It is popular to lump all Pharisees together. The rabbis themselves did not. In Avot de-Rabbi Natan (chapter 37), the sages drew up a list — not of their enemies, but of themselves — classifying eight types of Pharisee and holding each up for inspection.
The first was the shoulder Pharisee, parush shikhmi: he who hoisted his good deeds onto his shoulder so that all the street could see him carry them. The second, the time-gaining Pharisee, who said, "Hold on — let me finish this mitzvah first," stalling sincerity with logistics. The third, the compounding Pharisee, who whispered, "Let my few sins be deducted from my many virtues." (Some sources call him the bloodletting Pharisee — the one who, terrified he might glance at a woman, squeezed his eyes shut and walked face-first into walls.)
The fourth bowed so low that he looked like an inverted mortar, his piety folded over his head. The fifth stood upright and demanded, "Is there any commandment I have not yet performed?" The sixth was the Pharisee of reward, obeying because he had calculated the wages. The seventh was the Pharisee of fear, obeying because he had calculated the punishment.
And the eighth — the eighth was the Pharisee of love: the one who was born that way, who simply could not imagine living otherwise, whose piety was native to him the way breathing is native to the body.
Seven of the eight are warnings. Only the last is the real thing. A religion worth keeping is one you keep for its own sake.