I love treason but hate a traitor.

You may plainly perceive the traitor through his mask; he is well known every-where in his true colors; his rolling eyes and his honeyed tones impose only on those who do not know him. People are aware that this low-bred fellow, who deserves to be pilloried, has, by the dirtiest jobs, made his way in the world; and that the splendid position he has acquired makes merit repine and virtue blush. Yet whatever dishonourable epithets may be launched against him everywhere, nobody defends his wretched honour. Call him a rogue, an infamous wretch, a confounded scoundrel if you like, all the world will say “yea, ” and no one contradicts you. But for all that, his bowing and scraping are welcome everywhere; he is received, smiled upon, and wriggles himself into all kinds of society; and, if any appointment is to be secured by intriguing, he will carry the day over a man of the greatest worth. Zounds! these are mortal stabs to me, to see vice parleyed with; and sometimes times I feel suddenly inclined to fly into a wilderness far from the approach of men.

...[A] rebel who is inaccurate and mad is a traitor.

It is very true. But even a traitor may mend. I have known one who did.

Do not forget that a traitor within our ranks, known to us, can do more harm to the enemy than a loyal man can do good to us.

This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain.

A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself.

A tyrant's trust dishonors those who earn it.

You may plainly perceive the traitor through his mask; he is well-known everywhere in his true colors; his rolling eyes and his honeyed tones impose only on those who do not know him.

We are concerned here with either real traitors or complete imbeciles. But imbecility, raised to this level, is equal to treason.

Stealing to forgive the killing, because maybe they do out of necessity, but the traitor ever

He is hated, because he teaches hate. We obey him because we must. He holds our minds in the hollow of his hand.

Look well that you unto no vice assent, lest you be damned for your evil intent. For she who does so is a traitor, certainly. And take heed of what I shall say: of all the treasons, the greatest wickedness is the betrayal of innocence.

but you're not a traitor, you've merely been the tool of one. I don't punish tools. They do harm only in the hands of a bad workman.