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.