Paul Laurence Dunbar Quotes

Le mensonge et les vers de tout temps sont amis. Lies and literature have always been friends.

For thee I dim these eye and stuff this head With all such reading as was never read.

Violet! sweet violet! Thine eyes are full of tears; Are they wet Even yet With the thought of other years?

A lie was something that hadn't happened but might just as well have.

Grow your tree of falsehood from a small grain of truth.

As long as skies are blue, and fields are green Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow

The bowed head, the buried face. She is silent, she will never speak, never forgive, never reach a hand, never leave this frozen present tense. All waits, suspended. Suspended the autumn trees, the autumn sky, anonymous people. A blackbird, poor fool, sings out of season from the willows by the lake. A flight of pigeons over the houses; fragments of freedom, hazard, an anagram made flesh. And somewhere the stinging smell of burning leaves.

In Hollywood, lying is something that people do like breathing.

Lying is like trying to hide in a fog: If you move about you're in danger of bumping your head against the truth, and as soon as the fog blows off, you are gone anyhow.

Memory is the diary that chronicles things that never have happened and couldn't possibly have happened.

Just so you know, when they say "Once upon a time” . . . they’re lying

Truth may be stranger than fiction, goes the old saw, but it is never as strange as lies.

Lying is the only art form that the public sanctions and instinctively prefers to reality.

Even an obvious fabrication is some comfort when you have few others.

In discussing these exceptions from the course of nature, the first question is, whether the fact be justly stated. That which is strange is delightful, and a pleasing error is not willingly detected.

Only the magic and the dream are true — all the rest's a lie.

Some books are lies frae end to end.

My collection of rare books concerns only books that don't tell the truth.

Everything that deceives may be said to enchant.

There is nothing as boring as the truth.

Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light.

STORY, n. A narrative, commonly untrue.

Who can really distinguish between the sea and what's reflected in it? Or tell the difference between the falling rain and loneliness?

He lies like a book. And he reads a lot of books.

A lie took two parties - the weaver of the tale and the sucker who so badly wanted to believe it.