Others indeed may talk, and write, and fight about liberty, and make an outward pretence to it but the free-thinker alone is truly free.
George BerkeleyRead
He who says there is no such thing as an honest man, you may be sure is himself a knave.
Interpretation
The quote suggests that those who deny the existence of honest people often reflect their own dishonesty.
George Berkeley's quote highlights a common cognitive bias where individuals project their own flaws onto others. By asserting that there are no honest men, the speaker reveals their own lack of integrity, suggesting that they are untrustworthy themselves. This notion emphasizes the importance of self-reflection and the tendency to judge others based on our own actions and beliefs.
In practice
In a public debate on ethics, one might use this quote to emphasize the importance of personal integrity.
Others indeed may talk, and write, and fight about liberty, and make an outward pretence to it but the free-thinker alone is truly free.
To be is to be perceived (Esse est percipi)." Or, "If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?
Truth is the cry of all, but the game of few.
All the choir of heaven and furniture of earth - in a word, all those bodies which compose the frame of the world - have not any subsistence without a mind.
The same principles which at first view lead to skepticism, pursued to a certain point, bring men back to common sense.
Many things, for aught I know, may exist, whereof neither I nor any other man hath or can have any idea or notion whatsoever.
What do we talk about? Just ordinary things. What happened today, or books we've read, or tomorrow's weather, you know. Don't tell me you're wondering if people jump to their feet and shout stuff like 'It'll rain tomorrow if a polar bear eats the stars tonight!
Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only change of worlds.
Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart; I breathe at this hour the fragrance of the lilacs, the violets, and the roses, as at twenty years ago.
Neither the sun nor death can be looked at steadily.
The truth is always an abyss. One must β as in a swimming pool β dare to dive from the quivering springboard of trivial everyday experience and sink into the depths, in order to later rise again β laughing and fighting for breath β to the now doubly illuminated surface of things.
Nothing is miserable unless you think it so.
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