My whole life is waiting for the questions to which I have prepared answers.

The line wryly captures a life lived in rehearsal: the speaker has accumulated arguments, explanations, and polished replies, yet reality rarely supplies the exact occasions that would make them useful. It suggests a tension between intellect and experience—between the desire to be ready (to justify oneself, to perform, to be understood) and the unpredictability of actual human encounters. In Stoppard’s orbit, it also reads as a meta-theatrical joke about dialogue itself: characters (and writers) are made of answers, but meaning depends on the questions that summon them. The humor carries an undertone of melancholy, implying missed chances, deferred conversations, and the loneliness of unasked understanding.