Too many cooks spoil the broth

I have not the pleasure of understanding you.

I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding— certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of other so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.

I use the verb 'to torment,' as I observed to be your own method, instead of 'to instruct,' supposing them to be now admitted as synonymous.

I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen through I am afraid is pitiful.

It's such a happiness when good people get together.

Laugh as much as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion.