And what is there in me that could be hidden from you, Lord, to whose eyes the abysses of man's conscience are naked, even if I were unwilling to confess it to you? In doing so I would only hide you from myself, not myself from you.⁠a But now that my groaning is witness to the fact that I am dissatisfied with myself, you shine forth and satisfy. You are beloved and desired; so that I blush for myself, and renounce myself and choose you, for I can neither please you nor myself except in you. To you, then, Lord, I am laid bare, whatever I am, and I have already said with what profit I may confess to you. I do not do it with words and sounds of the flesh but with the words of the soul, and with the sound of my thoughts, which your ear knows. For when I am wicked, to confess to you means nothing less than to be dissatisfied with myself; but when I am truly devout, it means nothing less than not to attribute my virtue to myself; because you, Lord, bless the righteous, but first you justify him while he is still ungodly. My confession therefore, my God, is made to you silently in your sight—and yet not silently. As far as sound is concerned, it is silent. But in strong affection it cries aloud. For neither do I give voice to something that sounds right to men, which you have not heard from me before, nor do you hear anything of the kind from me which you did not first say to me.