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? What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney? When the lightning strikes shadows on the bedroom wall and the rain taps at the window with its long fingernails? No. 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.

– Vida Winter in The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield

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About sethsownstar

Illustrator. Fabric Artist. Plushie Maker. Schwoopie Towne is my world and the Cuddle Buddies are my friends. I express myself through paper, digital paint and piles of fabric.

Posted on September 8, 2015, in stories, truth and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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