Quotes about Truth
It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality
— Virginia Woolf
Distorted realities have always been my cup of tea.
— Virginia Woolf
Roses, she thought sardonically, All trash, m'dear.
— Virginia Woolf
Illusions are to the soul what atmosphere is to the earth. Roll up that tender air and the plant dies, the colour fades. The earth we walk on is a parched cinder. It is marl we tread and fiery cobbles scorch our feet. By the truth we are undone. Life is a dream. 'Tis waking that kills us.
— Virginia Woolf
I should never be able to fulfill what is,I understand, the first duty of a lecturer-to hand you after an hour's discourse a nugget of pure truth to wrap up between the pages of your notebooks and keep on the mantelpiece forever.
— Virginia Woolf
To give a truthful account of London society at that or indeed at any other time, is beyond the powers of the biographer or the historian. Only those who have little need of the truth, and no respect for it - the poets and the novelists - can be trusted to do it, for this is one of the cases where the truth does not exist. Nothing exists. The whole thing is a miasma - a mirage.
— Virginia Woolf
But love — don't we all talk a great deal of nonsense about it? What does one mean? ... It's only a story one makes up in one's mind about another person, and one knows all the time it isn't true. Of course one knows; why, one's always taking care not to destroy the illusion.
— Virginia Woolf
To tell the truth about oneself, to discover oneself near at hand, is not easy.
— Virginia Woolf
To let the light of the world flood back-to say this has not happened! But why turn one's head hither and thither? This is the truth. This is fact.
— Virginia Woolf
To know the truth—to accept without bitterness
— Virginia Woolf
But for a moment I had sat on the turf somewhere high above the flow of the sea and the sound of the woods, had seen the house, the garden, and the waves breaking. The old nurse who turns the pages of the picture book had stopped and had said, 'Look. This is the truth.
— Virginia Woolf
Would that we might spare the reader what is to come and say to him in so many words, Orlando died and was buried. But here, alas, Truth, Candour, and Honesty, the austere Gods, who keep watch and ward by the inkpot of the biographer, cry No!
— Virginia Woolf