Lying Quotes - Page 450

All my lies are only wishes / I know I would die if I could come back new.

I'm not saying - in any way - that Donald Driver is lying or lacking sincerity. But I trust my reporting.

After a long moment I closed the freezer door. I wanted to lie down and press my cheek against the cool linoleum. Instead I reached out with my little finger and flipped the Barbie's head. It went thack thack against the door. I flipped it again. Thack thack. Whee. I had a new hobby.

You might be a redneck if the antenna on your truck is a danger to low flying airplanes.

How will the ships navigate without stars? And then he remembered that the stars were dead, long dead, and the light they shed was not to be trusted, was false, if not an outright lie, and in any case was inadequate, unequal to its task, which was to illuminate the evil that men did.

It looks like bribery. I mean,there is every appearance that Hillary Clinton was bribed to grease the sale of, what, 20 percent of America's uranium production to Russia, and then it was covered up by lying about a meeting with her home with the principals, and by erasing e-mails. And I presume we might know for sure whether there was or was not bribery if she hadn't wiped out you know, out thousands of e-mails.

My gaze flew to him once more,noting the cigarette he set down even as he exhaled a long plume of white."Why are you lying there smoking while I'm chained to a wall?"I demanded.The look he gave me was a mixture of relief and cynicism."Since it seems you don't remember anything about the past two days,let me assure you,luv-I earned that smoke.

Shame on you, Crispin. Married how long, and you haven't spanked your wife with a metal spatula yet?" I'd gotten used to Ian's assumption that everyone was as perverted as he was, so I didn't miss a beat. "We prefer blender beaters for our kitchen utensil kink," I said with a straight face. Bones hid his smile behind his hand, but Ian looked intrigued. "I haven't tried that ... oh, you're lying, aren't you?" "Ya think?" I asked with a snort. Ian gave a sigh of exaggerated patience and glanced at Bones. "Being related to her through you is a real trial.

Perhaps some of the appeal of the dangerous-but-yummy paranormal anti-hero lies in his scorn for societal expectations. Yes, women have come a long way, but there are still some cultural stigmas more associated with women than men.

Wouldn’t that make a charming epitaph? Here lies Cat. Killed not by fang, but Ferragamos.

Creative work is incredibly difficult, and that is where the tests lie. Ordinary professionalism and twenty years' experience can accomplish a lot, but it can't access the hidden places. That still needs what it always needs - a condition of complete simplicity, costing not less than everything.

One of the many, many things I hate about war is how it trivializes the personal. The big themes, the broad sweep, the emergency measures, the national identity, all the things that a particular kind of man with a particular kind of power urge adores, these are the things that become important. War gives the lie to the personal, drowns it in meetings, alarms, sacrifices. The personal is only allowed to return as death.

True stories are the ones that lie open at the border, allowing a crossing, a further frontier. The final frontier is just science fiction--don't believe it. Like the universe, there is no end.

The ancients believed in fate because they recognized how hard it is for anyone to change anything. The pull of past and future is so strong that the present is crushed by it. We lie helpless in the force of patterns inherited and patterns re-enacted by our own behavior. The burden is intolerable.

We're a lukewarm people for all our feast days and hard work. Not much touches us, but we long to be touched. We lie awake at night willing the darkness to part and show us a vision. Our children frighten us in their intimacy, but we make sure they grow up like us. Lukewarm like us. On a night like this, hands and faces hot, we can believe that tomorrow will show us angels in jars and that the well-known woods will suddenly reveal another path.

Lies 1: There is only the present and nothing to remember. Lies 2: Time is a straight line. Lies 3: The difference between the past and the futures is that one has happened while the other has not. Lies 4: We can only be in one place at a time. Lies 5: Any proposition that contains the word 'finite' (the world, the universe, experience, ourselves...) Lies 6: Reality as something which can be agreed upon. Lies 7: Reality is truth.

Writing objects to the lie that life is small. Writing is a cell of energy. Writing defines itself. Writing draws its viewer in for longer than an instant. Writing exhibits boldness. Writing restores power to exalt, unnerve, shock, and transform us. Writing does not imitate life, it anticipates life.

Lie beside me. Let me see the division of your pores. Let me see the web of scars made by your family's claws and you their furniture. Let me see the wounds that they denied. The battle ground of family life that has been your body. Let me see the bruised red lines that signal their encampment. Let me see the routed place where they are gone. Lie beside me and let the seeing be healing. No need to hide. No need for either darkness or light. Let me see you as you are.

Truth for anyone is a very complex thing. For a writer, what you leave out says as much as those things you include. What lies beyond the margin of the text? The photographer frames the shot; writers frame their world.

First all men must be able to become men by the improvement of their conditions of existence, so that a universal morality can be created. If I begin by saying to them: "Thou shalt not lie," there is no longer any possibility of political action. What matters first is the liberation of man.

I exist. It's sweet, so sweet, so slow. And light: you'd think it floated all by itself. It stirs. It brushes by me, melts and vanishes. Gently, gently. There is bubbling water in my mouth. I swallow. It slides down my throat, it caresses me — and now it comes up again into my mouth. For ever I shall have a little pool of whitish water in my mouth - lying low - grazing my tongue. And this pool is still me. And the tongue. And the throat is me.

If you have but a single ruler, you lie at the discretion of a master who has no reason to love you: and if you have several, you must bear at once their tyranny and their divisions.

Adults tend to repress their pleasure. Sad to say, I think we become adults only through disappointment, grief, and lies. So of course gradually we become tough, less sensitive.

Dearer to me than the evening star A Packard car A Hershey bar Or a bride in her rich adorning Dearer than any of these by far Is to lie in bed in the morning

All the worth of some people lies in their name; upon a closer inspection it dwindles to nothing, but from a distance it deceives us.