“TRUTH with capital letters!” Nietzsche exclaimed. “I forget, Josef, that scientists have still to learn that TRUTH, too, is an illusion—but an illusion without which we can’t survive.

I think we hold the truth in too high an esteem. The truth is a tool, like a kitchen knife. You can use it for its purpose or you can use it—No, that’s not quite right. The truth is inert. It has no intrinsic power. Lies have all the power.

Take from deep feeling the element of thought blended with it and all that remains is strength of feeling which is no voucher for the validity of knowledge, as intense faith is evidence only of its own intensity and not of the truth of that in which the faith is felt. 10

here? Why do you believe that?” The disciple answered, “I believe in Zarathustra.” But Zarathustra shook his head and smiled. “Faith does not make me blessed,” he said, “especially not faith in me. But suppose somebody said in all seriousness, the poets lie too much: he would be right; we do lie too much. We also know too little and we are bad lear

The truth is generally seen, rarely heard; seldom she comes in elemental purity, especially from afar; there is always some admixture of the moods of those through whom she has passed.

La vérité ? Elle n’est point pour eux dans la représentation, ni même toujours dans l’expression, mais dans le cheminement, dans l’affirmation, dans le courage, dans ce que Nietzsche appelait « le grand style », celui qui « commande, qui veut, qui devient logique, simple, clair », celui qui « maîtrise le chaos que l’on est, qui le contraint à deven

Truth is at variance with our natures, but not so error; and for a very simple reason. Truth requires us to recognise ourselves as limited, but error flatters us with the belief that in one way or another we are subject to no bounds at all.