The agreement or disagreement or its sense with reality constitutes its truth or falsity.
Jem and Will had set up camp on one of the long tables in the back of the library, ostensibly to help advise her, but more likely, it seemed, to mock and be amused by her consternation. You point your feet out too much when you walk, Will went on. He was busy polishing an apple on his shirtfront, and appeared not to notice Tessa glaring at him. Camille walks delicately. Like a faun in the woods. Not like a duck. I do not walk like a duck. I like ducks, Jem observed diplomatically. Especially the ones in Hyde Park. He glanced sideways at Will; both boys were sitting on the edge of the high table, their legs dangling over the side. Remember when you tried to convince me to feed a poultry pie to the mallards in the park to see if you could breed a race of cannibal ducks? They ate it too, Will reminisced. Bloodthirsty little beasts. Never trust a duck.
You hit a certain age and - especially because of TV - the young cooks coming up say, 'You're a sellout, because you're doing something other than what you should be doing.' 'Top Chef' is a double-edged sword for me: There's a whole group of people who will not come to the restaurants because they assume I'm not in them anymore, all I do is TV.