Let the trumpet of the day of judgment sound when it will, I shall appear with this book in my hand before the Sovereign Judge, and cry with a loud voice, This is my work, there were my thoughts, and thus was I. I have freely told both the good and the bad, have hid nothing wicked, added nothing good.
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There is no refuge from confession but suicide; and suicide is confession.
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It is not the criminal things that are hardest to confess, but the ridiculous and the shameful.
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No blame should attach to telling the truth. But it does, it does.
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We only confess our little faults to persuade people that we have no big ones.
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The confession of evil works is the first beginning of good works.
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"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! - tear up the planks! here, here! - It is the beating of his hideous heart!"
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He who denies all, confesses all.
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Confessed faults are half-mended.
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The confession of our failings is a thankless office. It savors less of sincerity or modesty than of ostentation. It seems as if we thought our weaknesses as good as other people's virtues.
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A man's very highest moment is, I have no doubt at all, when he kneels in the dust, and beats his breast, and tells all the sins of his life.
