“Dog sighs are some form of distilled truth. What does he know? What do dogs know? Ed sighs like he knows the truth about me and he loves me anyway.”

“The fact that he does not tell me the truth all the time makes me not sure of his truth at certain times, and then I work to figure out for myself if what he is telling me is the truth or not, and sometimes I can figure out that it's not the truth and sometimes I don't know and never know, and sometimes just because he says it to me over and over again I am convinced it is the truth because I don't believe he would repeat a lie so often. Maybe the truth does not matter, but I want to know it if only so that I can come to some conclusions about such questions as: whether he is angry at me or not; if he is, then how angry; whether he still loves her or not; if he does, then how much; whether he loves me or not; how much; how capable he is of deceiving me in the act and after the act in the telling.”

“He who does not lie does not know what truth is.”

“Mistakes are, after all, the foundations of truth, and if a man does not know what a thing is, it is at least an increase in knowledge if he knows what it is not. ”

“What are you doing here, Luce?" he asked, studying me. "Watching you play," I answered, knowing it wasan't one he'd accept. "Yeah," he said, making a face. "That's not going to work for me." Of course it wasn't. "You know why," I added with a whisper. "I need to hear you say it," he said, swallowing. "I've gone too many days without hearing it." Sighing, I closed my eyes. "I love you," I said, knowing it was the truth and that it didn't change anything. "And I missed you." "Yeah," he said, "me too.”

“me: you know what sucks about love?o.w.g.: what?me: that it's so tied to the truth.”