The following was the occasion of the dream. Louise N., the lady who was assisting me in my job in the dream, had been calling on me. "Lend me something to read," she had said. I offered her Rider Haggard's She. "A strange book, but full of hidden meaning, I began to explain to her; "the eternal feminine, the immortality of our emotions. . ." Here she interrupted me: "I know it already. Have you nothing of your own?" -- "No, my own immortal works have not yet been written." -- "Well, when are we to expect these ao-called ultimate explanations of yours which you've promised even we shall find readable?" she asked with a touch of sarcasm. At that point I saw that someone else was admonishing me through her mouth, and I was silent. I reflected on the amount of self-discipline it was costing me to offer the public even my book upon dreams -- I should have to give away so much of my own private character in it.
Das beste, was du wissen kannst,
Darfst du den Buben doch nicht sagen.
The task which was imposed on me in the dream of carrying out a dissection of my own body was thus my self-analysis which was linked up with my giving an account of my own dreams. Old Brücke came in here appropriately; even in the first years of my scientific work it happened that I allowed a discovery of mine to lie fallow until an energetic remonstrance on his part drove me into publishing it. The further thoughts which were started up by my conversation with Louise N. went too deep to become conscious.
(Freud, 1900 [SE5, pp. 453 -454)