“t is of course clear that, owing to my unbounded vanity and hence also to my over-sensitiveness where my own person was concerned, I often looked at myself with a sort of furious dissatisfaction which verged on loathing, and for that reason I could not help attributing my own views to other people. I hated my own face, for instance, finding it odious to a degree and even suspecting that it had rather a mean expression, and so every time I arrived at the office I went through agonies in my efforts to assume as independent an air as possible so as to make sure that my colleagues did not suspect me of meanness and so as to give my face as noble an expression as possible. ‘What do I care,’ I thought to myself, ‘whether my face is ugly or not, so long as it is also noble, expressive, and above all, extremely intelligent.’ But I knew very well, I knew it agonisingly well, that it was quite impossible for my face to express such high qualities. But the really dreadful part was that I thought my face looked absolutely stupid. I would have been completely satisfied if it looked intelligent. Indeed, I’d have reconciled myself even to a mean expression so long as my face was at the same time generally admitted to be awfully intelligent.”