I know Dr. John was not perfect, any more than I am perfect. Human fallibility leavened him throughout: there was no hour, and scarcely a moment of the times I spent with him, that in act, or speech, or look, he did not betray something that was not a god. A god could not have the cruel vanity of Dr. John, nor his sometime levity.

Villette by Charlotte Brontë; p. 258