I'm prickly. I fuss over every single detail.
I have a critical nature, in the sense that when I look at something I often look for the flaws.
I am not, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, a good-natured man; that is, many things annoy me besides what interferes with my own ease and interest. I hate a lie; a piece of injustice wounds me to the quick, though nothing but the report of it reach me. Therefore I have made many enemies and few friends; for the public know nothing of well-wishers, and keep a wary eye on those who would reform them.
It seems to me that the civilized human being is a skeptic someone who believes nothing at face value.
My thing is, I'm just way too harsh. It's an enormous impediment, and that's just the truth of it. It doesn't make me any better, make me any worse, it certainly isn't more valorous. I have a character defect, man.
a moralistic bastard.
Referring to FBI Director, J. Edgar Hoover: Precursor to CIA
Anna Petrovna (to Shabelsky): You can't make a simple joke without an injection of venom. You are a poisonous man. Joking apart, Count, you're very poisonous. It's hideously boring to live with you. You're always grumpy, complaining, you find everyone bad, good for nothing. Tell me frankly, Count, did you ever speak well of anyone?
The French complain of everything, and always.
I fundamentally agree with the critical nature of Israeli democracy, which embraces the core notion of free speech.