The Wind's Twelve Quarters

by Ursula K. Le Guin

Sun set, somewhere west over roofs, but not for the mountain that still burned with a white fire away up high.

Saturn shone, bright and saturnine.

I’m a builder, not a floater, said Lif after he had considered his stupidity from all sides.

‘He Who Shapes’ by Roger Zelazny, one of the finest science fiction stories I know,

Per said, ‘The madness is growing in him,’ and Hanno said, ‘Poor soul, poor soul!’ Yet there was not one of them who did not, also, believe what the astronomer had told them.

only Time works the great changes.