A man's work reveals him. In social intercourse he gives you the surface that he wishes the world to accept, but in his book or his picture the real man delivers himself defenceless. No affectation of peculiarity can conceal a commonplace mind. No one can produce the most casual work without disclosing the innermost secrets of his soul.

I was tired of pretending that I was someone else just to get along with people, just for the sake of having friendships.

The truth has not so much set us free as it has ripped away a carefully constructed facade, leaving us naked to begin again.