Epics are never written about libraries. They exist on whim; it depends on if the conquering army likes to read.

I would be mute, beautiful, changless as the earth for you. I would be your memory, without age, always innocent, always waiting in the King's white house. I would do that for you and no other man inthe relm. But it would be a lie and I will do anything but lie to you - I swear that.

Then you will have to trust me. Beyond logic, beyond reason, beyond hope, trust me.

I write fantasy because it's there. I have no other excuse for sitting down for several hours a day indulging my imagination. Daydreaming. Thinking up imaginary people, impossible places.

...that once were urgent and necessary for an orderly world and now were buried away, gathering dust and of no use to anyone.

Research the imagination. It was as obsolete as the appendix in most adults, except for those in whom, like the appendix, it became inflamed for no reason.

The man was hit in one eye by a stone, and that eye turned inward so that it looked into his mind, and he died of what he saw there