We all have faults, mine is being wicked.

We are flawed creatures, all of us. Some of us think that means we should fix our flaws. But get rid of my flaws and there would be no one left.

Everyone has weaknesses. They are generally revealed in the patterns of mistakes they make.

When he was praised by some wicked men, he said, "I am sadly afraid that I must have done some wicked thing."

Each one of us finds in others the very faults others find in us

"I ate civilization. It poisoned me; I was defiled. And then," he added in a lower tone, "I ate my own wickedness."

The flaw in the work is the flaw in the man.

Even a man's faults may reflect his virtues.

Some people's faults are becoming to them; others are disgraced by their own good traits.

One must be cunning and wicked in this world.

His imprecision and laziness maddened my compulsive instincts — his patchiness, the way even his speech was riddled with drop-outs and glitches like a worn cassette, the way his leaden senses refused the world

I think we are all hopelessly flawed.

I ate civilization. It poisoned me; I was defiled. And then," he added in a lower tone, "I ate my own wickedness.

Each man has a breaking point, no matter how strong his spirit. Somewhere, deep inside him, there is a flaw that only the fickle cruelty of fate can find.