The Cocktail Party

We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.

It will do you no harm to find yourself ridiculous. Resign yourself to be the fool you are... ...We must always take risks. That is our destiny...

I must tell you that I should really like to think there's something wrong with me- Because, if there isn't, then there's something wrong with the world itself-and that's much more frightening! That would be terrible. So I'd rather believe there is something wrong with me, that could be put right.

And if all that is meaningless, I want to be cured Of a craving for something I cannot find And of the shame of never finding it.

There was a door And I could not open it. I could not touch the handle. Why could I not walk out of my prison? What is hell? Hell is oneself, Hell is alone, the other figures in it Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from And nothing to Escape to. One is always alone.

If we all were judged according to the consequences Of all our words and deeds, beyond the intention And beyond our limited understanding Of ourselves and others, we should all be condemned.

You will have to live with those memories and make them into something new. Only by acceptance of the past will you alter its meaning.

All cases are unique, and very similar to others.

Everyone’s alone—or so it seems to me. They make noises, and think they are talking to each other; They make faces, and think they understand each other, And I’m sure they don’t. Is that delusion? Can we only love Something created in our own imaginations?

Your burden is not to clear your conscience But to learn how to bear the burdens on your conscience.

Half the harm that is done in this world Is due to people who want to feel important.

Reilly: The human condition...they may remember the vision they have had, but they cease to regret it, maintain themselves by the common routine, learn to avoid excessive expectation, Become tolerant of themselves and others, Giving and taking, in the usual actions what there is to give and take. They do not repine; Are contented with the morning that separates and with the evening that brings together for casual talk before the fire. Two people who know they do not understand each other, breeding children whom they do not understand and who will never understand them. Celia: Is that the best life? Reilly: It is a good life. Though you will not know how good until you come to the end. But you will want nothing else, and the other life will be only like a book you have read once, and lost. In a world of lunacy, violence, stupidity, greed...it is a good life.

What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them.

Disillusion can become itself an illusion If we rest in it.

And then you came back, you The angel of destruction-just as I felt sure. In a moment, at your touch, there is nothing but ruin.

There is certainly no purpose in remaining in the dark Except long enough to clear from the mind The illusion of having ever been in the light.

Are contented with the morning that separates And with the evening that brings together For casual talk before the fire Two people who know they do not understand each other, Breeding children whom they do not understand And who will never understand them.

I thought that if I died To you, I who had only been a ghost to you, You might be able to find the road back To a time when you were real -

But that we had merely made use of each other Each for his purpose. That's horrible. Can we only love Something created by our own imagination?

U- I ask you to forget nothing. To try to forget is to try to conceal. E- There are certainly things I should like to forget. U- And persons also. But you must not forget them. You must face them all, but meet them as strangers. E- Then I myself must also be a stranger. U- And to yourself as well...

Edward: But I'm obsessed by the thought of my own significance. Rielly: Precisely. And I could make you feel important, And you would imagine it a marvelous cure; And you would go on, doing such amount of mischief As lay within your power -- until you came to grief. Half of the harm that is done in this world Is due to people who want to feel important. They don't mean to do harm--but the harm does not interest them Or they do not see it, or they justify it Because they are absorbed in the endless struggle To think well of themselves.

What you've been living on is an image of Celia Which you made for yourself, to meet your own needs.

Two people who know they do not understand each other, breeding children whom they do not understand and who will never understand them.

I want to be cured of a craving for something I cannot find and of the shame of never finding it.

Ah, but we die to each other daily. What we know of other people Is only our memory of the moments During which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same Is a useful and convenient social convention Which must sometimes be broken.

There's no memory you can wrap in camphor But the moths will get in.