Intellectual arses wobble the best. - Harold Pinter

DEELEY: Myself I was a student then, juggling with my future, wondering should I bejasus saddle myself with a slip of a girl not long out of her swaddling clothes whose only claim to virtue was silence but who lacked any sense of fixedness, any sense of decisiveness, but was compliant only to the shifting winds, with which she went, but not the winds, and certainly not my winds, such as they are, but I suppose winds that only she understood, and that of course with no understanding whatsoever, at least as I understand the word, at least that’s the way I figured it. A classic female figure, I said to myself, or is it a classic female posture, one way or the other long outworn.

There are no hard distinctions between what is real and what is unreal, nor between what is true and what is false. A thing is not necessarily either true or false; it can be both true and false.

Petey: It was good, eh?
[Pause.]
Meg: I was the belle of the ball.
Petey: Were you?
Meg: Oh yes. They all said I was.
Petey: I bet you were, too.
Meg: Oh, it’s true. I was.
[Pause.]
I know I was.
[Curtain]