Our Passions Are Ourselves.

It Is Not Customary To Love What One Has.

I Cling To My Imperfection, As The Very Essence Of My Being.

It Is The Certainty That They Possess The Truth That Makes Men Cruel.

All The Good Writers Of Confessions, From Augustine Onwards, Are Men Who Are Still A Little In Love With Their Sins.

Silence Is The Wit Of Fools.