Truth (n.) is a good dog but is always liable to get its brains kicked out if it barks too close to the heels of an error.
Truth (n.) is a naked and open daylight which does not show the masques, and mummeries, and triumphs of the world, half so stately and daintily as candlelights.
Truth (n.) is a naked and open daylight.
Truth (n.) is not the daughter of time in that, out of the stream of time, only what was light enough not to sink into the river has reached our present position.
Truth (n.) is not the daughter of time. The stream of time is such that only what had been light enough not to sink into the river reached our present position.
Truth (n.) is so hard to tell, it sometimes needs fiction to make it plausible.
Truth (n.) can never be reached by just listening to the voice of an authority.
Truth (n.) comes out of error more readily than out of confusion.
Truth (n.) is the daughter of time, not of authority.
Truth (n.) emerges more readily from error than from confusion.