Six characters in search of an author

Recently I was thinking about this passage from a book written by Pirandello:

But don't you see that the whole trouble lies here. In words, words. Each one of us has within him a whole world of things, each man of us his own special world. And how can we ever come to an understanding if I put in the words I utter the sense and value of things as I see them; while you who listen to me must inevitably translate them according to the conception of things each one of you has within himself. We think we understand each other, but we never really do. Look here! This woman takes all my pity for her as a specially ferocious form of cruelty.

Actually I do not know if I am more concerned about our inability to understand each other or if the real issue is our ability to translate feelings into words. Are we really sure that what we say is consistent with what we feel? In my mind I imagine that there is a space (world) for feelings and a space (world) for words. Do we really think that there is a biunivocal correspondence between the feeling space and the word space? Is it really possible to easily jump from one world to the other?