Oh, was that liquor of yours a stimulant?" asked Elena. "I wondered why he didn't fall asleep."Couldn't you tell?" chuckled Mayhew."Not really."Miles twisted his head to take in Elena's upside-down worried face, and smile in weak reassurance. Sparkly black and purple whirlpools clouded his vision. Mayhew's laughter faded. "My God," he said hollowly, "you mean he's like that all the time?
Lois McMaster BujoldAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: November 2, 1949
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There are, it seems, two muses: the Muse of Inspiration, who gives us inarticulate visions and desires, and the Muse of Realization, who returns again and again to say "It is yet more difficult than you thought." This is the muse of form. It may be then that form serves us best when it works as an obstruction, to baffle us and deflect our intended course. It may be that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work and when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun...
Wendell Berry