Even Alone We Go On Justifying Ourselves.

An Ardent Lover Often Makes A Cold Friend.

Self-deception Is Nature; Hypocrisy Is Art.

The Vices Of Youth Now Exceed My Powers, But Not My Fancy.

Ironic And Jittery, We Are Puzzled By The Old Heroes With Their Fighting, Boasting, And Cocksure Lovemaking.

Hatred Makes Me Energetic, But Confused.