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Updated: May 7, 2025
I congratulate you, Parrhesiades; you are unanimously acquitted, and are henceforth one of us. Tychiades. Philocles, what is it that makes most men so fond of a lie? Can you explain it? Their delight in romancing themselves is only equaled by the earnest attention with which they receive other people's efforts in the same direction. Philocles.
"What is this about a disguised and wonderful man who rushed in and upset the whole of you. I want no romancing; give me the facts." Barlow's dissolute countenance became troubled. "The facts," he said, speaking with serious deliberation, "are not clear. It was like a clap of thunder, the way that man performed.
To them it is poetry, and the only thing worthy of the name; while the correlative function of lending the force of reality to the imaginary will appear at best but a superior kind of metrical romancing, or clever telling of fairy tales. Nor of course can there, from the point of view of the highest conception of the poet's office, be any comparison between the two.
As for the young man, who was, to begin with, in that state which so often follows on the long confinement of illness, when the light seems brighter and scents keener and experience sharper than at other times, he was inwardly confessing that Mrs. Thornburgh had not been romancing.
Such romancing has the cogency proper to dramatic poetry; it is persuasive only over the third person, who has never had, but has always been about to have, the experience in question. Drawn from the potential in one's self, it describes at best the possible in others.
The issue of his silent romancing was that he resolved to return to her at the very earliest moment. But he could not abandon his professional work on the instant.
Come, let me see you into the hall, I'm really sorry if I've spoken roughly, but I assure you Alwyn's not at all the sort of man you want for interviewing, he's far too modest and noble-hearted. Believe me! I'm not romancing a bit I'm in earnest.
They remained three hours at table telling about their sport. They were strange and improbable adventures in which the romancing spirit of the sportsmen delighted. Some of them were memorable stories and were repeated regularly. The story of a rabbit that little Vicomte de Bourril had missed in his vestibule convulsed them with laughter each year anew.
Say, ain't it that they reckon as she ain't jest a human crittur?" Victor opened his eyes and rolled over on his back. If there was one weakness he had it was the native half-breed love of romancing. He was ever ready to yarn. He revelled in it when he had a good audience. Nick was the very man for him, simple, honest, superstitious. So he sat up and answered readily enough.
Of these and many other things he spoke as recent happenings, although in reality they had occurred years or decades before. Romancing freely, he was hardly conscious when he was lying either on a small scale or on a large, being equally delighted with his own conceits and with the pleasure he was giving to his auditors.
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