Quotes About Truth

We name something to make it real, to give it meaning.

That's the secret to performance: conviction. The right note played tentatively still misses its mark, but play boldly and no one will question you. If one believes there is truth in art—and I do—then it's troubling how similar the skill of performing is to lying. Maybe lying is itself a kind of art. I think about that more than I should.

Your lies didn't stop me loving you; your truth hasn't stopped me either.

But are the serpents real, or just a story?" Pathka's eyes swiveled quizzically. "There's nothing 'just' about stories. Stories are the most real.

Let the one who seeks justice be just.

She believed I would stop loving her if I knew the truth. All the gambles she took, and she never took the one that mattered most. One in a thousand is better odds than zero, but zero is what she settled for. Because how could I love her if I couldn't see her?

That must be a wretched existence, forced to lie when you don't want to.

There is no pain in truth, no comfort in lies.

There's nothing 'just' about stories. Stories are the most real.

Leading her to Truth, at the risk of your own heart and reputation, is love.

What can I get you guys?" Another lie, maybe?

Deception may give us what we want for the present, but it will always take it away in the end.

I don't know all the answers in life, but the beauty in math is that the answer is always there." He scoffed. "Yet I never seem to be able to find it." "Maybe you've been looking in the wrong place.

You think I want to get involved with someone in the witness protection program?" I laughed. "That's just my theory. Besides, if you get close to her, maybe you can learn the truth about her name." "What's it worth to you?" I stared at him. "What are you talking about?" "For me to go undercover, to get the information you want.

Bird, however, insists that my desire for a career in sports reporting has nothing to do with my love of sports. "It's your other love: guys. You want to know what really goes on in the locker room, and you want to get up close and personal with those towel-wrapped hotties." Her theory is a lot closer to the truth than I like to admit, because it makes me seem less than noble in my pursuit of a higher education.

Everyone lies, everyone leaves something out of the narrative.

Sweep everything under the rug for long enough, and you have to move right out of the house.

There are so many different attitudes, like different lives, in a face and in a body. So many lines and forms, so many strengths and weaknesses. The expression of health, of nervousness, even the expression of truth, are things you can look at. How long it takes to know them all. And you never do, not completely. A body or face is never the same even in a single day. And the mind, that's even more difficult.

People go through life trying to please some audience. But once you realize there's no audience, life is simple. It's just doing what you know in your gut is right.

A definition of loneliness surfaced in his mind: when you suddenly understand that the story of your life isn't what you thought it was.

Love must be, then, an act of truth-telling, a baring of mind and spirit just as ardent as the baring of the body. Truth and passion were one, and each impossible without the other.

For every loyalty, whether to self or community, does impose a blindness, and each love does threaten to blur vision, as few can bear to see truth if it harm that which is dear to us.

The greatest act of love—indeed, the only religion she could comprehend—was to speak the truth about the world. Love must be, then, an act of truth-telling, a baring of mind and spirit just as ardent as the baring of the body. Truth and passion were one, and each impossible without the other.

She had devoted her life to remembering. And yet she'd failed. She had, somewhere across the years, forgotten what she'd once understood. What Ester Velasquez had understood. That desire was the only truth worth following.