Stories assault me like angry ghosts, attacking my desire to feel whatever I feel, even my grief, since if I decline to feel it I might forget who or where I am.
“Have I told you all I promised? I am aware that at various places in my narrative I have pledged that this or that should be made clear in the knitting up of the story. I remember them all, I am sure, but then I remember so much else. Before you assume that I have cheated you, read again, as I will write again.”
Gene Wolfe | The Citadel of the Autarch