There is an heirloom apple tree on public land near my house. It must be 75 years old. It probably sprang up from a discarded seed, and left alone, simply grew. Now, twisted large branches droop thirty or more feet from crown to dirt. Small, lumpy, dull green apples hang from the tree.  Many more lie in  heaps around the base. 

Most of the apples have worm holes, or brown spots, or spider webs embedded by rain into little greyish lumps around the stems. Compared to the apples in the store, which are plump, clean, and brightly colored, these apples are ugly. But, since I'm a forager, I hate to see food wasted. I picked (and picked up) some of these apples and took them home. I washed, chopped, tasted. 

Delicious. Tart. Wonderfully crunchy.

These neglected apples paired perfectly with blue cheese in a salad. The ugly apples cooked into a sweet-tart apple sauce that whipped into a perfect dessert. 

It occurred to me that apples are a lot like people. You need to look at their heart to know what you've really got.