“To be my own god is to spend my life pretending that I am what I am not. But how do I pretend that such pretending isn’t destroying my life?”

“dear today, i spend all of you pretending i’m okay when i’m not, pretending i’m happy when i’m not, pretending about everything to everyone.”

“But maybe happiness isn’t in the choosing. Maybe it’s in the fiction, in the pretending: that wherever we have ended up is where we intended to be all along.”

“He learned to live with the truth. Not to accept it, but to live with it. It was like living with an elephant. His room was tiny, and every morning he had to squeeze around the truth just to get to the bathroom. To reach the armoire to get a pair of underpants he had to crawl under the truth, playing it wouldn’t choose the moment to sit on his face. At night, when he closed his eyes, he felt it looming above him.”

“I have always been afraid… Always been pretending to follow you closely, alwyas been pretending to sharpen my teeth, when the truth is, I am … scared to death just treading on your shadow.”

“I became good at pretending. I became so good that after a while the lines blurred between my truth and fiction. And sometimes, when I did a really good job of pretending, I even fooled myself.”

“Of all the major religions, or lack thereof, the atheist’s is one of the best pretenders: his foundation for all existences, as well as moral behaviors for the permanent good of mankind, begins at science but ends at himself, the Napoleon complex of both intelligence and imagination. On the other hand the anti-theist wouldn’t survive without a deity beyond himself to hunt. He doesn’t pretend, he simply nullifies his own position.”

“Well enough,” I reply. “Remember, you’re drunk. And happy. You’re supposed to be lusting over your escort. Try smiling a little more.”Day plasters a giant artificial smile on his face. As charming as ever. “Aw, come on, sweetheart. I thought I was doing a pretty good job. I got my arm around the prettiest escort on this block—how could I not be lusting over you? Don’t I look like I’m lusting? This is me, lusting.” His lashes flutter at me.He looks so ridiculous that I can’t help laughing. Another passerby glances at me. “Much better.”

“A daily dose of daydreaming heals the heart, soothes the soul, and strengthens the imagination.”