He did not cultivate the irony of
Socrates; his conversations were full of Attic charm,
so that his visitors, on going away, did not feel
contempt for him because he was ill-bred or aversion
to his criticisms because they were gloomy, but
were beside themselves for joy and were far better,
happier and more hopeful of the future than when
they came.

 

He never was known to make an
uproar or excite himself or get angry, even if he had
to rebuke someone; though he assailed sins, he
forgave sinners, thinking that one should pattern
after doctors, who heal sicknesses but feel no anger
at the sick. He considered that it is human to err,
divine or all but divine to set right what has gone
amiss.