Mind is precious. When I think of how valuable it is, it drives me to a logic extreme where I am deadlocked. Not all minds are precious, of course. But there are some.
Reading Tolstoy’s epic novels, I sometimes think of how easily I get sucked in both documentation of historical events and fictional characters: everything is so real. I forget that a lot of it is made up. A product of imagination has such an input in history, literature and growth of philosophical concepts.
Maybe I should try to write some science fiction, not a book of course, I am not that talented, to write a book...Just a couple of short stories. Before then I should probably read some more Ursula Le Guin and Margaret Atwood.