Certain flaws are necessary for the whole. It would seem strange if old friends lacked certain quirks.
The imperfections of a man, his frailties, his faults, are just as important as his virtues. You can’t separate them. They’re wedded.
The human story does not always unfold like a mathematical calculation on the principle that two and two make four. Sometimes in life they make five or minus three; and sometimes the blackboard topples down in the middle of the sum and leaves the class in disorder and the pedagogue with a black eye.
Even the best needles are not sharp at both ends.
Unless I accept my faults I will most certainly doubt my virtues.
A good garden may have some weeds.
Thomas Fuller, Gnomologia, 1732
I cling to my imperfection, as the very essence of my being.
Anatole France (Jacques Anatole François Thibault), The Garden of Epicurus, 1894