“...that's the essence of me - I don't think, I feel - at best, I think-feel...”

“I feel too much. That's what's going on.' 'Do you think one can feel too much? Or just feel in the wrong ways?' 'My insides don't match up with my outsides.' 'Do anyone's insides and outsides match up?' 'I don't know. I'm only me.' 'Maybe that's what a person's personality is: the difference between the inside and outside.' 'But it's worse for me.' 'I wonder if everyone thinks it's worse for him.' 'Probably. But it really is worse for me.”

“I don't think," he insisted. "I feel.”

“I don't know what I feel or what I want to feel. I don't know what to think or what I am.”

“I don't think secrets agree with me, I feel rumpled up in mind since you told me that…”

“I keep waiting to feel old, to feel like a grown-up, but I don't yet. Do you think that's the big secret adults keep from you? That you never feel like a grown-up?”