They're all deserting me. I've been too kind. Spare the rod and spoil the fun. Oh, for the glands of a Bismarck. - F. Scott Fitzgerald

Aristocracy's only an admission that certain traits which we call fine - courage and honor and beauty and all that sort of thing - can best be developed in a favorable environment, where you don't have the warpings of ignorance and necessity.

Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me. They possess and enjoy early, and it does something to them, makes them soft where we are hard, and cynical where we are trustful, in a way that, unless you were born rich, it is very difficult to understand. They think, deep in their hearts, that they are better than we are because we had to discover the compensations and refuges of life for ourselves. Even when they enter deep into our world or sink below us, they still think that they are better than we
are. They are different.

You seem to take things so personally, hating people and worshipping them — always thinking people are so important — especially yourselves. You just ask to be kicked around. I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it — on the inside.