Quote:"My gripe is not with lovers of truth but with truth herself. What succor, what consolation is there in truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney? When the lightening strikes shadows on the bedroom wall and the rain taps at the window with its long finger nails?No. What you need are the plump comforts of a story. The soothing , rocking saftey of a lie."
Question: What made her feel this way about the truth? What makes her love lies like she would love a family member?
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