likeness.
The Child (n.) at the dawn of consciousness is still close to the deep unconscious it has just left, which is why children have archetypal dreams — read in the East as memories of a former life.