Abstract
Like countless other adolescents, I went through a phase of passion for psychology. My own was possibly aroused by interest in sexual love and fed by a few of St Sigmund"s writings – which of course did not help – as well as by a number of friends intent on educating me. As told in Chap. 2, I soon learned that psychoanalysis is a branch of fantastic literature, that it does not understand love or even sex, and that there was nowhere in my country where one could study serious psychology, which at that time was only one more subject badly taught at best by psychiatrists in philosophy faculties.