Sigmund Freud sender en tekst til sin venn Wilhelm Fliess som er skrevet i stor fart, og som han ikke skjønner selv

Sigmund Freud skriver til sin venn Wilhelm Fliess i Berlin:

"Here it is. It was difficult for me to make up my mind to let it out of my hands. Personal intimacy would not have been a sufficient reason; it also took our intellectual honesty to each other.

It completely follows the dictates of the unconscious, on the well-known principle of Itzig, the Sunday rider. OeItzig, where are you going?" Do I know? Ask the horse."

I did not start a single paragraph knowing where I would end up. It is of course not written for the reader; after the first two pages I gave up any attempt at stylization. On the other hand, I do of course believe in the conclusions I do not yet have the slightest idea what form the content will finally take. "