...even before we can know to know it, we wish you were here.

“My gripe is not with lovers of the truth but with truth herself. What succor, what consolation is there in truth, compared to a story? [...] When fear and cold make a statue of you in your bed, don't expect hard-boned and fleshless truth to come running to your aid. What you need are the plump comforts of a story. The soothing, rocking safety of a lie.