In my youth I once visited a saint in his silent grove beyond 
the hills; and as we were conversing upon the nature of virtue a 
brigand came limping wearily up the ridge. When he reached 
the grove he knelt down before the saint and said, “O saint, 
I would be comforted! My sins are heavy upon me.”
     And the saint replied, “My sins, too, are heavy upon me.”
     And the brigand said, “But I am a thief and a plunderer.”
     And the saint replied, “I too am a thief and a plunderer.”
     And the brigand said, “But I am a murderer, and the blood 
of many men cries in my ears.”
     And the saint replied, “I am a murderer, and in my ears 
cries the blood of many men.”
     And the brigand said, “I have committed countless crimes.”
     And the saint replied, “I too have committed crimes without 
number.”
     Then the brigand stood up and gazed at the saint, and there 
was a strange look in his eyes. And when he left us he went 
skipping down the hill.
     And I turned to the saint and said, “Wherefore did you accuse 
yourself of uncommitted crimes? See you not this man went 
away no longer believing in you?”
     And the saint answered, “It is true he no longer believes in 
me. But he went away much comforted.”
     At that moment we heard the brigand singing in the distance, 
and the echo of his song filled the valley with gladness.