"Above all,
don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lies comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, around him, and so loses all respect for himself and others."
- Fyodor Dostoevsky
by minute not because it is fun to lie (even if many liars do find it fun and amusing to bamboozle their victims), but because the hope of all hopes is that a lie repeated often enough will become the truth. On some sunshiny shore, somewhere over the rainbow, where the skies are blue, ya-hoodle hoodle hoo.
The truth is, the truth is rarely fun and games and waving arms and bouncing up and down. The truth is quite often stark, realistic, grainy, and flawed. The truth often has pimples. Bad breath. The truth is, you rarely like to meet its eyes, you want to pass it by as it sits there, arm extended, filthy palm open to you. Touch not! you cry. Ignore it. Just keep repeating, daily, hourly, minutely, secondly: "I am hot. They want me. I'm de man." Repeat it often enough, and?
- Oz Moses
