A Quote by Plautus

I love truth and wish to have it always spoken to me: I hate a liar.
[Lat., Ego verum amo, verum volo mihi dici; mendacem odi.] — © Plautus
I love truth and wish to have it always spoken to me: I hate a liar. [Lat., Ego verum amo, verum volo mihi dici; mendacem odi.]

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I hate and I love. Perchance you ask why I do that. I know not, but I feel that I do and I am tortured. [Lat., Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.]
Every man should measure himself by his own standard. [Lat., Metiri se quemque suo modulo ac pede verum est.]
I, too, am indignant when the worthy Homer nods; yet in a long work it is allowable for sleep to creep over the writer. [Lat., Et idem Indignor quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus; Verum opere longo fas est obrepere somnum.]
With every fragment of rock that fall from me, I can hear the voice of Marianne Engle. I love you. Aishiteru. Ego amo te. Ti amo. Eg elska pig. Ich liebe dich. It is moving across time, coming to me in every language of the world, and it sounds like pure love.
When I was a boy, the priest, my uncle, carefully inculcated upon me this proverb, which I then learned and have ever since kept in my mind: 'Dico tibi verum, Libertas optima rerum; Nunquam servili, sub nexu vivito, fili.' 'I tell you a truth: Liberty is the best of things, my son; never live under any slavish bond.'
Blumenthal goes straight to the heart in these poems. Gorgeously wrought, surprising, true, wise, elegiac, they leave me with a sense of having listened to Mozart’s Ave Verum Corpus. Who could ask for more?
Ah me! love can not be cured by herbs. [Lat., Hei mihi! quod nullis amor est medicabilis herbis.]
I hate the uncultivated crowd and keep them at a distance. Favour me by your tongues (keep silence). [Lat., Odi profanum vulgus et arceo. Favete linguis.]
A liar must have a good memory. -Mendacem oportet esse memorem
"What is truth?" said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer. Pilate was in advance of his time. For "truth" itself is an abstract noun, a camel, that is, of a logical construction, which cannot get past the eye even of a grammarian. We approach it cap and categories in hand: we ask ourselves whether Truth is a substance (the Truth, the Body of Knowledge), or a quality (something like the colour red, inhering in truths), or a relation ("correspondence"). But philosophers should take something more nearly their own size to strain at. What needs discussing rather is the use, or certain uses, of the word "true." In vino, possibly, "veritas," but in a sober symposium "verum."
Every time truth comes we hate it, because it's coming against our ego. Are you going to let the ego come between you and this person you love?
My hopes are not always realized, but I always hope. [Lat., Et res non semper, spes mihi semper adest.]
There is another old poet whose name I do not now remember who said Truth is the daughter of Time. [Lat., Alius quidam veterum poetarum cuius nomen mihi nunc memoriae non est veritatem temporis filiam esse dixit.]
I've always been someone who's believed in truth. I believe truth exists. I don't believe in relativism, a 'your truth, my truth' kind of a thing. However, I also believe that the truth must always be spoken in love - and that grace and truth are found in Jesus Christ.
Of what use is a fortune to me, if I cannot use it? [Lat., Quo mihi fortunam, si non conceditur uti?]
Truth is not spoken in anger. Truth is spoken, if it ever comes to be spoken, in love. The gaze of love is not deluded. It sees what is best in the beloved even when what is best in the beloved finds it hard to emerge into the light.
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