Someone once said:
“I lost my axe, and I suspected that my neighbour had stolen it. I began watching him very closely…
The way he walked looked like someone who had stolen my axe.
The way he spoke sounded like someone who had stolen my axe.
His movements all suggested that he had stolen my axe.
That night, I was restless, unable to sleep, thinking about how I would confront him with the accusation.
But early the next morning, I found my axe — my young son had placed it beneath a heap of straw.
When I saw my neighbour the next day, I noticed nothing in him that resembled a thief — not his walk,
nor his speech, nor his gestures.
He appeared completely innocent, and I realised that I had been the thief.
I had stolen from my neighbour his honour and his integrity, and I had stolen from myself a whole night spent in grief over how to accuse a man of a crime he did not commit.
A heart tainted [contaminated] from within cannot fathom the existence of pure souls.”