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We are ashamed to seem evasive in the presence of a straightforward man, cowardly in the presence of a brave one, gross in the eyes of a refined one, and so on. We always imagine, and in imagining share, the judgments of the other mind.

Shame, like beauty, is often in the eye of the beholder.

There is a solid satisfaction in one's having and being conscious that he merits the good opinion of men of true discernment and real worth. But to have a name among the weak and the wicked is shame and reproach.

Men are a hundred times worse than you can imagine. We are thinking the worst, shallowest thoughts, all the time.

There is no shame like poor shame. It can make you warm and charming, bitter and resentful, all at once.

It has always been a mystery to me how men can feel themselves honoured by the humiliation of their fellow beings.

I find myself being attracted to dudes all the time. I'm like, 'Wow, that's a beautiful man.' There's no shame in it; that's how I feel.

Women in love are less ashamed than men. They have less to be ashamed of.

I have the capacity of being more wicked than any example that man could set me.

I look only to the good qualities of men. Not being faultless myself, I won't presume to probe into the faults of others.