there’s always that first storytelling impulse: I want to tell you something...

Tell me a story, Pew.

Tell them stories.

Tell me a story. In this century, and moment, of mania, Tell me a story. Make it a story of great distances, and starlight. The name of the story will be Time, But you must not pronounce its name. Tell me a story of deep delight.

Do you want to tell the truth, or do you want to tell a story?

I'm telling you stories. Trust me.

I'm willing to tell you. I'm wanting to tell you. I'm waiting to tell you.

I like a good story well told. That is the reason I am sometimes forced to tell them myself.

Have a story. And make sure it’s a good one. A DAMN good one.

I want a good story, with a beginning, middle and end.

I long to hear the story of your life, which must captivate the ear strangely.

I had a story tell, a story that needed to be told so that people would know the truth.

I keep on going with this sad and hungry and sordid, this limping and mutilated story, because after all I want you to hear it….By telling you anything at all I’m at least believing in you….Because I’m telling you this story I will your existence. I tell, therefore you are.

"Tell me a story," I say to you.
"What about?"
"Tell me a story you have never told anyone before. Make it up for me." (last lines of Prologue)