Lie long enough and eventually you'll believe yourself.
Let's don't join the mask to say the truth and without a mask to say the lie. DON't BE a such pussy, people which are an idiots, stupid and... they do this. You aren't one of them, unless you join the...
What I wear on and off stage is my mask. You see, a mask doesn't hide you, it exposes you.
Doubtless some ancient Greek has observed that behind the big mask and the speaking-trumpet, there must always be our poor little eyes peeping as usual and our timorous lips more or less under anxious...
I believe in my mask-- The man I made up is meI believe in my dance-- And my destiny
Below the surface I lie dreaming,haunting images, in all colours and black.Sunlit sometimes there is no sun there.I keep the dream below the surface,the cracked mask absolute.
I hid my wound under my clothes. Nobody could see it, including myself, and I completely forgot about it. Then I met someone who, filled with love, held me tight in that point. The pain was devastatin...
Was Briony the only person who could hear the venom dripping from the woman’s tongue? What good was beauty — a mature beauty, but beauty nonetheless — if it cloaked such a viperous soul?
Leaving the group, he reclined on a couch, drank morosely, and watched people. He noticed the games they played with one another. They put on masks of civility, all while spewing their venom.
Horror is the removal of masks.
I fear the many faces, many personalities in me. Sometimes I fail to understand my self and become deceived by my various selves.
In our more arrogant moments, the sin of pride—or superbia, in Augustine's Latin formulation—takes over our personalities and shuts us off from those around us. We become dull to others when all we se...
She had blue skin,And so did he.He kept it hidAnd so did she.They searched for blueTheir whole life through,Then passed right by-And never knew.
What is a woman to me? The answer must be: A projection. Who is projecting, and for what reason, I cannot necessarily know from the performance itself. Mr. Umewaka and Mr. Mikata do not when playing t...
Seven times have I despised my soul: The sixth time when she despised the ugliness of a face, and knew not that it was one of her own masks.
He needed her so badly, to reassure himself of his own existence, that he never comprehended the desperation in her dazzling, permanent smile, the terror in the brightness with which she faced the wor...
As a child I had been quiet and invisible when troubled; as an adult, I had hidden my mental illness behind an elaborate construction of laughter and work and dissembling.
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