Interior Thoughts...and The Lifted Veil

picture of women on couch (and her stream of consciousness):
I wonder how this dress makes me look. I hope it doesn't show any of the gross side bulge I've been going to the gym to get rid of because those workouts are hard, excruciating actually, yes but they are worth it, I'm not fat, I have no bulges, I am beautiful I am beautiful Am I beautiful? Tell me I'm beautiful.

Can Latimer read people's minds, or is he doing what we all do (in assuming what people say)??
Latimer is perhaps just extremely imaginative and able to come up with people's "thoughts" by their body language and facial cues. Latimer, of course, unquestioningly believes in the accuracy and authenticity of his visions. Evidence for such power comes from his vision of Prague and his subsequent visit to the city (where he confirmed his belief). He also guessed his brother's speech before he made it, and saw the vision of Bertha before he met her. And yet, Latimer could just have easily seen a painting of Prague, for example.

But why can't Latimer read Bertha's mind?
Knowing what Bertha was thinking would take the fun out of the romance (at least for Latimer). He can instead project his own desires and thoughts onto Bertha; she becomes what he wants her to be. He sees her as pretending to love Alfred while she secretly loves Latimer. Latimer craves her love; he worships her. The hold that Bertha has over him comes from the tyrannical power she has over him.He sees her as having a deeply cynical soul, and that something is going to move her--and it is going to be him. Obtaining Bertha's love would be like winning a colossal struggle.
Perhaps this strong desire for Bertha comes from the distance that has been established between Latimer and his late mother.

How does Latimer feel about himself?
He thinks he is an amazing person: "I am cursed with an exceptional mental character" (7). Clearly, Latimer feel himself to be governed by a fate that has been set before him, a fate this governed by his own intellect. He regards himself as an emotional poet in that he does not write, but has the same sensibilities as a poet. He doesn't trust anyone else; he feels alone and confined to his own wretched misery.