We are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality,
against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.
There were always in me, two women at least,
one woman desperate and bewildered,
who felt she was drowning and another who
would leap into a scene, as upon a stage,
conceal her true emotions because they
were weaknesses, helplessness, despair,
and present to the world only a smile,
an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.
~ Anais Nin
I love talking about nothing. It is the only thing I know anything about.
A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.