When The Characters Are Really Alive Before

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 Man, The Writer, The Instrument Of The Creation Will Die, But His Creation Does Not Die.

Man Never Reasons So Much And Becomes So Introspective As When He Suffers; Since He Is Anxious To Get At The Cause Of His Sufferings, To Learn Who Has Produced Them, And Whether It Is Just Or Unjust That He Should Have To Bear Them.

Each Of Us When He Appears Before His Fellows Is Clothed In A Certain Dignity. But Every Man Knows What Unconfessable Things Pass Within The Secrecy Of His Own Heart.

Inevitably We Construct Ourselves. Let Me Explain. I Enter This House And Immediately I Become What I Have To Become, What I Can Become: I Construct Myself. That Is, I Present Myself To You In A Form Suitable To The Relationship I Wish To Achieve With You. And, Of Course, You Do The Same With Me.