Truth
i
We can neither define what we mean by truth nor be in doubt as to our meaning. And this I suppose must be due to the antiquity of the instinct that, on the whole, directs us towards truth. We cannot self-vivisect ourselves in respect of such a vital function, though we can discharge it normally and easily enough so long as we do not think about it.
ii
The pursuit of truth is chimerical. That is why it is so hard to say what truth is. There is no permanent absolute unchangeable truth; what we should pursue is the most convenient arrangement of our ideas.
iii
There is no such source of error as the pursuit of absolute truth.
iv
A. B. was so impressed with the greatness and certain ultimate victory of truth that he considered it unnecessary to encourage her or do anything to defend her.
v
He who can best read men best knows all truth that need concern him; for it is not what the thing is, apart from man’s thoughts in respect of it, but how to reach the fairest compromise between men’s past and future opinions that is the fittest object of consideration; and this we get by reading men and women.
vi
Truth should not be absolutely lost sight of, but it should not be talked about.
vii
Some men love truth so much that they seem to be in continual fear lest she should catch cold on over-exposure.
viii
The firmest line that can be drawn upon the smoothest paper has still jagged edges if seen through a microscope. This does not matter until important deductions are made on the supposition that there are no jagged edges.
ix
Truth should never be allowed to become extreme; otherwise it will be apt to meet and to run into the extreme of falsehood. It should be played pretty low down—to the pit and gallery rather than the stalls. Pit-truth is more true to the stalls than stall-truth to the pit.
x
An absolute lie may live—for it is a true lie, and is saved by being flecked with a grain of its opposite. Not so absolute truth.
xi
Whenever we push truth hard she runs to earth in contradiction in terms, that is to say, in falsehood. An essential contradiction in terms meets us at the end of every enquiry.
xii
In Alps and Sanctuaries (Chapter V) I implied that I was lying when I told the novice that Handel was a Catholic. But I was not lying; Handel was a Catholic, and so am I, and so is every well-disposed person. It shows how careful we ought to be when we lie—we can never be sure but what we may be speaking the truth.
xiii
Perhaps a little bit of absolute truth on any one question might prove a general solvent, and dissipate the universe.
xiv
Truth generally is kindness, but where the two diverge or collide, kindness should override truth.