The Lathe of Heaven

by Ursula K. Le Guin

Orr had a tendency to assume that people knew what they were doing, perhaps because he generally assumed that he did not.

He had grown up in a country run by politicians who sent the pilots to man the bombers to kill the babies to make the world safe for children to grow up in.

Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.