A psychiatrist protects the identity of an amnesia patient accused of murder while attempting to recover his memory.

Dr. Alex Brulov: Good night and sweet dreams... which we'll analyze at breakfast.
Dr. Alex Brulov: My dear girl, you can not keep bumping your head against reality and saying it is not there.
Dr. Alex Brulov: Women make the best psychoanalysts until they fall in love. After that they make the best patients.
John Ballantine: That Freud stuff's a bunch of hooey.
Dr. Alex Brulov: Oh, you are a fine one to talk! You have a guilt complex and amnesia and you don't know if you are coming or going from somewhere, but Freud is hooey! *This* you know! Hmph! Wiseguy.
Dr. Murchison: The old must make way for the new, especially when the old is suspected of senility.
Constance Petersen: I think the greatest harm done the human race has been done by the poets
Anthony Edwardes: Oh, poets are dull boys, most of them, but not especially fiendish.
Constance Petersen: They keep filling people's heads with delusions about love... writing about it as if it were a symphony orchestra or a flight of angels.
Anthony Edwardes: Which is isn't, eh?
Constance Petersen: Of course not. People fall in love, as they put it, because they respond to a certain hair coloring or vocal tones or mannerisms that remind them of their parents.
Anthony Edwardes: Or... or... sometimes for no reason at all.
Constance Petersen: That's not the point. The point is that people read about love as one thing and experience it as another. Well, they expect kisses to be like lyrical poems and embraces to be like Shakespearean dramas.
Anthony Edwardes: And when they find out differently, then they get sick and have to be analyzed, eh?
Constance Petersen: Yes, very often.
Anthony Edwardes: Professor, you're suffering from "mogo on the gogo"
Constance Petersen: I beg your pardon!
Constance Petersen: All analysts have to be psychoanalyzed by other analysts before they start practicing.
John Ballantine: Ahhh, that's to make sure that they're not too crazy.
John Ballantine: For what it's worth, I can't remember ever having kissed another woman before.
Dr. Alex Brulov: I congratulate you and wish you have babies, not psychoses.
John Ballantine: I'm haunted, but I can't see by what!
[last lines]
Dr. Alex Brulov: And remember what I say - any husband of Constance is a husband of mine, so to speak.
John Ballantine: [laughing] All right! Goodbye; good luck!
Dr. Alex Brulov: Good bye!
John Ballantine: Now, this honeymoon is complicated enough without your dragging medical ethics into it.
Dr. Alex Brulov: There's lots of happiness in working hard. Maybe the most.
[first title card]
Title Card: The fault... is not in our stars, but in ourselves... - Shakespeare
Dr. Alex Brulov: We are speaking of a schizophrenic and not a Valentine.
Constance Petersen: We are speaking of a man.
John Ballantine: If there's anything I hate, it's a smug woman.
Dr. Alex Brulov: You grant me I know more than you, but on the other hand, you know more than me. Women's talk. Bah!
[after John has finally admitted that Dr. Edwardes fell off a cliff in a skiing accident and that he did not murder him]
Constance Petersen: Well, thank goodness it's all cleared up.
Det. Lt. Cooley: Well, not quite, Dr. Petersen. I'm afraid a bullet was found in the body.
Dr. Alex Brulov: Apparently the mind is never too sick to make jokes about psychoanalysis.
Dr. Alex Brulov: What is there for you to see? We both know that the mind of a woman in love is operating on the lowest level of the intellect!
Dr. Alex Brulov: And how do you know what his real character is?
Constance Petersen: I know. I know.
Dr. Alex Brulov: She knows. This is the way science goes backward. Who told you what he is? Freud?, or a crystal ball?
Constance Petersen: I'll make you coffee with an egg in it.
Constance Petersen: I'm here as your doctor only. It has nothing to do with love.
[John kisses her and they embrace each other tightly]
Constance Petersen: Nothing at all. Nothing at all...
[first lines]
Nurse: [offscreen] Miss Carmichael, please. Dr. Petersen is ready for you.
Constance Petersen: Are you making love to me?
Dr. Fleurot: I will in a moment. I'm just clearing the ground first.
John Ballantine: Do you want ham or liverwurst?
Constance Petersen: Liverwurst!
Dr. Fleurot: It's rather like embracing a textbook.
Constance Petersen: But why do you do it, then?
Dr. Fleurot: Because you're not a textbook.
Dr. Murchison: [with his revolver pointed at Constance] You're an excellent analyst, Dr. Peterson, but a rather stupid woman.

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