You are torturing yourself with hope. You will never know the gentle happiness of untrammeled futility.

I found a meadow made of crystal, and an underwater cavern, and a bizarre machine which replicated itself, and an abandoned mansion with thousands of half-lit rooms, and a stratified network of corridors, and a vast precipice from one I could see a cloud emanating shafts of light in the distance, and a creature who bled forever, and a fragrant vale in which moss and lichen grew, and a great, lead hill from which one could see the whole world. For a while I was happy to explore on my own. Soon, though, the urge came to tell. I told a thousand strangers I would take them there, and show them around. Some came, but were not impressed.

She wanted to write a Book of Disappointment. In it would be described the whole terrain, and how one walks through it without killing one's self. However, she quickly realised that it is impossible to write such a book.