Honesty Poetry Novels & Stories

I reached for my glass and took a sip of water, mostly to give myself a second to think. “So what exactly do you expect from this?” I asked. He leaned back slightly, considering the question. “I expect honesty,” he said. “At the very least.” “That’s not always realistic,” I said. “It is if both people decide it is,” he replied. I held his gaze for a moment. “And what does honesty look like to you?” I asked. “It means we don’t waste time pretending we have something we don’t,” he said. “It means we understand the situation for what it is and decide how to move forward from there.”

I rush out fast noticing the hurt on his face, just before it washes away to a placated amusement. “Look, I wasn't lying. I really want to be your friend. You offer me something different than everyone else.” “Oh right and what's that?” “Honesty. You are the only person who doesn't care about the material things about me. With you, I don't have to put up pretenses. I can just be me and it's far less exhausting than being who everyone else wants me to be.” I look at him intensely trying to find any chink in this facade telling me it's all false but I find none. In fact, I find nothing but the honesty he claims I have. I can feel my resolve breaking, my desire to be his friend creeping up on m

Anya thought about it. “It’s the difference,” she said, “between honesty that is offered from a secure position and honesty that is offered as a defensive maneuver. A lot of what passes for honesty — including in memoir — is actually a form of preemption. You tell the unflattering truth about yourself before someone else can tell it about you. That’s honest in the factual sense but it’s not settled. It’s still anxious. Settled honesty is something different. It’s the honesty of someone who has nothing to defend. Who tells the truth because the truth is what’s there, not because the truth will protect them from something.” “Did you always have that?” the host said.

“I am not here to say he was all wrong, or that I am all right. We are all human, and we all make mistakes. But I hope that our story can be a reminder to others: if you want real love, you must be real yourself. You cannot test someone’s loyalty by deceiving them. Trust is a gift, not an experiment. And once it is broken, it can be mended, but it will never be the same unless it is built on complete honesty from that moment forward.” When I finished speaking, there was a long moment of silence. Elena looked at me with deep respect in her eyes. “Thank you, Lilian. You have spoken with such grace and clarity. This will help many people understand what truly happened, beyond the gossip and the

Just enough to wet her lips. Progress. I let a flicker of warmth spiral from my fingers, shaping the candlelight between us into a dancing flame. Not necessary. Just… demonstrative. Her gaze caught it. Good. “The truth is,” I said, letting the flame dissolve back into smoke, “I’ve always found honesty to be a far more effective tool than deception. At least when it comes to long games.” She gave a dry smile. “So this is you being honest?” “Excruciatingly so.”

I found this interesting and slightly troubling. Slightly troubling. I turned the page. I have been in this business for twenty-five years, he wrote, and I have met two kinds of people who believe the world can be made more honest. The first kind are people who have not yet encountered the specific friction that the world puts against honesty when honesty threatens the arrangements that powerful people have made for their own benefit. They believe it because they have not been tested. The second kind are people who have been tested and have decided that the friction is not sufficient reason to stop.

She sat at her desk and opened her English notes and told herself it would be tomorrow and told herself this with the certainty of someone who knew the answer and had not yet stopped being afraid of it. The truth was she was not afraid of the answer. She was afraid of what it would cost and what it would ask of her and whether she was brave enough to be that specific kind of honest. She thought, 'You have been honest your whole life.' She thought, 'This is the hardest kind.' She turned off her light at midnight. His light, across the hedge, was still on. * * *

But that’s about it. Her nose had wrinkled, and her eyes had narrowed. If looks could kill, I would be dead. “I’m just being honest. Rather pride myself on being honest. You know to be free of deceit and untruthfulness; sincere. I’m sure it’s a foreign concept to someone that can’t even tell a man her real name.” I sighed, running my hands over my face and into my hair, pulling at my topknot.

adding that this would be in her best interest. I waited for him to elaborate, but he gave the impression that what he had already said was sufficient. "Is this what you do to make people pay you?" I inquired, raising the volume of my voice. "How does being honest contribute to the management of a crisis?" Andrew responded, unruffled by the remark, that "sometimes it's the best answer." "Most people appreciate honesty. Even if they don't agree with it, it seems natural to them when they hear it. If you want to trick people into believing a falsehood, you have to cover up the sour taste with enough sugar to fool them. The truth is always more palatable than lies.

I said, sounding like I was trying to convince myself instead. They looked at each other then started laughing. “Yeah, sure. The truth will set you free Hayes.” Theo muttered. “Veritas vos liberabit.” Max said in a language I didn’t understand. The truth she tried to remind me of. That was the only truth in all of this. Somehow, I was leaning closer than I should be. And I was stil texting her. YOU : You’re coming tonight right? JUNE : do I have a choice? YOU : no. JUNE : that sounded slightly threatening. YOU : good.