I want to know everything about you, so I tell you everything about myself.

I am not quite myself, I think.But who here is quite himself? And yet there is a way in which we are all more ourselves than ever, I suppose.

It was like that class at school where the teacher talks about Realization, about how you could realize something big in a commonplace thing. The example he gave--and the liar said it really happened--was that once while drinking orange juice, he'd realized he would be dead someday. He wondered if we, his students, had had similar 'realizations.' Is he kidding? I thought. Once I cashed a paycheck and I realized it wasn't enough. Once I had food poisoning, and realized I was trapped inside my body.

The year I began to say vahz instead of vase, a man I barely knew nearly accidentally killed me.

For peace of mind, I will lie about any thing at any time.

It is possible to imagine a person so entirely that the image resists attempts to dislodge it.

I thought, my love is so good, why isn't it calling the same thing back.