Subjectivity of Truth Quotes

What, then is truth?... Truths are illusions about which one has forgotten that this is what they are.

All truth is crooked, time itself is a circle

There is no story that is not true, [...] The world has no end, and what is good among one people is an abomination with others.

Point of view changes so much as time goes on. And it's important to acknowledge that the truth is multifaceted. And yet that conversation has a very different meaning now because of this whole alternative facts thing, calling everything you don't like "fake news."

When all is said and done, how do we know but that our own unreason may be better than another's truth? for it has been warmed on our hearths and in our souls, and is ready for the wild bees of truth to hive in it, and make their sweet honey.

Nothing in the world is ever completely wrong. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.

Truth was always but the daughter of time.

I have discovered with advancing years that few things are entirely black or white, but more often different shades of grey.

I think that no one individual can look at truth. It blinds you. You look at it and you see one phase of it. Someone else looks at it and sees a slightly awry phase of it. But taken all together, the truth is in what they saw though nobody saw the truth intact.

Now, none of this is to say that the truth isn’t important. The truth obviously exists. It’s at the core—or the search for the truth—is at the core of some of our greatest human achievements. It can animate and inspire us to do, learn and create great things. But I think in our messy human hearts, we also know that the truth is something of a fickle mistress and that the beauty of the truth is often in the struggle. It’s the reason that we have so many sublime chronicles of the human experience, because we have so many different truths to be explored…. For many of us, truth is what we make when we merge facts about the world with our beliefs about the world. Each of us has our own truth and it’s probably a good one.

That is surely the truth, at least for now. But perhaps you have not noticed: the truth is forever changing.

What is truth? I don't know and I'm sorry I brought it up.

The truths that seem most truthful, if you look at them from all sides, if you look at them close up, turn out to be either half truths or lies.

The truth is rarely true and never simple.

Everybody is wrong about everything, just about all the time.

The clear and perfect truth no man has seen, nor will there be anyone who knows about the gods and what I say about all things...; for, however perfect what he says may be, yet he does not know it; all things are matters of opinion.

There is no such thing as a true tale. Truth has many faces and the truth is like to the old road to Avalon; it depends on your own will, and your own thoughts, whither the road will take you.

Human beings are not creatures of logic; we are creatures of emotion. And we do not care what's true. We care how it feels.

People make a grievous error thinking that a list of facts is the truth. Facts are just the bare bones out of which truth is made.

I don't know what's good, or bad, or true. I let God worry about truth. I just want to know the momentary fact of things. Life isn't good, or bad, or true. It's merely factual. It's sensual. It's alive!

The secret of theory is that truth does not exist.

Where is truth, forsooth, and who knoweth it? Is Beauty beautiful, or is it only our eyes that make it so? Does Venus squint? Has she got a splay-foot, red hair, and a crooked back? Anoint my eyes, good Fairy Puck, so that I may ever consider the Beloved Object a paragon! Above all, keep on anointing my mistress's dainty peepers with the very strongest ointment, so that my noddle may ever appear lovely to her, and that she may continue to crown my honest ears with fresh roses!

The truth is not simply what you think it is; it is also the circumstances in which it is said, and to whom, why, and how it is said

The truth is not a crystal that can be slipped into one's pocket, but an endless current into which one falls headlong.

Why do we call all our generous ideas illusions, and the mean ones truths?