" That was what was once believed. Now, it seems hardly to matter when and how we become ourselves – or even what we become. Theory chases theory about how we are composed. The only constant: the abjuration of personal responsibility. We are the next thing that the time dragon is dreaming, and nothing to be done about it.
We are the fanciful sketch of wry Lurline, we are a droll and ornamental, and no more culpable than a sprig of lavender or a sprig of lightning, and nothing to be done about it.
We are an experiment in situation ethics set by the Unnamed God, which in keeping its identity secret also cloaks the scope of the experiment and our chances of success or failure at it and nothing to be done about it.
We are loping sequences of chemical conversions acting ourselves converted. We are twists of jeans acting ourselves twisted; we are wicks of burning neuroses acting ourselves wicked. And nothing to be done about it. And nothing to be done about it. "

― Gregory Maguire , Son of a Witch (The Wicked Years, #2)