Nobody believes a rumor here in Washington until it's officially denied.

Nobody believes a rumor here in Washington until it's officially denied.

Every rumor is believed against the unfortunate.
[Lat., Ad calamitatem quilibet rumor valet.]

Every rumor is believed against the unfortunate.
[Lat., Ad calamitatem quilibet rumor valet.]

Enemies carry a report in form different from the original.
[Lat., Nam inimici famam non ita ut nata est read more

Enemies carry a report in form different from the original.
[Lat., Nam inimici famam non ita ut nata est ferunt.]

Some report elsewhere whatever is told them; the measure of
fiction always increases, and each fresh narrator adds something read more

Some report elsewhere whatever is told them; the measure of
fiction always increases, and each fresh narrator adds something
to what he has heard.
[Lat., Hi narrata ferunt alio; mensuraque ficti
Crescit et auditus aliquid novus adjicit auctor.]

Rumor doth double, like the voice and echo,
The numbers of the feared.

Rumor doth double, like the voice and echo,
The numbers of the feared.

Rumor is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,
And of so easy and so plain a read more

Rumor is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,
And of so easy and so plain a stop
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still-discordant wavering multitude,
Can play upon it.

I will be gone,
That pitiful rumor may report my flight
To consolate thine ear.

I will be gone,
That pitiful rumor may report my flight
To consolate thine ear.

The flying rumours gather'd as the roll'd,
Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told;
And all read more

The flying rumours gather'd as the roll'd,
Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told;
And all who told it added something new.
And all who heard it made enlargements too.

What is this the sound and rumor? What is this that all men hear, Like the wind in hollow valleys read more

What is this the sound and rumor? What is this that all men hear, Like the wind in hollow valleys when the storm is drawing near, Like the rolling of the ocean in the eventide of fear? 'Tis the people marching on