Truth is a fickle thing, colored by the eyes that see it and the ears that hear it. Does it truly exist in its pure form, or are there merely interpretations? It may seem elusive, yet the pursuit of it is the essence of existence, as these quotes attempt to unravel.
βWho has a book of all that monarchs do, He's more secure to keep it shut than shown; For vice repeated is like the wand'ring wind, Blows dust in others' eye, to spread itself; And yet the end of all is bought thus dear, The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear To stop the air would hurt them.β
βProphet may you be! If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, when time is old and hath forgot itself, when waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, and blind oblivion swallowed cities up, and mighty states characterless are grated to dusty nothing, yet let memory, from false to false, among false maids in love, upbraid my falsehood!β
βThe kitchen clock is more convenient than sidereal time. We must use the popular category, as we do by the LinnΓ¦an classification, for convenience, and not as exact and final. Otherwise, we are presently confounded, when the best-settled traits of one race are claimed by some new ethnologist as precisely characteristic of the rival tribe.β
