The habitude of pleasing by flattery makes a language soft; the fear of offending by truth makes it circuitous and conventional

Cats, like men, are flatterers.

When a cat flatters ... he is not insincere: you may safely take it for real kindness.

In argument, truth always prevails finally; in politics, falsehood always.

Truth, like the juice of the poppy, in small quantities, calms men; in larger, heats and irritates them, and is attended by fatal consequences in excess

Truth is a point, the subtlest and finest; harder than adamant; never to be broken, worn away or blunted. Its only bad quality is, that it is sure to hurt those who touch it; and likely to draw blood, perhaps the life blood of those who press earnestly upon it.