The Nasal stage of childhood is that period of toddler curiousity that leads to attempting to stick everything up the nose. Freud might have lumped it in with Oral, because some of it winds up in the mouth as well, but I think that the Nasal stage is something completely different.
It's not about deriving comfort from mouthing something, it's about finding out about the world via that immensely sensitive instrument, the nose.
Children smacked down in the nasal stage are uncurious and neophobic later in life, and don't care to learn things. They may have a horror of snot and other bodily substances. They may be utterly indifferent to smell, which could lead to a certain level of Personal Stank through inappropriate personal scents of either an artificial or bodily nature.
Children not given enough guidance in the nasal stage are inappropriately curious, and will either wear too much perfume on the grounds that it smells good to them, not do anything to curb a rampant body odor on the grounds that they want to smell like themselves and they don't mind it, put weird stuff up their nose in adulthood (snorting drugs, Homer Simpson and his crayon) or be obsessed with gathering knowledge to an unhealthy extent (malicious or overly familiar gossip, prying into things they know are none of their concern, or, in extreme cases, Mad Scientist Syndrome). Snot jokes are funny to these people. Computer security crackers did not get enough ethical structure during their Nasal stage.
Children who have healthily exited the Nasal Stage remain curious about the world as adults, but know when to stop in the search for information.
I was talking this over with trystan_laryssa last night, see. And hcolleen during the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster thing, and hcolleen, kilarneyblarney, azwriter, M, and V at freshstartwrite on Wednesday night.
Great fun was had by all.
Then Management noticed what I think was actually my lotion, and remarked that I smelled particularly nice today. I wasn't sure whether it was the lotion, another of a wide range of toiletries, or my un-brewed tea bag in my cup. She urged Blood Pressure Cuff Manager (who wears a combination elbow brace/blood pressure cuff/something-or-other monitor) to sniff me. There was much hilarity involved in the subsequent discussion of "any plan that involves sniffing an employee is probably a bad one," whereupon I broke out the Freud.