On the Decay of the Art of Lying

by Mark Twain

No high-minded man, no man of right feeling, can contemplate the lumbering and slovenly lying of the present day without grieving to see a noble art so prostituted.

No fact is more firmly established than that lying is a necessity of our circumstances--the deduction that it is then a Virtue goes without saying.

What chance has the ignorant uncultivated liar against the educated expert?

An awkward, unscientific lie is often as ineffectual as the truth.

Children and fools _always_ speak the truth. The deduction is plain --adults and wise persons _never_ speak it.

"The saying is old that truth should not be spoken at all times; and those whom a sick conscience worries into habitual violation of the maxim are imbeciles and nuisances."

None of us could _live_ with an habitual truth-teller; but thank goodness none of us has to.

Everybody lies--every day; every hour; awake; asleep; in his dreams; in his joy; in his mourning; if he keeps his tongue still, his hands, his feet, his eyes, his attitude, will convey deception--and purposely. Even in sermons--but that is a platitude.

You lied to the undertaker, and said your health was failing--a wholly commendable lie, since it cost you nothing and pleased the other man.

I think that all this courteous lying is a sweet and loving art, and should be cultivated.