I’m a phoney and a fake, but this isn’t phoney or fake. I used to think I was sure about myself and what was right and wrong, and you taught me not to be sure. You took away all my lies and self-deceptions like they clear a road of rubble for somebody to come along it, somebody of importance, and now he’s come, but you cleared the way yourself. When you write you try to be exact and you taught me to want the truth, and you told me when I wasn’t telling the truth. Do you really think that, you’d say, or do you only think you think it? So you see it’s all your fault, Maurice, it’s all your
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