It's a mystery to me how anyone ever gets any nourishment in this place. They must eat their meals standing up by the window so as to be sure of not missing anything.

For in the long run, either through a lie, or through truth, people were bound to give themselves away.

Your not reliable. You wouldn't be at all a comfortable sort of person to live with.

Do you know my friend that each one of us is a dark mystery, a maze of conflicting passions and desire and aptitudes?

It's a mystery to me how anyone ever gets any nourishment in this place. They must eat their meals standing up by the window so as to be sure of not missing anything.

In the midst of life, we are in death.

There are questions that you don't ask because you're afraid of the answers to them.