There’s another option. You can consider the reader, not as a helpless victim or a passive consumer, but as an active, intelligent, worthy collaborat… - Ursula K. Le Guin

There was a wall. It did not look important. It was built of uncut rocks roughly mortared. An adult could look right over it, and even a child could climb it. Where it crossed the roadway, instead of having a gate it degenerated into mere geometry, a line, an idea of boundary. But the idea was real. It was important. For seven generations there had been nothing in the world more important than that wall.
Like all walls it was ambiguous, two-faced. What was inside it and what was outside it depended upon which side of it you were on.

The world’s vast and strange, Hara, but no vaster and no stranger than our minds are. Think of that sometimes.

He had waked her; he had given her what she lacked, and what few men could have given her: the sense of peril, which is the root of love.