The earth is a house of stories. Akeah-de.

We're <i>made<i> of stories now, brother. It's why we never die even if we do.</i></i>

We live in the stories we tell ourselves.

Just stories. You and me, everybody, we’re a set of stories, and what those stories are is what makes us what we are.

We're all made of stories. When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on. Not forever, perhaps, but for a time. It's a kind of immortality, I suppose, bounded by limits, it's true, but then so's everything.

Stories — individual stories, family stories, national stories — are what stitch together the disparate elements of human existence into a coherent whole. We are story animals.

In a fractured age, when cynicism is god, here is a possible heresy: we live by stories, we also live in them.

One way or another we are living the stories planted in us early or along the way, we are also living the stories we planted - knowingly or unknowingly - in ourselves. We live the stories that either give our lives meaning, or negate it with meaninglessness. If we change the stories we live by, quite possibly we change or lives.

For we are all bound in stories, and as the years pile up they turn to stone, layer upon layer, building our lives.

Without stories, we wouldn't be human beings at all

Each affects the other, and the other affects the next, and the world is full of stories, but the stories are all one.

we become the stories we tell ourselves

People are hungry for stories. It's part of our very being.

Stories make us more alive, more human, more courageous, more loving.

We tell each other stories in order to live.