Phantoms in general are nothing more than trifling disorders of the spirit; images we cannot contain within the bounds of sleep. — Luigi Pirandello Copy Share Image
When a character is born, he acquires at once such an independence, even of his own author, that he can be imagined by everybody… — Luigi Pirandello Copy Share Image
“The capacity for deluding ourselves that today's reality is the only true one, on the one hand, sustains us, but on the other, it… — Luigi Pirandello Copy Share Image
Inevitably we construct ourselves. Let me explain. I enter this house and immediately I become what I have to become, what I can become:… — Luigi Pirandello Copy Share Image
THE FATHER: But don't you see that the whole trouble lies here? In words, words. Each one of us has within him a whole world of things, each man of us his own special world. And how can we ever come to an understanding if I put in the words I utter the sense and value of things as I… — Luigi Pirandello Copy Share
If we have no other reality beyond the illusion, you too must not count overmuch on your reality as you feel it today, since,… — Luigi Pirandello Copy Share Image
“This is the real drama for me; the belief that we all, you see, think of ourselves as one single person: but it's not… — Luigi Pirandello Copy Share Image
Each of us, face to face with other men, is clothed with some sort of dignity, but we know only too well all the… — Luigi Pirandello Copy Share Image
Those who understood, in fact, say: 'I mustn't do this, I mustn't do that,' so as not to commit some stupidity or other! Splendid!… — Luigi Pirandello Copy Share Image
“Voi credete di conoscervi se non vi costruite in qualche modo? E ch'io possa conoscervi, se non vi costruisco a modo mio? E voi me, se non mi costruite a modo vostro? Possiamo conoscere soltanto quello a cui riusciamo a dar forma. Ma che conoscenza può essere? È forse questa forma la cosa stessa? Sì, tanto per me, quanto per… — Luigi Pirandello Copy Share
Here is a piece of earth. If you stand staring at it and doing nothing, what does the earth yield? Nothing. Just like a… — Luigi Pirandello Copy Share Image
