Buffoons, Buffoons! One Can Play Any Tune

Not One Of Us Can Lie Or Pretend. We're All Fixed In Good Faith In A Certain Concept Of Ourselves.

It Is Misery, You Know, Unspeakable Misery For The Man Who Lives Alone And Who Detests Sordid, Casual Affairs; Not Old Enough To Do Without Women, But Not Young Enough To Be Able To Go And Look For One Without Shame!

We Think We Understand Each Other, But We Never Really Do.

We All Have A World Of Things Inside Ourselves And Each One Of Us Has His Own Private World. How Can We Understand Each Other If The Words I Use Have The Sense And The Value That I Expect Them To Have, But Whoever Is Listening To Me Inevitably Thinks That Those Same Words Have A Different Sense And Value, Because Of The Private World He Has Inside Himself, Too.

A Fact Is Like A Sack Which Won't Stand Up If It's Empty. In Order That It May Stand Up, One Has To Put Into It The Reason And Sentiment Which Caused It To Exist.