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He was so genuine and unsophisticated that no introduction would serve to introduce him, more than if you introduced a woodchuck to your neighbor. He had got to find him out as you did. He would not play any part. Men paid him wages for work, and so helped to feed and clothe him; but he never exchanged opinions with them. He was so simply and naturally humble—if he can be called humble who never aspires—that humility was no distinct quality in him, nor could he conceive of it. Wiser men were demigods to him.... He particularly reverenced the writer and the preacher. Their performances were miracles.
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)

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I think remorse ought to stop biting the consciences that feed it.
—Ogden Nash (1902–1971)