Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth, But, being moody, give him time and scope, Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, Confound themselves with working.

William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare

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They were all like one another as halfpence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it.

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They say, best men are molded out of faults; And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad

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And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not

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