After years of marriage, he stands at the foot of the bed and 
tells his wife that she will never know him, that for everything he says 
there is more that he does not say, that behind each word he utters  
there is another word, and hundreds more behind that one. All 
those unsaid words, he says, contain his true self, which has been 
betrayed by the superficial self before her. "So you see," he says, 
kicking off his slippers, "I am more than what I have led you to 
believe I am." "Oh, you silly man," says his wife, "of course you are. 
I find that just thinking of you having so many selves receding 
into nothingness is very exciting. That you barely exist as you are 
couldn't please me more.”