One Never Quite Allows For The Moron

It Is Completely Unimportant. That Is Why It Is So Interesting.

Very Few Of Us Are What We Seem.

Everyone Likes Talking About Himself. - Hercule Poirot

I Looked At Her. Sheila Was My Girl--the Girl I Wanted--and Wanted For Keeps. But It Wasn't Any Use Having Illusions About Her. Sheila Was A Liar And Probably Always Would Be A Liar. It Was Her Way Of Fighting For Survival--the Quick Easy Glib Denial. It Was A Child's Weapon--and She'd Probably Never Got Out Of Using It. If I Wanted Sheila, I Must Accept Her As She Was--be At Hand To Prop Up The Weak Places. We've All Got Our Weak Places. Mine Were Different From Sheila's, But They Were There.

We Are The Same People As We Were At Three, Six, Ten Or Twenty Years Old. More Noticeably So, Perhaps, At Six Or Seven, Because We Were Not Pretending So Much Then.