All my years to this moment All my roads to this wall. All my words to this silence All my pride to this fall. -Songs of Sapphique

All my years to this moment All my roads to this wall. All my words to this silence All my pride to this fall. -Songs of Sapphique

He had wanted so hard to Escape, to find the stars. And all he had found was a new prison.

Walls have ears. Doors have eyes. Trees have voices. Beasts tell lies. Beware the rain. Beware the snow. Beware the man You think you know. -Songs of Sapphique

In the Sapient tongue he said softly, ‘Tell me, Master, did you know Incarceron was tiny?’ ‘Is it?’ Sapphique replied in the same language, his green eyes as he looked up lit by deep points of flame. ‘To you, perhaps. Not to its Prisoners. Every prison is a universe for its inmates. And think, Jared Sapiens. Might not the Realm also be tiny, swinging from the watchchain of some being in a world even vaster?

When you draw, you copy the world don't you? You remake it on paper, but it isn't the same. It's yours. No one else could have created it just like that. When I make poems, I use the words we all use, but the order and the sound create a new power. This wood is someone's creation. We stumble through it's tendrils, as if we're crawling through the synapses of his mind.

I always was going to be a writer. The other jobs were just to keep me in food. Though I enjoyed the archaeology.