But when we come to judge others, it is not by ourselves as we really are that we judge them, but by an image that we have formed of ourselves from which we have left out everything that offends our vanity or would discredit us in the eyes of the world. To take a trivial instance: how scornful we are when we catch someone out telling a lie; but who can say that he has never told not one, but a hundred?
There is not much to choose between men. They are all a hotchpotch of greatness and littleness, of virtue and vice, of nobility and baseness. Some have more strength of character, or more opportunity, and so in one direction or another give their instincts freer play, but potentially they are the same. For my part, I do not think I am any better or any worse than most people, but I know that if I set down every action in my life and every thought that has crossed my mind, the world would consider me a monster of depravity. The knowledge that these reveries are common to all men should inspire one with tolerance to oneself as well as to others. It is well also if they enable us to look upon our fellows, even the most eminent and respectable, with humor, and if they lead us to take ourselves not too seriously.
令人好奇的是，与他人的过失相比，我们自己的过失往往不是那么可憎。我想，因是我们了解一切导致过失出现的情况，因而，能够想办法谅自己犯一些不容许他人犯的过错。我们不关注自己的缺点，即使身陷困境，不得不正视它们时，我们也会很容易就宽恕自己。据我所知，我们这样做是正确的。缺点是我们自己的一部分，我们必须接纳自己的好与坏。
但当我们评判别人时，情况就不一样了。我们不是通过真正的自我，而是用另外一种自我形象来判断，完全摒除了在任何世人眼中，会伤害到自己的虚荣或者体面的事物。举一个小例子：当觉察到别人说谎时，我们是多么地不屑啊！但是有?可以说自己从未说过谎？可能还不止一百次呢！
人与人之间没什么大的区别。他们皆是伟大与渺小，善良与邪恶，高贵与低贱的混合体。有些人性格比较坚毅，机会也较多，因此在这个或者那个方向上，更能自由地发挥自己的天资，但是人类的潜质都是同样的。至于我自己，我认为自己不比多数人更好或更差，但是我知道，如果我记下我生命中每一个行动和每一个掠过我心头的想法的话，世人将会把我看成一个邪恶的怪物。每个人都会有这样的怪念头，这样的认识应能启发我们宽容自己，也宽容他人。同时，若因此使我们在看待他人时，即使是对天下最优秀最令人尊敬的人，也可以有幽默感，而且也不太苛求自己的话，那也是很有益的。
写作的乐趣
The Joys of Writing
温斯顿·丘吉尔
Winston Churchill
The fortunate people in the world—the only really fortunate people in the world, in my mind, —are those whose work is also their pleasure. The class is not a large one, not nearly so large as it is often represented to be; and authors are perhaps one of the most important elements in its composition. They enjoy in this respect at least a real harmony of life. To my mind, to be able to make your work your pleasure is the one class distinction in the world worth striving for; and I do not wonder that others are inclined to envy those happy human beings who find their livelihood in the gay effusions of their fancy, to whom every hour of labor is an hour of enjoyment to whom repose—however necessary—is a tiresome interlude, and even a holiday is almost deprivation. Whether a man writes well or ill, has much to say or little, if he cares about writing at all, he will appreciate the pleasures of composition. To sit at one table on a sunny morning, with four clear hours of uninterruptible security, plenty of nice white paper, and a Squeezer pen—that is true happiness. The complete absorption of the mind upon an agreeable occupation—what more is there than to desire? What does it matter what happens outside? The House of Commons may do what it like, and so may the House of Lords. The heathen may rage furiously in every part of the globe. The bottom may be knocked clean out of the American market. Consols may fall and suffragettes may rise. Never mind, for four hours, at any rate, we will withdraw ourselves from a common-ill-governed, and disorderly world, and with the key of fancy unlock that cupboard where all the good things of the infinite are put away.
And speaking of freedom is not the author free, as few men are free? Is he not secure, as few men are secure? The tools of his industry are so common and so cheap that they have almost ceased to have commercial value. He needs no bulky pile of raw material, no elaborate apparatus, no service of men or animals. He is dependent for his occupation upon no one but himself, and nothing outside him that matters. He is the sovereign of an empire, self-supporting, self-contained. No one can sequestrate his estates. No one can deprive him of his stock in trade; no one can force him to exercise his faculty against his will; no one can prevent him exercising it as he chooses. The pen is the great liberator of men and nations. No chains can bind, no poverty can choke, no tariff can restrict the free play of his mind, and even the "Times Book Club" can only exert a moderately depressing influence upon his rewards. Whether his work is good or bad, so long as he does his best he is happy. I often fortify myself amid the uncertainties and vexations of political life by believing that I possess a line of retreat into a peaceful and fertile country where no rascal can pursue and where one need never be dull or idle or ever wholly without power. It is then, indeed, that I feel devoutly thankful to have been born fond of writing. It is then, indeed, that I feel grateful to all the brave and generous spirits who, in every age and in every land, have fought to establish the now unquestioned freedom of the pen.
