Life & Wisdom Quote by Jerome K. Jerome

A moral proverb strolls in wearing its Sunday clothes, then Jerome yanks the chair out from under it. The opening clause is pure Victorian self-help: truth as “best policy,” ethics reduced to a tidy, bourgeois cost-benefit calculation. Then comes the sly hinge - “unless, of course” - a phrase that pretends to be casual while detonating the premise. By the end, virtue isn’t a principle at all; it’s a strategy that loses the moment someone develops superior technique.

The line’s intent isn’t to endorse lying so much as to mock the pieties that pretend morality is just good accounting. Jerome’s joke exposes how often “honesty” gets marketed as pragmatic rather than right. If truth is only “best policy,” then a better policy can replace it. That’s the cynical little engine inside the wit: ethics becomes a marketplace where the most skilled performer wins.

The subtext lands even harder in Jerome’s era, when respectable society prized propriety, reputation, and the appearance of uprightness. In that world, social survival frequently depended on tactful omissions, managed impressions, and the kind of lying that never calls itself a lie. By naming the “exceptionally good liar,” Jerome points to the uncomfortable truth beneath the truth-talk: many people don’t hate deception; they hate getting caught, or being deceived without artistry.

It works because it flatters and indicts at once. You laugh, partly because you recognize the hypocrisy, and partly because you’re relieved someone said it out loud: sincerity is often treated as a virtue for people who can’t pull off anything else.