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And I needed a rock. Something to hold onto, to stand on. Something solid. Because everything was going soft, turning into mush, into marsh, into fog. Fog closing in on all sides. I didn't know where I was at all.
— Ursula K. Le Guin
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There is always a gap between conception and execution. We keep writing in the burning hope of closing that gap before we die.
— Janette Turner Hospital
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