The truth is never what it seems.
It’s always hidden underneath and carefully suppressed
from policy or care or caution or whatever,
oftentimes by scruples and discretion,
but it’s always there and crying loud in silence,
like a death scream from someone buried alive,
that must eventually come out in dreadfulness,
like the hidden story and agenda of so many presidents,
so many public figures, popes and actors,
film stars, kings and world celebrities,
their secret failures, desillusions, disappointments,
shameful shortcomings, frustrations, tragedies, regrets,
mistakes and human stains, that they are the more painfully aware of
the more they make efforts to conceal them,
self control must ultimately burst, the truth will out,
and then we have the problem constantly recurring:
Would it have made any difference, if the pain had been released before?
Or would it have been better if it never had been known at all?
And usually there is no unambiguous answer
to any of the many self-contradictory questions.