Whatever became of the moment when one first knew about death? There must have been one. A moment. In childhood. When it first occurred to you that you don’t go on forever. It must have been shattering, stamped into one’s memory. And yet, I can’t remember it.

I don't think Stoppardian has a precise definition.

I feel overestimated.

Maturity is a high price to pay for growing up.

I've lost all capacity for disbelief. I'm not sure that I could even rise to a little gentle scepticism.

The results of the divorce between truth and human beings can be most graphically observed in politics.

To be frank: the translations that often sound bad in the mouths of the actors, these have often been done by linguists.