There are few people whom I really love,

and still fewer of whom I think well and admire.

The more I see and discover of the world

and of the people in it, with their concealed loyalties,

their treachery, bullying, weaknesses and psychoses,

the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day

confirms my belief of the inconsistency of most

human characters, and of the little dependence

that can be placed upon the *appearance*

of merit, morality, knowledge or sense.