Quotes About Truth

Le fait qu'un croyant est plus heureux qu'un sceptique n'est pas plus pertinent que le fait qu'un homme ivre est plus heureux qu'un homme sobre ».

Bir yan?lg?dan bir kiÅŸi ac? çekiyorsa, buna delilik denir. Bir yan?lg?dan birçok insan ac? çektiÄŸinde ise buna Din denir.

EÄŸer bilim tarihi bize tek bir ÅŸey gösteriyorsa, o da cehaletimize 'Tanr?' etiketini yap??t?rarak bir yere ulaÅŸamad???m?zd?r.

When a science book is wrong, somebody eventually discovers the mistake and it is corrected in subsequent books. That conspicuously doesn't happen with holy books.

This intrepid warrior for truth, this cultured, courteous citizen of the world, this devastating, coruscating enemy of lies and cant – well, maybe he has no immortal soul – none of us has.

There are so many different faiths. How do you know the holy book you have been brought up with is the true one? And if all the others are wrong, what makes you think your holy book isn't wrong too?

There is real poetry in the real world. Science is the poetry of reality.

no philosopher has any trouble using the language of truth when falsely accused of a crime, or when suspecting his wife of adultery. 'Is it true?' feels like a fair question, and few who ask it in their private lives would be satisfied with logic-chopping sophistry in response.

He could never admit to himself that it was death that had given his life meaning.

I wrote. Something. Yes. And you were truthful. No. You weren't truthful? I was accurate.

These days he relied on the increasingly fragile assumption that what he said was right, and what was right was what he said.

But what reality was ever made by realists?

to judge us all through the machine of the Commandant's monstrous fictions! As though they were the truth! As though history & the written word were friends, rather than adversaries!

At such times he had the sensation that there was only one book in the universe, and that all books were simply portals into this greater ongoing work—an inexhaustible, beautiful world that was not imaginary but the world as it truly was, a book without beginning or end.

All men were liars and he was no doubt no different—only one tongue and more tales than the dog pound.

They felt their own judgements absolute and the judgements of others idiocy or wickedness deserving the worst punishment. It was as if everyone had to believe their own story—any story, really—because if they stopped believing there would only be reality left to deal with. No one doubted, or was unsure; every individual was infallible because it was their truth, and so there could be no truth and the world was wrong.

All life is only allegory and the real story is not here...

The world is, she would say. It just is, boy.

I had begun with the comforting conclusion that books are the tongue of divine wisdom, and had ended only with the thin hunch that all books are grand follies, destined forever to be misunderstood.

Rock to gravel to dust to mud to rock and so the world goes, as his mother used to say when he demanded reasons or explanation as to how the world got to be this way or that. The world is, she would say. It just is, boy.

It is not that you know nothing about war, young man, Dorrigo Evans had said. It is that you have learnt one thing. And war is many things.

He would live to see people praised for things that were not worthy of praise, simply because truth was seen to be bad for their feelings.

Words are mostly used to keep us asleep, not to wake us.

It was as if life could be shown but never explained, and words - all the words that did not say things directly - were for him the most truthful.