ABSTRACT
In 1927 a new and surprising insight into the origin and nature of love occurred to me—an insight at once adventurous and daring. Some of its implications, in their character and consequences, were even breath-taking. I myself am a cautious and anxious person, and these implications, of the very opposite nature to my own, alarmed me by their boldness. I foresaw the difficulties I would encounter in following them and I had a premonition that I would be incapable of overcoming them. After having made some notes on the subject I felt discouraged and slipped them into one of the folders where I hide my frustrated intellectual attempts. (I have many such folders, handsome covers to my imperfections.)
