Jack Whittaker Quotes

Just because I don't do bad things doesn't mean I don't have bad thoughts.

If anyone has a conscience it's generally a guilty one.

A man's conflicts represent what he 'really' is.

Seeing my malevolent face in the mirror, my benevolent soul shrinks back.

Somewhere deep down there's a decent man in me, he just can't be found.

Guilt is feeling bad about what you have done; shame is feeling bad about who you are - all it is, is muddling up things you have done with who you are.

I'm the one who has to look in the mirror, and after a while it begins to eat at you.

I think we all suffer from guilt at some point in our lives, but for the most part I never really regret, and I try to always remain positive. Yes, I think that those issues are very interesting to play in a character, and they're prominent issues in life, and I think people can relate to them.

I've actually apologized to some people I was a real jerk to, because I feel ashamed. I didn't need to be that hungry. There was something going on inside me when I was angry and feeling very threatened and not feeling good about myself.

I've always been at war with myself, for right or wrong.

All honor's wounds are self-inflicted.

There is no witness so terrible and no accuser so powerful as conscience which dwells within us.

Sin recognized but that may keep us humble, But oh, it keeps us nasty.

Who you are vs. who you wish you were: Who wins?

I know I may have done some bad things, but I'm not a bad person.

Being down makes you think who you are.

We should often feel ashamed of our best actions if the world could see all the motives which produced them.

The sad truth is, there's more Walter White in me than I'd care to admit, because if I truly was as kind as people think I am, I wouldn't be able to write Walter White.

Whenever we feel shame, it's a mark of some deep investment or deep internal struggle.

It's a shame I have to hurt people. I'm a nice guy.

I've seen pictures of me, and I look mean and arrogant. That's how I felt on the inside. I think now, 'Is that really me?'

Once, in a dry season, I wrote in large letters across two pages of a notebook that innocence ends when one is stripped of the delusion that one likes oneself. Although now, some years later, I marvel that a mind on the outs with itself should have nonetheless made painstaking record of its every tremor, I recall with embarrassing clarity the flavor of those particular ashes. It was a matter of misplaced self-respect.

I didn’t know how I could live with that knowledge, without it eating me up, without it poisoning every happy memory I had of growing up. Without it ruining everything Beck and I had. I didn’t understand how someone could be both God and the devil. How the same person could destroy you and save you. When everything I was, good and bad, was knotted with threads of his making, how was I supposed to know whether to love or hate him?

Fearing not that I'd become my enemy In the instant that I preach

The world's most sensible person and the biggest idiot both stay within us. The worst part is, you can't even tell who is who.