"So listen, Fred, Baby--"
"No, it's Paul, Baby."
"It is? I thought it was Fred, Baby. Answer the question: Is she or isn't she?"
"What?"
"A phony."
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"You don't, huh? Well, you're wrong. She is. But on the other hand, you're right, because she's a real phony. She honestly believes all this phony junk. Now, I sincerely like the kid. I do. I'm sensitive, that's why. You've got to be sensitive to like the kid. It's a streak of the poet."
(from Breakfast at Tiffany's)