Best 9840 quotes in «lying quotes» category

Sometimes the truth is arrived at by adding all the little lies together and deducting them from the totality of what is known.

Sometimes we mask ourselves to further reveal ourselves, and it's always been connected to me with being a writer: We tell lies to tell a greater truth. The story is a mask; the characters you create are masks. That appeals to me. Aside from that, too, in the carnival the masks were beautiful, and offered a vision of Haitian creativity.

Sometimes we think of the nations lying asleep, Curled blindly in impenetrable sorrow, And then the thought confounds us with its strangeness.

Sometimes what I wouldn't give to have us sitting in a bar again at 9:00 a.m. telling lies to one another, far from God.

Sometimes, when you don't ask questions, it's not because you are afraid that someone will lie to your face. It's because you're afraid they'll tell you the truth.

Sometimes you can learn things from the way a person denies something. The choice of lies can be almost as helpful as the truth.

Sometimes you have to lie to tell the truth.

Sometimes you have to lie. But to yourself you must always tell the truth.

Sometimes you're lying to protect people in a way.

Sometimes you need to lie make the world go around

some travelers are drawn forward by a goal lying before them in the way iron is drawn to the magnet. Others are driven on by a force lying behind them. In such a way the bowstring makes the arrow fly.

Somewhere in our DNA must lie the key mutation (or, more probably, mutations) that set us apart—the mutations that make us the sort of creature that could wipe out its nearest relative, then dig up its bones and reassemble its genome.

Sometimes you need lies to stay alive.

Somewhere between the honest truth and the deceptive lie is the deceptive truth and the honest lie.

Somewhere between the time you arrive and the time you go may lie a reason you were alive, but you'll never know.

Somewhere in between all the mind games, lies and seduction...I fell for you. Somewhere in between all the broken promises, manipulation and heartaches...I got over you. But, I guess I fibbed a few times too. Remember all those times I swore I needed you? Well consider them lies because baby, here I am without you, and I survived.

Somewhere in the dim recesses of the journalistic soul lies the horrible suspicion: This is really a pretty shallow and maybe unseemly way for a grownup to make a living.

Somewhere in your make-up there lies sleeping, the seed of achievement which, if aroused and put into action, would carry you to heights, such as you may never have hoped to attain.

Some will tell you that there are multiple worldviews. The Bible says we have only 2: the Truth and the Lie.

Somtimes you lie in a strange room, in a strange person's home, and you feel yourself bending out of shape. Melting, touching something hot, something that warps you in drastic and probably irreversible ways you won't get to take stock of until its too late

Somewhere in the wide range of activity between the hard physical effort of wading for long hours against a swift current in a rocky stream, casting steadily, and the indolence of lying quietly in the sun waiting for a bobber to go under there is a type of angling to suit everyone's mood and everyone's pocketbook. Fishing is fishing wherever it is found... Angling's problems are never solved.

So much of being a woman is telling lies

So much of our future lies in preserving our past.

So much magic lies beyond our fears.

So much torture, bloodshed, deceit. You cannot make your young people practice torture twenty-four hours a day and not expect to pay a price for it.

So much of the knowledge in our minds is based on lies and superstitions that come from thousands of years ago. Humans create stories long before we are born, and we inherit those stories, we adopt them, and we live in those stories.

So much of the violence in the movies is b.s. violence: A guy in the middle of a large city with 14 people lying on the ground that he's just killed with his superhuman powers, and there's not a cop to be found. Not a siren to be heard. No price to be paid. That's not true, and I don't like that sort of stuff.

So much of today's film culture, in England and America, is based on lies, really. The industry is very ambitious, and success has become such an opium, people start from the wrong place they forget sometimes that the core of what we do is storytelling. It serves a need, a purpose for the individual and society to pull us together in shared experience and help us realize we're not alone in that experience.

So often we measure by what is false. We should measure by what is barely legible barely in our dailiness. It is the invisible that doesn't lie the invisible through which we see ourselves finally on a back street in the world.

So often, over the course of our day-to-days, we forget the details of what shapes us most in life. Sure, we'll pay through the nose to have our weddings videotaped, but can we say the same thing about the first time we discovered masturbation, or the moment we realized that the true nature of the opposite sex is to lie and humiliate (and I'm not just talking about women here)? Usually not.

So people think I'm lying about my age all the time? It's the records that are wrong. I've never told anyone how old I am. The minute they ask me, I say 'That's none of your business.' So that means I've never once lied about my age. Now that's true!

So people think I'm lying about my age all the time? It's the records that are wrong!

Sooner or later,reality does occor and when it does, all the lies show up, like blood on snow.

Sophisticated readers understand that writers work out their anger, their conflicts, their endless grief and rolling list of loss, through their stories. That however mean-spirited or diabolical, it's only a story. That the darkness in the soul is shaped into type and lies there, brooding and inert, black on the page, and active, dangerous, only in the reader's mind. Actually, harmless. I am not harmless.

So remember when you tell those little white lies that the night has a thousand eyes.

Sorry, but I have plans elsewhere,” William said darkly. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning, and I’ll be gone for a few weeks.” “What plans?” “Doesn’t matter why I kept you in the dark. I’m going and that’s final.” “You can’t go without me,” Gilly said. “I can and I will.” “You promised to protect me always. How can you protect me if you’re gone?” “I didn’t lie to you. I will always protect you,” William told her gently. He stood, reached for her, but realized what he was doing and dropped his arms to his sides. “You have to trust me on this.

Soon it will be daybreak. Soon the day will break. I can't stop it from breaking in the same way it always does, and then from lying there broken; always the same day, which comes around again like clockwork. It begins with the day before the day before, and then the day before, and then it's the day itself. A Saturday. The breaking day. The day the butcher comes.

So our virtues lie in the interpretation of the time

So over you is the greatest enemy a man can have — and that is fear. I know some of you are afraid to listen to the truth — you have been raised on fear and lies. But I am going to preach to you the truth until you are free of that fear...

So sophisticated and smart, but our eyes tell us lies, or at best the truth in part.

So, that’s what they wanted: lies. Beautiful lies. That’s what they needed. People were fools. It was going to be easy for me.

So the false spider, when her nets are spread, deep ambushed in her silent den does lie.

So the case stands, and under all the passion of the parties and the cries of battle lie the two chief moving causes of the struggle. Union means so many millions a year lost to the South; secession means the loss of the same millions to the North. The love of money is the root of this as of many many other evils ... the quarrel between North and South is, as it stands, solely a fiscal quarrel.

So the Dark did a simple thing. They showed the maker of the sword his own uncertainty and fear. Fear of having done the wrong thing--fear that having done this one great thing, he would never again be able to accomplish anything of great worth--fear of age, of insufficiency, of unmet promise. All such great fears, that are the doom of people given the gift of making, and lie always somewhere in their minds.

So she had to satisfy herself with the idea of love - loving the loving of things whose existence she didn't care at all about. Love itself became the object of her love. She loved herself in love, she loved loving love, as love loves loving, and was able, in that way, to reconcile herself with a world that fell so short of what she would have hoped for. It was not the world that was the great and saving lie, but her willingness to make it beautiful and fair, to live a once-removed life, in a world once-removed from the one in which everyone else seemed to exist.

So truth created the ultimate lie. Was this what the world was like for wizards? This thorny, gray tangle where right and wrong were so mixed there was no telling them apart?

Soul ties. The thing that can make you hear an old-school slow jam and think of somebody you haven’t seen in years. Soul ties. The thing that makes old people who’ve been together for years finish each other’s sentences. Don’t you wish mama had told you when you were young that, when you lie with someone, you lie not just with her body but also with her soul? And whatever condition the other person’s soul is in, you are guaranteed to take a piece with you—whether you want to or not. Instead of being amazed at her booty, you should have focused on her mind.

So tired of this straight line, and everywhere you turn There's vultures and thieves at your back The storm keeps on twisting, you keep on building the lies That you make up for all that you lack. It don't make no difference, escaping one last time It's easier to believe In this sweet madness, oh this glorious sadness That brings me to my knees.

Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare , rise; I will not lodge thee by Chaucer or Spenser , or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room; Thou art a monument, without a tomb, And art alive still, while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read , and praise to give .

Souls in heathen darkness lying, where no light has broken through, souls that Jesus bought by dying, whom his soul in travail knew.... Haste, o haste and spread the tidings, let no shore be left untrod, no lost brother's bitter chidings haunt us from the further sod; tell the heathen all the precious truths of God.