79 Quotes about Truth by Hubert Martin (Free list)

If you’re looking for Hubert Martin quotes about truth, you’ve come to the right place. Here at Inspiring Lizard we collect thought-provoking quotes from interesting people. And in this article we share a list of the 79 most interesting quotes about truth by Hubert Martin. Let’s get inspired!

Hubert Martin quotes about truth

…4-5-6: when time escapes the day in its most beautiful way. She starves for that beauty, she longs to quench her limitless thirst, but those moments are so fleeting and their limit is her unrest. Her bones are hollow and heavy as she takes a single step, and in that instant she is gone, blinded by the flash of a stray ray of light, her eyes close in that moment and stars flood her night. She falls forward slow, counting the half seconds of her descent. Her eyes stay closed, her thoughts are spent.

— Hubert Martin


What do you do when your words aren’t enough? What do you do when your actions have no effect? What do you do when all the fibers of your existence scream just to be heard? And yet, only the most deafening silence returns the echoes of your screams. Is there something beyond words and action?

— Hubert Martin


Though I exist in the realms of day and night, I’m only truly alive in the moments between.

— Hubert Martin


And once the ripples still and the water returns to its unwavering calm, even the pebble that broke its surface will be forgotten. And the world will go on.

— Hubert Martin


I was lost in the moments I decided to keep. To be awake in a dreamless sleep. And in that place between dream and sleep, I planted some more things I would like to keep.

— Hubert Martin


She was starmetal bones with kaleidoscope eyes. A cracked framework of unique beauty, a patchwork portrait filled with swirling brush strokes, an amalgamation of delicate light and detailed shatter. I could write a novel about the way she breathes.

— Hubert Martin


She’s an array of undiscovered words, of feeling beyond my threshold. I’m just a man, trying to hold himself together in her wake.

— Hubert Martin


The flicker, the flutter, even thoughts can stutter.

— Hubert Martin


It was her eyes. Soft, meadow-shade eyes with frostbitten edges. Every glance casually held gossamer infinity. Every stare revealed inky black abyss with a hint of divinity.

— Hubert Martin


Stop the bleeding! Gauze the wound!” And his voice became much softer, “Those are the words… I’ve yet to write.” He died with that exhale. He died in a steaming carmine pool of unwritten stories that incredibly cold night. He always thought his work would take the form of ink, pen and paper, but as the last glow dimmed in his eyes, he realized his most meaningful words were sloppily spilled and patched together using blood, bullet holes and concrete.

— Hubert Martin


Woven words are little conviction when I present myself as a man of fiction.

— Hubert Martin


She was carmine shadows reflecting from my crimson words. Every pulse sent a velvet ripple through the shade. Every breath, a scarlet pause.

— Hubert Martin


With ravenous passion and reckless ambition he forged his thoughts into words, obsessed with the notion that dying would not be the last thing he would do.

— Hubert Martin


He was a musician of the best nature, with guitar string fingertips and soft flute lips that could tighten in a trumpet’s purse. Every movement was perfect, every breath filled with purpose. Whether close or open, his eyes seeped ambition and his body burned with chaotic passion. I was his instrument and he played me so well. His fingers fashioned a tune of ecstasy while his lips felt the reed shudders of my skin. He stole my breath and made it his own, using my lips to create his climactic song. A symphony of electricity and orgasmic bliss, he played me so well his fingers never did miss. Half-circles and hooks with my parted lips as his speaker, I never knew another musician so ruthlessly eager. To finish his song, to hit every note, elongating the melody of every sound from the depths of my throat. He was ambitious, pushing my limits, tearing my reservations and destroying my thresholds, all I could do was phase in and out, my ears ringing from the ballad I was made to produce.

— Hubert Martin


He gave up. No hint of ember behind his eyes nor life in his breath. He snipped the last, overstretched strand of hope, and nicked the strand of life by mistake. He did it with his hands.

— Hubert Martin


She had the blood of the sun running through her veins and the dust of stars at her fingertips. Her every breath birthed new cosmos and her thoughts were the super moon of the darkest night. Every word was a supernova and every step an inescapable singularity. Her touch though…it was soft.

— Hubert Martin


And though they fell as ashes, their shadows drifted as leaves.

— Hubert Martin


Woven words are little conviction when I present myself as a man of fiction. And you a woman of lies and deceit, stumbling forward on two left feet. You are an exquisite figurine of an incomprehensible place, While I, a soldier of my cause, my race. A single sip of you would satiate thirst, hunger and empty. Yet, you stand unmoved, comfortable knowing you could stave desires plenty. To my heart, you are known as ‘shatter.’ Between saint and sin, you are the latter. End, not even my finest words will matter. The still, the silence, even then, you are famine to my soul. My chest lacks certain weight now; I simply wish to be whole. Now, I stand before you broken, humbled and so bare, Only to see your infinite eyes brimming with no care. Your heart is a cauldron that burns darkest fuel. And I a remnant of smog, the overly-bitter fool. The man of fiction stumbles forward on two left feet, The woman of lies weaves words of conviction and deceit.

— Hubert Martin


An outline, my body, no mass or feeling, A dark reflection spread from floor to ceiling, The faceless copycat stalks me day after day, A personal eclipse of the sun never going astray, Each movement mine in a world of its own, Whispering shades unseen of a different home, A skewed yet comparable story occurs every day, Removed, though not far, less than halfway, The whiter the glow the blacker the stain, An ethereal cachet remaining midst the acidic rain, A trust and intimacy of a curious nature, I follow, it follows, we follow a stranger.

— Hubert Martin


They flew to avoid the horrors of land and sea, Daedalus and Icarus were for few moments free. Though the sun was Icarus’ ultimate bane, we came to always remember his name. For he felt the sun’s burn, a lesson Daedalus would never learn. When he found his son’s corpse and looked upon his face, he saw a smile there fastened in place. He continued his life wondering what his son had seen, hoping it was worth it since his dead smile was so serene. The sun always seemed to mock him after, shining, brilliant, blinding laughter. Daedalus grew withered and haunted by light, preferring the sea’s air in the depths of night. He watched lunar birds soar through the stars and away, forever regretting his decision to take flight during the day. He had lost his son to the sun in a twist of anomaly, he wondered which of them truly escaped that day, in all honesty.

— Hubert Martin


I love her, but every hug leaves bullet holes in my chest. Every kiss is another scar upon my flesh. Every thrust, every touch, every moan that escapes her lips…they are famine to my soul, and I still can’t let her go.

— Hubert Martin


She was poetry written in pen, scribbled and scrawled again and again. Ink splattered across the page. And within those scratched words, those small, sharp incisions, an image can be seen and you’re left to wonder what, in the end, this all could mean.

— Hubert Martin


Our bodies are made of supernova dust, the epitome of ultimate destruction and shatter. And though we are whole, beings with bodies and souls, with cosmos in our eyes and black heart holes, we love as fiercely as the force of creation.

— Hubert Martin


I spill my emotions and hopes on pieces of paper and pixels of screens, combining and creating, merging traditional methods with artificial means.Words carved in ink and electricity to facilitate simplicity and eradicate toxicity. No matter what fashion, form, font, method or avenue, the simplest and most meaningful words remain ever so true; I choose and love, only forever you.

— Hubert Martin


She was poetry written in pen, scribbled and scrawled again and again.

— Hubert Martin


The storm only grew stronger. Walls of facets became flooded with cracks, the tumultuous gale escaped through the smallest crevice. With her arms spread wide and all her muscles hard and taunt, she broke free from the chrysalis, letting loose her new wings and that mighty storm. I thought it was over, but I was wrong. She spread her wings and sang her song. She rode upon the howl of wind until she was gone.

— Hubert Martin


She speaks in heartbeats and the rises of her chest, words forever seared in thoughts that will never rest.

— Hubert Martin


On these days, I’ve never felt so hollow. Recollecting the many pieces of me that were lost in past sub-lives. They were the minor characters of my novel life, the sub-plots to the whole story. On these days I was the binding that held the book together, I was not the words.

— Hubert Martin


These places I traveled through, they were a lot like the people I knew. Some abodes I muddled about for a day or two, others entertained my thoughts for a year or a few. Each place and person gave me wisdom or growth, and, if I was lucky, sometimes I’d get both.

— Hubert Martin


He sang softly, less with words and more with thought. She cradled his head, stitching together his fragmented heart.

— Hubert Martin


I always deemed myself a one chance person, if you hurt me or betray me, then I’m done with you. As I grew older and the scars of wisdom imprinted on my soul and chest, I realized a second chance took a monumental amount of strength and some people deserve a chance to right their wrongs. Now, I would gladly allow another the opportunity to cauterize their wounds at the risk of ripping open my tight-knit scars. I would bleed for you and feel alive rather than watch with cold eyes as you decay.

— Hubert Martin


Adventures kept hidden, words kept silent. You became my greatest secret. And when you left, no one knew the source of the pain I felt. No one knew you existed, except my writhing heart.

— Hubert Martin


In a way, she became the sand to my hourglass… she made watching that trickling sand a little more bearable. I no longer worried about what would happen when the sand ran out. I began to see the spark each grain held as it fell.

— Hubert Martin


As I watched the sky morph shades of amber and amethyst, of fiery orange and smoldering pink, I always wondered if colors and images like these once inspired the greats before us to construct their beauty and masterpieces.

— Hubert Martin


That last bit of hope always lingered as a stubborn thread. Every time I would try to cut it I would feel it… a pulse. My pulse. My blood is hope.

— Hubert Martin


It only took a corny joke, but the smile I saw shone brighter than a glare, more profound than a star. And the best thing… it was so genuine. It was so her. I never thought I could fall more in love.

— Hubert Martin


I realized the world around me was fragmented and broken… I had to be gentle enough not to scrape against the jagged pieces. I would not be cut today.

— Hubert Martin


My heart may be bruised and scarred, bleeding slow drip-drip with every thump and every other thump-thump that widens unsealable wounds. My heart is the strongest part of me. It’s survived everything I’ve thrown at it and much more than it should.

— Hubert Martin


Her words were slickly lacquered, dripping with venom that singed the air as they fell. She traced her tongue up my neck and whispered in a way that would shatter glass. “It’s the words inbetween, ” she said, “those are the ones I truly mean.” Then, her toes curled with the release of the truth she kept hidden.

— Hubert Martin


When it came to her, I became an indomitable warrior. My muscles became her shield and my lungs aided her breath. She would not fall with me by her side, for I was the wings that sprouted from her back. No one would cross her without first having to survive my wrath.

— Hubert Martin


Whether it was in the maze of my fantastical mind or the allure of her gossamer eyes, they took me to undiscovered worlds of azure and metamorphosis. The air shimmered with every breath, the water tightened with every sound.

— Hubert Martin


She was the sort of girl who flooded my five senses. Her voice was melody to my ears, her taste gave birth to an eternal thirst, her scent sprouted goosebumps along the length of my body, her touch riveted with electricity that would’ve been static with any other… all these things considered, it was impossible for me not to stare. I began to see her everywhere, in everything.

— Hubert Martin


He spoke in polished honesty free of liar’s filth. He said the hardest words with an unshakable voice, a wide smile, with fear and doubt freezing over his core. The truth was the best route, but the truth could always be costly… another truth. A sad truth.

— Hubert Martin


My body held on though I held snapped threads in my hands and patches of my flesh were missing entirely. I was proud of my little mess… all the mistakes, every scar and every tear, told a story of a life I was strong enough to bear. I wear a patch of pride upon my chest, showing all my self-glory of the good times and the rest.

— Hubert Martin


She is beyond any mortal structure of words, yet she inspires the effort to try anyway.

— Hubert Martin


That’s what really broke me, she was better than any fantasy I could hope to imagine. I’ve spent my life creating, yet she was pristine the likes of which I could never fashion.

— Hubert Martin


In time, he began to see the details that held us like invisible stitches together. The scars we held within, the tears despite our dry faces. He saw the little sigh that came with the song. The way our breathing became labored even though nothing seemed wrong. He peeked into the aimless gaze of daydreamers, reliving their worst moments, commending them on being so strong.

— Hubert Martin


Hoping fast that my arrow’s flight is steady and true, I need this, I need my arrow to find you, To pierce your skin and enter your undecided heart, Please, oh please, this can be our brand new start, Maybe it’s not meant to be, Maybe my arrow will miss and strike a tree, But my love for you is strong, it guides my arrow, I cannot miss, the window to your heart is very narrow, It slams shut igniting embers and sparking fury spatter, To my heart and your window, we are known as ‘shatter.

— Hubert Martin


She was exactly right and wrong in the perfect sort of way. This kiss would be the first of many, she was the type of girl I would desperately fight for to stay.

— Hubert Martin


She was the half-whispers born from half-thoughts, the half-breaths of dying half-hearts.

— Hubert Martin


You are whole today, looking back at fragments of the past. Such a hollow foundation for such a powerful person.

— Hubert Martin


All my past heartache and pain suddenly made sense. That was who I would not be to the person who deserves the best of me.

— Hubert Martin


I wanted nothing more than her attention. Her thoughts filled with me. Her eyes lost in my image. I wanted her so badly I didn’t even realize I lost myself in the process. Now, when I look in the mirror, I only see her… where is me?

— Hubert Martin


It was the end for something. It was the beginning for another. But in reality it just fell in the middle. In that confusing moment of time between my birth and my death.

— Hubert Martin


I always thought time was the most valuable currency, but I realized the people we spent our time on and loved us back, that love held even more meaning to me.

— Hubert Martin


I was burdened with an ever-growing heart on the verge of decay. To save myself, I had to give many pieces of my love away. I hope I can give it all to someone, someday.

— Hubert Martin


It was a slow fall, through warm experiences and good laughs. It didn’t even feel like love until I got to the end. Even then, it was not the hard surface of rock, but the scorching embrace of more.

— Hubert Martin


I wanted to know every story behind the scars on her curves. I wanted to decipher the whispers hidden beneath her every breath. I wanted to unravel her with my hands.

— Hubert Martin


They surrounded me, bare me. Their fingers like tentacles and their desires like knives. Their fingers traced my secrets and their desires carved my skin.

— Hubert Martin


Anyone who claims good or evil isn’t one or either, they’re just a liar… the worst kind of liar… the liar that doesn’t even know they’re lying. We’re human. We’re good during the day and evil at night, half the time those roles are reversed, that’s what it’s all about.

— Hubert Martin


We are the living whole of the fragments from the things we’ve experienced and people we’ve encountered. Each interaction changes us in a subtle or massive way. The masterpiece we are sheds it’s weathered skin, becoming even more than it was before.

— Hubert Martin


Every decision, every single one, comes with a price to pay. It means you chose one thing over another, always. Whether you chose right or wrong, that cost remains constant. It’s a permanent life tax. That’s where taxes come from.

— Hubert Martin


The brittle seeds remained inside my soul, my tears the water that begged them to grow. And though I hate to admit it, you are my sun. Your light and warmth the last variables needed to see the seedlings burst and anchor. The roots in my soul, the flower and fruit in yours.

— Hubert Martin


Just being around her made me feel better. She had an amber shade aura to her that filled any cracks and brokenness I hadn’t yet fixed. I could be myself around her, knowing full well she held on as I let go.

— Hubert Martin


His eyes are covered by impermeable marble, a solidity that can never be breached. You think there is gold and warmth behind the facade of cold, but if only you could see your reflection in the marble. You would see how you burn, how brightly you glow, enough to incinerate anyone else whole.

— Hubert Martin


Inside, my soul is curled tightly bearing the burden of massive sins from another life. And my eyes look far at the hell around me… a sharp grin tugs at the corner of my lips.

— Hubert Martin


My scars show you I’ve been strong enough to endure the trauma of the world. My heart has no scars, my heart hangs in tatters only visible to those who see with more than their eyes. And my soul, well, my soul is comprised of pristine shatter, held together only because each individual piece is falling apart. They fall apart the right way though, that’s why I still play this facade of being one and whole.

— Hubert Martin


And in my novels I live many lives. Substitutes of spontaneity to replace a dreary reality. How I live for those inky black words and kaleidoscope colored experiences.

— Hubert Martin


An intricate string made up of infinite knots and curls. Taking a step back, it really did seem so fragile. As if the smallest breeze of opportunity would cause it to snap. It held strong though, fastened to me and you as a line of steel.

— Hubert Martin


I wear my past around my shoulders as a fine, but worn, cloak. Don’t be fooled by my cloak’s appearance, I have a three piece underneath.

— Hubert Martin


I was the wings that kept her aloft, while the churning sea of reality nipped at her feet. I kept her from drowning, but I still felt bad, that her toes had to experience such dreadful cold.

— Hubert Martin


Everyone is their own, though they are so alone. They all sit on their imagined thrones, made only of their own bones. Ego and pride make exquisite delusional cushions.

— Hubert Martin


He accepted new ideas as readily as new trends. Knowing those worth it would last and the lessers will pass.

— Hubert Martin


I held my breath tightly against the shivers coursing through my body. Darkness ate away the edges of my vision and numbness stole away my fingers. I kept holding though. Watching the last bubble of precious air escape my lips. Then it became all black. But I never let go.

— Hubert Martin


It was a burden on all her muscles. A hollow deeper than her bones. She braced herself though, she knew why Atlas stood so tall.

— Hubert Martin


I don’t know anymore, whether it’s a curse or a blessing to see the beauty in the ugly. Growing up simply and getting old complexly. I now see reason behind sin, and love behind pain.

— Hubert Martin


The scribbles in my notebook are a reflection of you. Every line holds your name. Every paragraph a feature of yours I love. Each page is a memory of moments that took my breath away. Of times when I laughed more than my lungs would allow. My notebook is full, but I always knew only one would hardly contain all of you.

— Hubert Martin


I think I feel it The nimble, fleeting emotion That novels and authors desperately Try to convey in ink and heart blood Whose shadow festers in the loins Of teenagers and their insatiability The hidden thing none of us can see Yet we all disagree what it looks like If only it were love… simple, infinite love But this was more, this was bloodshot madness.

— Hubert Martin


She was small. Her shadow moved in the dance of chaos before her as the inferno blazed behind her and licked the sky with its many tongues. She clutched an indistinguishable toy with both arms tightly. Her face was serene. Her eyes shone with courage more immense than the surrounding flames. She was small, but at that moment, I’ve never seen a bigger person.

— Hubert Martin


And they danced with laughter and tears. They swung each other round and round, the first and last time in years.

— Hubert Martin