How oft I see what isn’t there, Projected from my restless mind; But it’s the same way everywhere — What we want most, we always find And claim that others, too, must see. What vanity demands – requires – Is confirmation, loud, that we Have seen those truths, not our Desires
Behold, the strange self-argument In which the subject tries To tell himself or herself Various and sundry lies Which work. And so depression grows Through what we say, then do: And we persuade ourselves with words That we know are not true
This is a strange paradox, indeed.
Nobody actually needs this class.