Repression (n.) is a defense mechanism . ..
Repression (n.) is the cornerstone on which rests the whole edifice of psychoanalysis.
Repression (n.) follows, in Freud's early account, when a traumatic complex is incompatible with the normal contents of consciousness, so the patient treats it as "non arrivé" and the affect cannot be abreacted.
Repression (n.) does not abolish a wish; the wish still exists, merely held down, and its machinery remains in working order.
Repression (n.) moves things upstairs: sexual sensations are transposed from lower to upper parts of the body, and the face stands in for the genitals.
Repression (n.) is not only a war between agencies; sometimes the suppressed and the suppressing work side by side, intensifying each other into illness.
Repression (n.) works on a thought as on a tourist on the Great Pyramid: pushed from below by the censor, pulled from above by the unconscious.
Repression (n.) leaves the repressed idea like an American dentist in Austria: forbidden to practise unless a licensed doctor lends his name as a cover — and it is never the busiest doctors who agree.
Repression (n.) began as flight: the primitive mind dropping the memory of a pain exactly as it once ran from the perception.
Repression (n.) has a key: the second system can think an idea only if it can stop that idea from releasing unpleasure; whatever escapes that check is dropped by both systems.
Repression (n.) goes on existing in normal people as in the sick, still capable of functioning — dreams are the proof.
Repression (n.) is kept silent by day because its contradictions are settled, one side thrown out; by night, wanting compromise, it forces its way into consciousness.
Repression (n.) is not a thought being moved to another place, as in a battle for ground, but energy being attached or withdrawn; what moves is not the structure but its charge.
Repression (n.) is useful at first and ruinous in the end — a damaging loss of control — and it seizes memories more easily than perceptions because memories get no extra charge from the senses.
Repression (n.) runs both ways: a thought can't become conscious because it is repressed, but sometimes it is repressed only because it was first withdrawn from awareness.
Repression (n.) makes long-repressed memories look meaningless when they slip into consciousness by a roundabout path.
Repression (n.) leaves a suppressed element always striving to assert itself elsewhere, succeeding only when suitable conditions meet it halfway.
Repression (n.) draws an innocent name down with it, the way the repressed element gets hold of a neighbour by association and pulls it into the dark.
Repression (n.) splits an instinctual trend: its libidinal elements become symptoms, its aggressive components become a sense of guilt.
Repression (n.) does not abolish the instinct, only banishes it; so both prohibition and desire persist — the prohibition because if it ceased, the instinct would break through.