" No, I cannot bear that cowardly fashion
Affecting most of your well-bred companions;
And nothing I hate more than the contortions
Of those great masters of declarations,
Those affable givers of hollow embraces,
Those courteous speakers of useless phrases,
Who fight with civility on every side,
And treat the fool and honest man alike.
What good is it when a man flatters you,
Professes friendship, faith, zeal, and virtue,
And then runs off to lavish the same
Upon the first scoundrel he happens to name?
No, no soul rightly formed could care
For an esteem so cheaply shared;
The proudest favor is little esteemed
When we see it spread across all that’s seen.
True regard must rest on preference,
And to esteem all is to esteem none in essence.
Since you take part in these modern vices,
By God, you're not someone I’d keep as mine.
I scorn that broad, indulgent affection
That makes no distinction of worth or intention.
I wish to be singled out—and to be brief,
A friend to all mankind is no friend of mine. "
Molière

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