A snail is just a slug with a house. Hospitals have this strange atmosphere, where it is sterile yet inexplicably hazy, misty, unclear, hard to see. A slug is just a homeless snail.
It is possible to write anything original? Has everything been said, done, written before? There are only so many possible combinations of words and syntactical choices that one can create, surely? Perhaps nothing is unprecedented. All of my writing has been penned before, by somebody else. Someone in the world is probably thinking the same thoughts as me right now. Nothing is original, nothing is unique. It has all been done before. My poetry has been written before. It has all been done before.