Here's the thing with me and the religious thing. This is the flat-out truth: I find the religiosity and philosophy in the music. I don't find it anywhere else.

If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.

Marvi Sirmed

The truth is at the beginning of anything and its end are alike touching.

The greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be.

Socrates’ way of life is the consequence of his recognition that we can know what it is that we do not know about the most important things and that we are by nature obliged to seek that knowledge.

We of Es Toch tell a little myth, which says that in the beginning the Creator told a great lie. For there was nothing at all, but the Creator spoke, saying, It exists. And behold, in order that the lie of God might be God’s truth, the universe at once began to exist.

When the remedy you have offered only increases the disease, then leave him who will not be cured, and tell your story to someone who seeks the truth.

I’m starting to understand how little purchase the truth actually affords us in this world.

I love you and, because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies.

... the sparrow’s chirp, the crow’s caw, the willow’s green, the cherry blossom’s pink, are the truth of the Zen master and the essence of Basho's style.

A bizarre sensation pervades a relationship of pretense. No truth seems true. A simple morning's greeting and response appear loaded with innuendo and fraught with implications. ... Each nicety becomes more sterile and each withdrawal more permanent.

Is it not true that no two human beings understand anything whatsoever about each other, that those who consider themselves bosom friends may be utterly mistaken about their fellow and, failing to realize this sad truth throughout a lifetime, weep when they read in the newspapers about his death?

A theology which has as its points of reference only "truths" which have been established once and for all—and not the Truth which is also the Way—can only be static and, in the long run, sterile.

I do not know what I may appear to the world; but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself by now and then finding a smooth pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, while the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.

Fletch. Until last week, he was just another mild-mannered reporter fighting for truth, justice and a window office. Now he's being threatened, shot at, accused and arrested. And that's by the people he's trying to help. But there's still one thing even more dangerous than his work. His love life.