Every writer worth his two-cents-a-word hopes, in some little corner of his mind at least, that somewhere out there, there are a few people who will do more than read his book, pitch it away, and reach for the next one -- people who will read and re-read, study the cover, perhaps, in search of some clue, shelve the book and later take it out again, just to hold. There was a time when I could put the palm of my hand flat on the front of a tattered paperback called The Dying Earth and feel the magic seeping through the cardboard: Turjan of Miir, Liane the Wayfarer, T'sais, Chun the Unavoidable. No one I knew had so much as heard of that book, but I knew it was the finest book in the world.
— Gene Wolfe, The Castle of the Otter
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