There is no such thing as bad people. We’re all just people who sometimes do bad things.[repeated often in the rest of the book]
It’s wrong to hurt even bad people. Because they don’t know any better, and because bad people sometimes become good.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
Nothing in my life has ever felt so good yet hurt so achingly bad.
Things get bad for all of us, almost continually, and what we do under the constant stress reveals who/what we are.
There is no necessity to separate the monarch from the mob; all authority is equally bad.
There are few things easier than to live badly and to die well.
There are bad people everywhere, but among the bad there are some good one.[Везде есть люди дурные, а между дурными и хорошие.]
The only artists I have ever known, who are personally delightful, are bad artists. Good artists exist simply in what they make, and consequently are perfectly uninteresting in what they are.
The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means.
The Christian resolution to find the world ugly and bad has made the world ugly and bad.[Der christliche Entschluss, die Welt hässlich und schlecht zu finden, hat die Welt hässlich und schlecht gemacht.]
The bad points of others show out so strongly against the good that they usually strike our eyes before they wound us.[Le mal, chez autrui, tranche si vigoureusement sur le bien, qu’il nous frappe presque toujours la vue avant de nous blesser.]
