It's lonely to listen to the pleasure of others, not that I've made a habit of that kind of eavesdropping. There's joy and passion in the next room, in the next bed, but it's not yours.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
But I don't read or listen for pleasure. I have too much else to do.
Sometimes I eavesdrop on people. I could rationalize it - oh, this is good anthropological research for characters I'm writing - but it's basically just nosiness. It also helps me gauge where I'm at: Am I normal?
There is no pleasure to me without communication: there is not so much as a sprightly thought comes into my mind that it does not grieve me to have produced alone, and that I have no one to tell it to.
I don't have joy in watching myself, whereas, actually, I quite like listening to my own music.
When you think you're listening to several conversations at once, they tell me, you may really simply be time sharing - that is, listening a little bit to this one, a little bit to that one.
I think I'm very curious about other people. I like to sit and eavesdrop, you know.
There is nothing greater than the joy of composing something oneself and then listening to it.
On that road of the informer, it is always night. I cannot ever inform against anyone without feeling something die within me. I inform without pleasure, because it is necessary.
It is something I recognise in myself. I do eavesdrop. I do people-watch, a lot.
Sometimes it is a great joy just to listen to someone we love talking.