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.