The man with no affect regards us like a cat, stone-faced, carved of a substance unlike our own.   We wonder, as the features do not change, what is going on inside this head with its sphinx face.

Affectation is putting on airs, pretending to be something more than you are.  It is an affectation to pretend you’re unconcerned with things that deeply concern you, tragic kind of idiocy, too.   Most affectation, it would seem, comes from want of affection.  “They will love me if I seem better than I am,” reasons the affected person as they effect affectation.

Affection is what every creature instinctively seeks.  When we find it we feel loved, less alone, connected, at home in something greater than ourselves.  This is something you can explain to the man without affect, but you will never be sure he got it.