I sometimes wonder about the quality of truth. I mean, I wonder about the quality of a lot of things. Cashmere scarves, love, the water I'm drinking. But truth has recently caught my eye. Because although there is a working definition of what truth is, there is no scale by which to measure how true something may be. There is no standard by which to know whether what I think is true is the same as what you think is true, or what he thinks is true. Which somewhat makes truth comparable to thought. You cannot have a false thought. I cannot think I like you when in fact I don't. Once a thought finds its way into expression it can lie as much as you want it to, but pure thought cannot purposely be false.
So in some ways I suppose one could say that as far truth goes, everything is as true or false as you think it is. But that seems confusing too, because we all think different things. For instance, a grad student came up to the circulation desk a few minutes ago and I thought he smelled like smoke. And even though I'm fairly certain that his wife or girlfriend will think so too, maybe he doesn't. Maybe he thinks the only thing he smells like is last night. I swear, you men have to start showering.