Truth (n.) is a project handed down: be content with what has been found and let descendants contribute something of their own.
Truth (n.) would still elude us even if the young sobered up and the old taught them: we would hardly reach the bottom, and now we scrape the surface with feeble hands.
Truth (n.) admits no degrees: nothing is more true than truth, and two true signs stand equal however grand one looks, as smoke and flame both truly indicate fire.
Truth (n.) wherever found is my own property; those who value the speaker over the thing spoken should learn that the best ideas are common property.
Truth (n.) speaks simply; nothing less fits a great soul than crafty cleverness.
Truth (n.) belongs to whoever recognizes it; what matters is what was said, never who said it.
Truth (n.) lies open to everyone; no one has yet held a monopoly on it, and plenty is left over for those who come after.
Truth (n.) itself is out of our reach; the best a judge can do is pick what is most like it.
Truth (n.) strikes deep in a character that is still malleable, provided she finds the right advocate.
Truth (n.) bare and unaccompanied by reason still attracts us: hearing "Nothing in excess" gives a shock, and no one thinks to ask "Why?"
Truth (n.) is the only thing you can desire always: if you would always desire the same things, you must desire the truth.
Truth (n.) that finds a suitable pleader lays strong hands on those who can still be taught and are only superficially spoiled.
Truth (n.) does not grow, and so neither does virtue — for they are the same thing.
Truth (n.) never palls for one who roams through the universe; it is the untruths that cloy.
Truth (n.) that individuals are unwilling to hear they should hear collectively.
Truth (n.) about hidden things belongs to the gods; we may only probe and guess our way in, neither confident of finding it nor without hope.
Truth (n.) lies at the bottom of things, and an age spending its wit on luxury only scratches the surface with a light hand.