A confession has to be part of your new life.
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.
A wise man admits his weaknesses. I'd admit mine if I had any.
Confess you were wrong yesterday; it will show you are wise today.
Confessed faults are half-mended.
Confession is always weakness. The grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence.
Confession is good for the soul only in the sense that a tweed coat is good for dandruff — it is a palliative rather than a remedy.
Confession, alas, is the new handshake.
Forgiveness is always free. But that doesn't mean that confession is always easy. Sometimes it is hard. Incredibly hard. It is painful to admit our sins and entrust ourselves to God's care.
He that jokes confesses.
He who denies all, confesses all.
I don't deserve this award, but I have arthritis, and I don't deserve that, either.
I saved a girl from being attacked last night. I controlled myself.
If any ambitious man have a fancy to revolutionize, at one effort, the universal world of human thought, human opinion, and human sentiment, the opportunity is his own — the road to immortal renown lies straight, open, and unencumbered before him. All that he has to do is to write and publish a very little book. Its title should be simple — a few plain words — ''My Heart Laid Bare.'' But — this little book must be true to its title.
In confession… we open our lives to healing, reconciling, restoring, uplifting grace of him who loves us in spite of what we are.
It is not the criminal things that are hardest to confess, but the ridiculous and the shameful.
It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.
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.
Literary confessors are contemptible, like beggars who exhibit their sores for money, but not so contemptible as the public that buys their books.
No blame should attach to telling the truth. But it does, it does.