I was half mad about her; and yet I knew that I didn't really love her.

Still, I told her that I did.

I suppose it was the cursed falseness of my whole nature.

I know that whenever I have said most, and felt most, something in me kept saying all the time: 'You're lying, you're lying, you're lying!' Was I born a liar?
"I wonder if the first words I ever spoke were a lie?
I wonder, when I kissed my mother first, and knew that I was kissing her, if the same little devil that sits up in my head now, said then: 'You're lying, you're lying, you're lying.' It has said so enough times since.

I loved to be with my mother; yet I never felt, even when she died--and God knows I felt bad enough then! "I never felt that my love was all real.