I have no faith in you! In the depth of my soul something cries out: 'He is not true.

His life is false.' To leave me that was right, but, monsieur, not as you left me.
You pick the fruit and eat it and spit upon the ground the fibre and the skin.

I am no longer the slave of your false eloquence.

It has nothing in it for me now, nothing at all--nothing." "Yet your son--has he naught of me?
If your son has genius, I have the right to say a part of it came from me.

Why should you say that all that's good in the boy is yours--that the boy, in all he does and says, is yours! No--no.