Buffoons, Buffoons! One Can Play Any Tune

I Would Love To Spend All My Time Writing To You; I'd Love To Share With You All That Goes Through My Mind, All That Weighs On My Heart, All That Gives Air To My Soul; Phantoms Of Art, Dreams That Would Be So Beautiful If They Could Come True.

The Father: But Don't You See That The Whole Trouble Lies Here? In Words, Words. Each One Of Us Has Within Him A Whole World Of Things, Each Man Of Us His Own Special World. And How Can We Ever Come To An Understanding If I Put In The Words I Utter The Sense And Value Of Things As I See Them; While You Who Listen To Me Must Inevitably Translate Them According To The Conception Of Things Each One Of You Has Within Himself. We Think We Understand Each Other, But We Never Really Do.

Woman - For Example, Look At Her Case! She Turns Tantalizing Inviting Glances On You. You Seize Her. No Sooner Does She Feel Herself In Your Grasp Than She Closes Her Eyes. It Is A Sign Of Her Mission, The Sign By Which She Says To Man: "blind Yourself, For I Am Blind."

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!

Refusing To Have An Opinion Is A Way Of Having One, Isn't It?