Truth Matters Book Novels & Stories

He just don't want to admit at that he messed up on this. "Trust this only thing left after you removed all the impossible. Then this thing must be the final product of what you've processed. Do not think for the other possibility.for the truth must be accepted, even if it breaks your emotions down," the chairman said. "That's my advice for you, dear future detectives." He was already giving advice. I must say he have hit some parts in my emotions. The truth was sweet for some, but sometimes it tastes bitter for someone who have suffered.

"Conspiracy theories galore can be insane to deal with. I have heard some of the theories you guys have come up with like them eating human flesh and I have to admit that they are insane. The theories I have heard are just going to create so much problems because there will be idiots thinking those theories are actually true. It is like pizzagate, and the reptilian, and pandemic, anti-vax, and flat-earthers. I really don’t understand the motivation behind these things." "What is truth, Maria?" Clark turned, removed his eyes from the television. "Truth is anything that is true," Maria replied. "That is wrong in most cases," Clark said calmly. "Truth is what someone tells you is true even when

"I promise all this will go away, just tell. Me. The. Truth." And with every word his grip tightened around his shoulder. Jones knew the breaking point would be lex. If he needed info, he needed to break lex, he was the easiest prey. "Lex I swear if you tell me what i want to know, you would be safe." He whispered in his ear. Lex threw his head to a side, no energy left in him. He spat blood out from his mouth. He laughed with whatever energy left. "I kno-w what u are tryi-ng to do but it's not go-nna work! We are te-lling you the trut-h... There is noth-nothing else..."

"Then let's start tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to hold you." She rests her head on my shoulder. "Okay," she whispers. "Okay." --- I wanted an apology. I got the truth. And the truth — messy and complicated and painful — is somehow more valuable than any apology could have been. Because the truth is where we start. The truth is where we heal. The truth is where we learn to trust again. End of Chapter 122

Chloe gave a satisfied hum, rolled over, and went back to scrolling on her phone. The dorm room fell quiet. I lay on the top bunk, staring at the ceiling while my mind raced. In my last life, I knew nothing, so I did nothing. This life, I knew everything. So I had three things to do. First, let them destroy themselves. Second, leave evidence. Third, keep myself clean. I dug out my old phone and opened a shopping app. I ordered a pinhole camera, small enough to clip to a collar. Then I ordered a micro voice recorder that could run for eight hours.

He thought: of course it can. He had learned this in three years of the open interior. The belief in a person — in himself, in Adrian, in Miriam, in the strangers who would use the library — was not the same as the softening of reality. The belief was the prior condition, the ground from which honest engagement was possible. You could tell someone a hard truth if you believed in them. You could hold the full weight of the complex and the difficult and the unresolved if the ground of the relationship was the belief.

“A good one. Scary and convincing. But it’s built on lies. It’s built on painted bones and poisoned wells. It’s fragile.” He leans forward, his breath hot against my ear. “Truth is slower than fear, Kieran. Fear is a wildfire, it burns fast and hot. But truth is a river. It takes time. It carves the stone slowly. But in the end, the river always wins.” I listen to him. I want to believe him. But the irony tastes bitter in my mouth. Vorlag is using the appearance of truth to destroy us. “What if the river dries up before it cuts through the stone?” I ask.

Across from me sat Caius in the most generic caveman position of all time—legs spread and elbows rested on his thighs. Alright, I was being dramatic, but it was only because he’d been watching me for an entire hour now and one more second of being locked under those golden eyes and I’d lose it. Finally, I broke the quiet. “I don’t understand any of this.” I traced the edge of the book with my fingertips, “Every time I think I’m finally getting somewhere, the ground shifts beneath me. First it was the secret cabin which just turned out to be a shelter for homeless people, then the secret lover who was just her fucking orthodontist. Her gay orthodontist, mind you. Then there’s the friends who

"In any war, truth is the first victim. Can you not see that? Could she not see it?" "Can you deny that Tina Davis was murdered because she was testing lies that reinforced the war struggle recovering than the facts would have done?" "I am saying," the Home Secretary said, "that the disparity between truth and lies is immaterial in time of war. True or false? Right or wrong? These questions are inconsequential now. It's all down to allegiance. Are you with us or against us? Surely you of can see that." "And anyone who isn't with you?" "-- is with the guerrillas and must be removed!" said the Home Secretary.

You told one lie and then you couldn't stop telling more of them. But – oddly and incredibly – what Claire discovered was that telling the truth was exactly like that. Once you told one real, shining true thing, then you wanted to tell another one. Then another. Then you were tempted to just lay it all out, just go for total, hell-for-leather honesty. This was especially the case if you hadn't told the truth in a long time, the way that she hadn't. Truth was liberating, she thought as she lay next to Jack's naked body, and it was empowering, and after she'd told Jack one true thing, then she'd had a damn hard time stopping herself from telling him every single true thing that she knew.