“Epochs later, the curtains grew dusty and brittle, the deep, vicious colour of a bruise. The floorboards creaked and we were civilized. We were no longer the wild, ravening voices of the world, howling our shame and indignation at the sky.”

“Their howls rose to the sky and twisted together until they were on, and the other beasts joined in too, all of their voices creating a wild, plaintive song of sorry and abandon and anger and love.”

“When we first came hereWe were cold and we were clearwith no colours on our skinWe were light and paper thin.And when we first came hereWe were cold and we were clearWith no colours on our skin'Till you let the Spectrum in.--Spectrum”

“It was a vicious circle, though. The more gratification we found in our own geniuses, the more isolated we grew. Our home was like an artists' colony. We ate together, but otherwise were absorbed in our separate pursuits. And in this isolation, our creativity took on an aspect of compulsion.”

“Because once upon a time, we grew up on stories and the voices in which they were told. We need words to hold us and the world to behold us for us to truly know our own souls.”

“It was a vicious cycle, though. The more gratification we found in our own geniuses, the more isolated we grew.”