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Lies Quotes

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Lies Quotes

“All men are liars. All women are liars, too. I learned that fact when I was two years old and my grandmother told me that if I was a good girl and sat still, the shot the doctor was about to give me wouldn’t hurt. It was the first time my young brain connected the unsettling feeling of my magic talent detecting a lie to the actions of other people. People lie for many reasons: to save themselves, to get out of trouble, to avoid hurting someone’s feelings. Manipulators lie to get what they want. Narcissists lie to make themselves seem grand to others and themselves. Recovering alcoholics lie to safeguard their tattered reputations. And those who love us most lie to us most of all, because life is a bumpy ride and they want to smooth it out as much as possible.”

Lies
Book:Burn for Me
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“So much contempt for your own species." "Yes, contempt! If you had seen what I have seen, watched what a human may become when left alone in the dark, you would share it. You were lucky, Jaghatai. Your world was no Caliban. We tell you of Old Night and you barely believe us, but that is not how most places were. The lie is noble. It is there to protect, to guard, not to deceive, for they are not ready." I have heard this before. There were empires on my homeworld that offered freedom to their slave castes, but only when they were ready. That moment, strangely enough, never came. In the end, they had to take it for themselves, to die for it, and even then there were some who said the day had come too soon. The truth will come out. You won't be able to hold the blindfold in place, and once it slips, the fury of those you deceived will be limitless.”

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Book:Jaghatai Khan: Warhawk of Chogoris
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“So much of the story we tell about history is really the story that we tell about ourselves, about our mothers and our fathers and their mothers and their fathers, as far back as our lineages will take us. Throughout our lives we are told certain stories and they are stories that we choose to believe--stories that become embedded in our identities in ways we are not always fully cognizant of. For many of the people I met at Blandford, the story of the Confederacy is the story of their home, of their family--and the story of their family is the story of them. So when they are asked to reckon with the fact that their ancestors fought a war to keep my ancestors enslaved, there is resistance to facts that have been documented by primary sources and contemporaneous evidence. They are forced to confront the lies they have upheld. They are forced to confront the flaws of their ancestors. As Greg Stewart, a member of the Sons of Confederate Veterans, told the New York Times in the aftermath of the 2015 Charleston massacre, "You're asking me to agree that my great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents were monsters." Accepting such a reality would, for them, mean the deterioration of a narrative that has long been a part of their lineage, and the disintegration of so much of who they believed themselves to be in the world. But as I think of Blandford, I'm left wondering if we are all just patchworks of the stories we've been told. What would it take--what does it take--for you to confront a false history even if it means shattering the stories you have been told throughout your life? Even if it means having to fundamentally reexamine who you are and who your family has been? Just because something is difficult to accept doesn't mean you should refuse to accept it. Just because someone tells you a story doesn't make that story true.”

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Book:How the Word Is Passed: A Reckoning with the History of Slavery Across America
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“Take a bowsy short leave of your nymphs on the shore, And silence their mourning with vows of returning, Though never intending to visit them more.”

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Book:The loves of Dido and Æneas, an opera, written by Nahum Tate, Esq. and set to music by Mr. Henry Purcell, performed, ... by the Academy of Ancient Music, on Thursday, April 21, 1774.
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“I have heard people say that the truth can set you free. Somewhat ironically, that's a bloody lie. The truth locks you in, determines a set way of thinking, of feeling, of believing. The truth is the opposite of freedom. Lies, on the other hand, can be whatever we want them to be. Lies can free us from a burden that truth would bury us with. Lies can ease a pain that truth would cause to rot and fester. Lies can make a point, where truth would just expose us for the hypocrites we are, a lesson all parents know well. The world is founded on lie, upon lie, upon lie. But the truth is always there, just waiting for an opportunity to tear down everything we have built.”

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Book:The Lessons Never Learned
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“You are braver than most," the bat said, eying his colored sword. "And I am not as dense as you think I am," Tanis said. "I know that even now you're trying your trickery." "If I use this... trickery and persuade you by it, wouldn't that mean I am smarter than you?" Tanis considered the logic. "Perhaps." "Then trickery is a form of knowledge. And knowledge is a form of truth. And you want more of it; otherwise, as I said, you wouldn't be here. So if by using trickery I persuade you to accept my knowledge, it can only be because I am smarter than you. I have more truth." It was confounding, this logic of his.”

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Book:Black
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“The world adamantly declares that we should live for things that will actually kill us in the living. And for many, the conviction to believe in these things outweighs the inevitability of the truth that they deny. Yet such is the power of these convictions that the reality of the lies are not even realized at the point that the promises aren’t delivered. Rather, the realization doesn’t happen until the life is over and the world got its way.”

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Author:Craig D. Lounsbrough
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“The externals of English are being acquired by speakers wholly alien to the historical fabric, to the inventory of felt moral, cultural existence embedded in the language. The landscapes of experience, the fields of idiomatic, symbolic, communal reference which give to the language its specific gravity, are distorted in transfer or lost altogether”

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Book:After Babel: Aspects of Language and Translation
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“It was golden hour in Tarrytown. An incandescent sun cast long shadows that pointed in unison toward nightfall. Birds sang. But their melodies were drowned out by crescendos of cicadas’ chattering. Not to be outdone, the wind came and went in gusts, rising up and across the hills from the lake below. As it did, it blew through the trees agitating the millions of leaves in the canopy, the rustle and crackle of which drew the eyes upward, where an infinite canvas of burnt orange and purple was visible through the branches of proud oaks.”

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Book:The Trial of Joe Harlan Junior
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