"You blame me for weeping, but how can I help it when you will not weep for yourselves, though your immortal souls are on the verge of destruction."

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Muses are fickle, and many a writer, peering into the voice, has escaped paralysis by ascribing the creative responsibility to a talisman: a lucky charm, a brand of paper, but most often a writing instrument. Am I writing well? Thank my pen. Am I writing badly? Don't blame me blame my pen. By such displacements does the fearful imagination defend itself.

— Anne Fadiman