"All my life I have had to tell people truths that were difficult to swallow."
- Sigmund Freud
Freud's hair was beginning to darken as his temper was beginning to rise against Mark Twain.
I hurriedly asked, "So what letter in this Free Association are we up to anyway?"
"O", he answered curtly.
Before Mark had a chance to say something that would let me learn if one ghost could kill another,
I said, "Opinion."
Freud scratched his chin. "Odd. You do not strike me as one who cares what another says of him."
"I don't except for what it tells me about them."
"When we are young we generally estimate an
opinion by the size of the person that holds it,
but later we find that it
is an uncertain rule, for we realize that there are times when a hornet's
opinion disturbs us more than an emperor's."
"Yeah," I laughed.
"Anyone who sneers at the effectiveness of small opponents has never shared a bed with a mosquito."
"Ain't that the truth? But truth is over-rated when it comes to opinions.
I am not one of those who in expressing opinions confine themselves to
Freud drolled, "How unsurprising."
He saw the worry on my face.
"This antagonism is of long duration within me I fear.
My growing resentment towards the world was no doubt intensified by the
necessity of having to be kind and tolerant every day."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "You call how you've been acting as kind?"
The storm clouds gathered within Freud's eyes, and I said at a clip. "What is that next letter, Doctor?"
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