Trying to be what I am not, and cannot be, is not only arrogant, it is stupid. . . . If I make myself a martyr to appease my false guilt, then I am falling into the age-old trap of pride. I fall into it often. . . . If I am not free to accept guilt when I am wrong, then I am not free at all. If all my mistakes are excused, if there’s an alibi, a rationalization for every blunder, then I am not free at all. I am subhuman. . . . I do all kinds of things which aren’t right, which aren’t sensitive or understanding. I neglect all kinds of things which I ought to do. . . . One reason I don’t feel guilty is that I no longer feel I have to be perfect. I am not in charge of the universe, whereas a humanist has to be. . . this inability presents her with a picture of herself which is not the all-competent, in-control-of-everything person she wants to see.
— Madeleine L’Engle, Summer of the Great-Grandmother