Quotes About Truth

If there is a God and future life, there is truth and good, and man's highest happiness consists in striving to attain them. We must live, we must love, and we must believe that we live not only today on this scrap of earth, but have lived and shall live

Mr. Herman, you're wearing glasses. Were you wearing them on the morning of March first?" "Yes, I was." "And what is your vision when you're wearing your glasses?" "Twenty-twenty." "Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental disorder?" "No. Never." "Thank you. That's all I have, Your Honor.

The truth had always been far too dangerous for the public to know. The truth didn't usually set people free, it just got them crazier. Most people just couldn't handle the truth.

I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing,'" I quoted. "Socrates." Mary Catherine said, "You were already proving your point. You didn't have to back it up with a quote.

Unless it's a lie!" I blurted. "You tell 'em, Bick!" yelled Beck. "I just did!" "I know. I heard you." "Cool.

Superstition is something that someone else believes in but you do not. Many of our own beliefs seem superstitious to others, and undoubtedly many of the accepted truths of the twenty-first century will be considered superstitions by the twenty-second century.

I'm a detective. I ask questions until I like the answers.

the truth we have to tell and the things we have to do are too unique to fit within a usual job setting.

In a world where the people are numbed and distracted, the only thing that sells is the unbelievable.

experience is the evidence

By the light of burning martyrs, Christ, thy bleeding feet we track Toiling up new Calv'ries ever with the cross that turns not back New occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth We must upward still and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth

Who speaks the truth stabs Falsehood to the heart.

Truth forever on the scaffold. Wrong forever on the throne. Yet that scaffold sways the future. Behind the dim unknown stands God, Within the shadow keeping watch above his own.

The only faith that wears well and holds its color in all weathers is that which is woven of conviction and set with the sharp mordant of experience.

They are slaves who fear to speak For the fallen and the weak; They are slaves who will not choose Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, Rather than in silence shrink From the truth they needs must think; They are slaves who dare not be In the right with two or three.

Truth forever on the scaffold. Wrong forever on the throne. Yet that scaffold sways the future.

Truth is, of course, relative. But then, so is relative.

there comes a time in life, when you realize that everything is a dream; only those things which are written down have any possibility of being real.

There are really two kinds of life. There is, as Viri says, the one people believe you are living, and there is the other. It is this other which causes the trouble, this other we long to see.

And all of this, dependent, closely woven, all of it is deceiving. There are really two kinds of life. There is, as Viri says, the one people believe you are living, and there is the other. It is this other which causes the trouble, this other we long to see.

The more clearly one sees this world, the more one is obliged to pretend it does not exist.

Dingen die je geschreven hebt, rijpen niet met je mee, zo lijkt me althans. De waarheid ervan kan bepaald zijn door de tijd, maar er bestaat niet zoiets als bij de tijd zijn wanneer de tijd voorbij is. Boeken blijven bestaan buiten de tijd om of ze houden op te bestaan. Dat is zoals het gaat in de literatuur. Boeken markeren een periode of een plaats, en geleidelijk worden ze die tijd en plaats'.

We live untruth amid evidence of untruth.

Some things, as I say, I saw, some discovered, and some dreamed, and I can no longer differentiate between them. But my dreams are as important as anything I acquired by stealth. More important, because they are the intuitive in its purest state. Without them, facts are no more than a kind of debris, unstrung, like beads. The dreams are as true and manifest as the iron fences of France flashing black in the rain. More true, perhaps. They are the skeleton of all reality.