My thoughts are pure

Stand near the edge of a tall building and the mind will suggest something appalling. Almost everybody gets this. It is common enough to have a name, and it means nothing whatsoever about the person it happens to.

The mind produces a great deal of raw material and endorses very little of it. It throws up the wrong thing in a quiet room, the worst possible image at a funeral, an ugly flash about someone you love. None of that is a confession.

What you are is not the inventory. It is what you do with it. Which of the thousand offers you pick up, and how you treat the person in front of you.

By that measure most people are far cleaner than they privately suspect.