You can get good manners from anyone on Earth. The faces become interchangeable and their claimed thoughts all the same.
Only from your friends can you count absolutely on hearing the truth, always. Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts—such things are, after all, the things that matter most to one, or they wouldn’t hurt so much.
One is what one is, no less, no more. Change, of course, is always possible, but change belongs to the future, not to the phenomenology of the instant. What you are now, at a given moment, is within that moment immutable.
People that I love have always asked me if I am still lonely even with them around. It’s an unanswerable question. Loneliness for me isn’t a feeling; it is the material from which space-time has been fashioned for us by science.