You can't trust very many people.

“You can’t trust very many people.” Thus spoke George Best, the dazzling footballer whose brilliance on the field was matched only by the turbulence of his life beyond it. His words are not the complaint of a bitter man but the confession of one who has seen the fragility of trust in a world where fame, power, and desire twist the hearts of men. To say this is not to condemn humanity entirely, but to remind us: trust is a treasure, and like all treasures, it is rare, easily squandered, and to be guarded with vigilance.

The ancients, too, lamented the scarcity of true trust. The Roman statesman Cicero declared that nothing is more noble, nothing more rare, than a loyal friend. In courts of emperors and kings, betrayal was often the coin of survival, and suspicion reigned where once confidence might have stood. Even Julius Caesar, crowned with power, was undone not by foreign enemies but by the knives of supposed friends. His final whisper, Et tu, Brute? echoes through the ages as a symbol of how easily trust can be shattered, even by the one closest to us.

George Best himself lived amid temptations and perils that tested every bond. Surrounded by admirers, agents, and opportunists, he found that many who drew near were not drawn by friendship, but by what they could gain from his fame. In such a world, a man learns swiftly that trust must be weighed, not freely scattered. Those who smile by your side in triumph may vanish—or worse, betray you—when fortune fades. Best’s words, then, are the wisdom of one who lived through adoration and abandonment alike, discovering the difference between companions of convenience and friends of the soul.

History offers us both shadows and light in this matter. Consider Alexander the Great. Though surrounded by legions of loyal soldiers, even he faced whispers of treachery, conspiracies in his court, and plots in his camp. Yet by his side he had Hephaestion, his most faithful friend, who stood with him not for power or glory, but for love and loyalty alone. This contrast reveals the truth of Best’s words: though you cannot trust very many, you can trust a few—and those few are worth more than armies.

The lesson, then, is not despair but discernment. To recognize that trust is scarce is to guard your heart wisely. Do not scatter your secrets like seed upon rocky ground, nor lean on every smile as though it were a pillar. Test character by time, by adversity, by silence. The one who remains when you have nothing left to give—that is the one you may trust. All others are but passing shadows.

In daily life, practical wisdom must follow. Share your heart with care. Build relationships slowly, with patience, and measure not words but deeds. Observe how a person acts in hardship, for loyalty revealed in trial is the truest kind. And above all, cultivate yourself as one who is worthy of trust, for only those who are trustworthy themselves can recognize the same virtue in others. Be the friend who does not betray, and you will attract the rare souls who walk the same path.

Thus, George Best’s simple, weary phrase—“You can’t trust very many people”—becomes both warning and guide. It tells us not to expect loyalty from the multitude, but to cherish it when we find it in the few. For though the crowd may cheer you, it is the single faithful companion who will stand by you in the silence of night. Seek not many friends, but true ones. Give not your heart to every hand, but place it carefully where it will be held with honor. In this way, you will walk through life not embittered, but strengthened, surrounded not by many, but by enough.