The irony of life is that those who wear masks often tell us more truths than those with open faces.
Do you think you wear a mask?’ ‘I’m wearing one right now.’ Valentino smiled softly. ‘We both are.’ ‘It’s a sad thought.’ ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But sometimes I wonder about the alternative. Imagine if we had no secrets, no respite from the truth. What if everything was laid bare the moment we introduced ourselves?
I say what other people only think, and when all the rest of the world is in a conspiracy to accept the mask for the true face, mine is the rash hand that tears off the plump pasteboard, and shows the bare bones beneath.
A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld,— The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies,— Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.
Emotions don’t interfere in my acting, nor in my life.
We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,— This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile
I believe in my mask-- The man I made up is me I believe in my dance-- And my destiny
It is a career of make-believe, of masks. We all have masks in life.