Literary tradition is full of lies about poverty-the jolly beggar, the poor but happy milkmaid, the wholesome diet of porridge, etc.
Scholarship can find little to say about the obvious.
I cling to depression, thinking it a form of truth.
Aphorisms are not true or false, but pointed or flat.
Language cannot say everything, fortunately.
Vanity is easily duped. Ambition, not.