Quotes About Truth

Lo que eres grita tan fuerte que no oigo lo que me dices»;

It's not regret for staying. It is nostalgia for something that we believe is true in our illusion, something we will never have. And if we touched it, we would soon realize that it was not what we dreamed of.

Dar adev?rul nu st? într-un singur fapt. AÈ™a cum un om nu are doar cutare vârst?, atâtea kilograme, cutare în?lÈ›ime È™i culoare a ochilor È™i a p?rului. Un om este toate acestea, plus înc? ceva. Iar acest ceva e mai important decât toate acestea. Tot astfel, adev?rul e un num?r de fapte, plus înc? ceva. Întotdeauna. Faptele singure nu sunt niciodat? întreg adev?rul.

Buddhism has been so much admired mainly for what it is not.

Deep in each man is the knowledge that something knows of his existence. Something knows, and cannot be fled nor hid from.

I think that when the lies are all told and forgot the truth will be there yet. It dont move about from place to place and it dont change from time to time. You cant corrupt it any more than you can salt salt.

The things that I loved were very frail. Very fragile. I didn't know that. I thought they were indestructible. They weren't.

The man who believes that the secrets of the world are forever hidden lives in mystery and fear. Superstition will drag him down.

Every day is a lie. But you are dying. That is not a lie.

I don't know what sort of world she will live in and I have no fixed opinions concerning how she should live in it. I only know that if she does not come to value what is true above what is useful, it will make little difference whether she lives at all.

I knew that what I was seeking to discover was a thing I'd always known. That all courage was a form of constancy. That it was always himself that the coward abandoned first. After this all other betrayals came easily.

Books lie, he said. God dont lie. No, said the judge. He does not. And these are his words. He held up a chunk of rock. He speaks in stones and trees, the bones of things. The squatters in their rags nodded among themselves and were soon reckoning him correct, this man of learning, in all his speculations, and this the judge encouraged until they were right proselytes of the new order whereupon he laughed at them for fools.

It's a life's work to see yourself for what you really are and even then you might be wrong. And that is something I don't want to be wrong about.

The truth about the world, he said, is that anything is possible. Had you not seen it all from birth and thereby bled it of its strangeness it would appear to you for what it is, a hat trick in a medicine show, a fevered dream, a trance bepopulate with chimeras having neither analogue nor precedent, an itinerant carnival, a migratory tentshow whose ultimate destination after many a pitch in a many a mudded field is unspeakable and calamitous beyond reckoning.

The things I believed in dont exist any more. It's foolish to pretend that they do. Western Civilization finally went up in smoke in the chimneys at Dachau but I was too infatuated to see it. I see it now.

Ever is a long time. But the boy knew what he knew. That ever is no time at all.

What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.

The priest therefore saw what the anchorite could not. That God needs no witness. Neither to himself nor against. The truth is rather that if there were no God then there could be no witness for there could be no identity to the world but only each man's opinion of it. The priest saw that there is no man who is elect because there is no man who is not. To God every man is a heretic.

The world shrinking down about a raw core of parsible entities. The names of things slowly following those things into oblivion. Colors. The names of birds. Things to eat. Finally the name of things one believed to be true. More fragile than he would have thought. How much was gone already? The sacred idiom shorn of its referents and so of its reality. Drawing down like something trying to preserve heat. In time to wink out forever.

Not all dying words are true and this blessing is no less real for being shorn of its ground.

Beauty makes promises that beauty cant keep.

I think sometimes people would rather have a bad answer about things than no answer at all.

Men do not turn from God so easily. Not so easily. Deep in each man is the knowledge that something knows of his existence. Something knows, and cannot e fled nor hid from. To imagine otherwise is to imagine the unspeakable. It was never that this man ceased to believe in God. No. It was rather that he came to believe terrible things of him.

He said that whether a man's life was writ in a book someplace or whether it took its form day by day was one and the same for it had but one reality and that was the living of it.