Every spoken thought is just a symbol for something inside your brain. This word, out here, is like that thought in there. But it's never exact. So, looking at it another way, every word you say is a lie.
Sympathies that lie too deep for words, too deep almost for thoughts, are touched, at such times, by other charms than those which the senses feel and which the resources of expression can realise.
Transactive memory works best when you have a sense of how your partners' minds work - where they're strong, where they're weak, where their biases lie. I can judge that for people close to me. But it's harder with digital tools, particularly search ...
The liars among us will know that every lie must contain a certain amount of truth if it's to be convincing. A dash of truth is often enough, but it's indispensable, like the olive in the martini.
They told us love was a disease. They told us it would kill us in the end. For the very first time I realize, that this, too, might also be a lie.
Everyone you trust, everyone you think can count on, will eventually disappoint you. When left to their own devices, people lie and keep secrets and change and disappear…
Orange Juice? Sure. Toast? Sure. One last time on the couch? Sure. Phone number? Sure. See you again? Oooh, absolutely. That was the lie I told. Probably not, that was the truth, that was that which went unspoken.
We have to ask ourselves, 'What kind of world is it where a baby-food executive substitutes artificial flavoring and sugar for apple juice? What kind of businesses have we created when we even lie to infants?'
We all know that Art is not truth. Art is a lie that makes us realize truth at least the truth that is given us to understand. The artist must know the manner whereby to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies.
When I label something as fiction, people say it’s true, and when I label something as non-fiction, people say it is made up. If something is not 100% true, then I label it as fiction. After all, there is no half of a lie, is there?
I won't lie—I don't care. And you should quit trying to deceive yourself because I can tell by the way you show no desire to anything but complain about the issue that you don't honestly care either.
It's very rare that you have a liberal run as an unabashed liberal. They have to lie about it. They have to mask who they are. And in order for them to survive and thrive, they have to keep that up.
If we talk Lies, we have to tell another set of lies to cover the first lie! And most of the time we forget what we told the first time ! If we tell the truth, we don't have to remember anything.
The trouble when you're doing something illegal is that you know what you're doing. You're lying to your parents, you're lying to your kids. The only person you can't lie to is yourself.
If I'm sending emails, and I get all wound up and stressed and don't know what to do with myself for 20 minutes, I just go soak in hot water and lie there, thinking, 'What should I do?' So it's meditative.
Lie on the bridge and watch the water flowing past. Or run, or wade through the swamp in your red boots. Or roll yourself up and listen to the rain falling on the roof. It's very easy to enjoy yourself.
God never gives you more than you can handle. It's your choice on how you deal with what he gives you. You can either grow from it, or you can lie down and give up.
I used to walk down the street like I was a fucking star... I want people to walk around delusional about how great they can be - and then to fight so hard for it every day that the lie becomes the truth.
As long as human labor power, and, consequently, life itself, remain articles of sale and purchase, of exploitation and robbery, the principle of the “sacredness of human life” remains a shameful lie, uttered with the object of keeping the oppres...
Worst persons of the world those easily take lie wear of their child,For a sec they don't feel hesitation to put child life on risk for self.So how you can call them Human if even they Don't love their own child
I'd lie in bed in my dormitory and grab at bits of my body, wanting to tear them off... I was so large by then that, in the heat, my thighs chafed together and bled. I was very unhappy, and yet no one ever asked me how I felt.
