I know not how to express better, what my sins appear to me to be, than by heaping infinite upon infinite, and multiplying infinite by infinite. . . When I look into my heart and take a view of my wickedness, it looks like an abyss infinitely deeper than hell.
But here in the struggle for fame and pelf I want to be able to like myself. I don't want to look at myself and know That I'm bluster and buff and empty show.