In good prose lies sound unnatural.
To a quite unwreckable Lie,
To a most impeccable Lie!
To a water-tight, fire-proof, angle-iron, sunk-hinge, time-lock, steel-faced Lie!
Not a private hansom Lie,
But a pair-and-brougham Lie,
Not a little-place-at-Tooting, but a country-house-with-shooting
And a ring-fence-deer-park Lie.
A truth it profits no one to reveal never will be.
As the short way to evil is to try to look good, so the short way to stupid is to try to look clever.
Sixty years ago we were repressed, and there were a few things it was dangerous to say. Today we are liberated, and there are a great many.
There are no noble lies, but useful myths abound.
We say that it can’t be true when we mean that it mustn’t.
No one inveighs so strictly against ad hominem as degenerate liars.
Lies are products, and supply must be commensurate with demand.
The check is sometimes in the mail, but no one has ever been just curious.
Clever lies are as common as clever truths are rare.