I'll add more criticisms later and bring more charges against myself than you can think of. But for now, here's my answer: I'm not a wise man, and I won't pretend to be one just to satisfy your spite. Don't demand that I match the best people — just ask me to be better than the worst. I'm happy if I can chip away at my flaws a little each day and fix my mistakes. I haven't reached perfect mental health, and I never will. I treat my gout with pain relievers instead of real cures, and I'm satisfied if the attacks come less often and hurt less. Compared to your lame feet, I'm a runner. I'm not saying this to defend myself — I'm drowning in every kind of vice. I'm speaking for someone who has made some real progress toward virtue.
I will add some reproaches afterwards, and will bring more accusations against myself than you think of: for the present I will make you the following answer. "I am not a wise man, and I will not be one in order to feed your spite: so do not require me to be on a level with the best of men, but merely to be better than the worst: I am satisfied, if every day I take away something from my vices and correct my faults. I have not arrived at perfect soundness of mind, indeed, I never shall arrive at it: I compound palliatives rather than remedies for my gout, and am satisfied if it comes at rarer intervals and does not shoot so painfully. Compared with your feet, which are lame, I am a racer." I make this speech, not on my own behalf, for I am steeped in vices of every kind, but on behalf of one who has made some progress in virtue.