Most people call something profound, not because it is near some important truth but because it is distant from ordinary life. Thus, darkness is profound to the eye, silence to the ear; what-is-not is the profundity of what-is.
An error does not become truth by reason of multiplied propagation, nor does truth become error because nobody sees it. Truth stands, even if there be no public support. It is self sustained.
In the space of no-mind, truth descends like light.
Barring that natural expression of villainy which we all have, the man looked honest enough.
In this world of lies, truth is forced to fly like a scared white doe in the woodlands; and only by cunning glimpses will she reveal herself, as in Shakespeare and other masters of the great art of telling the truth, even though it be covertly, and by snatches.
As if there could be true stories: things happen in one way, and we retell them in the opposite way.
It is but for a moment, comparatively, that anything looks strange or startling, a truth that has the bitter and the sweet in it.
The real truths are those that can be invented.
For any truth, if overdone (as Dietzgen Senior put it), if exaggerated, or if carried beyond the limits of its applicability, can be reduced to absurdity.
To copy the truth can be a good thing, but to invent the truth is better, much better.