Some of these things are true and some of them lies. But they are all good stories.
Over the city lies the sweet, rotting odor of yesterday's unrecollected sins.
Fear of commitment lies behind the fear of writing.
I once stole a book. It was really just the once, and at the time I called it borrowing. It was 1970, and the book, I could see by its lack of date stamps, had been lying unappreciated on the shelves of my convent school library since its publication in 1945.
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