“We are none of us perfect, and… we learn to take these imperfections and make them only a small part of who we are”

François Fénelon, in Selections from the Writings of Fenelon: With an appendix, containing a Memoir of his Life (1829) as translated by A Lady (Eliza Lee Cabot Follen) http://books.google.com/books?id=qJ4rAAAAYAAJ, Letter 37, p. 189.
Misattributed

#happiness

Ibid., p. 249
Original: Adoramos a perfeição, porque não a podemos ter; repugná-la-íamos, se a tivéssemos. O perfeito é o desumano, porque o humano é imperfeito.
Source: The Book of Disquiet

Variant: Love isn't finding a perfect person. It's seeing an imperfect person perfectly.
Source: To Love and Be Loved

Source: One Hundred Names

Source: Second Helpings

The Energies of Men
1910s, Memories and Studies (1911)
Context: Every one is familiar with the phenomenon of feeling more or less alive on different days. Every one knows on any given day that there are energies slumbering in him which the incitements of that day do not call forth, but which he might display if these were greater. Most of us feel as if we lived habitually with a sort of cloud weighing on us, below our highest notch of clearness in discernment, sureness in reasoning, or firmness in deciding. Compared with what we ought to be, we are only half-awake. Our fires are damped, our drafts are checked. We are making use of only a small part of our possible mental and physical resources.