Truth is like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold. You push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream。
No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.