“There is a movement happening, a quiet one.A low-profile, low-resolution revolution.Comprised of writers and dreamers, of guerrilla artists and thought-ninjas.Those with something to say.They communicate through text inscribed on true public spaces, rather than blogs and forums.Choosing fewer words, even without being bound by 140 character limits.Using ink instead of pixels.Sending messages in living, breathing space.Pens scream louder into the void.Even if permanent ink is not aptly named.”

“I would have written you, myself, if I could put down in words everything I want to say to you. A sea of ink would not be enough.' 'But you built me dreams instead.”

“The funeral is a quiet one, despite the number of mourners present. There are no sobs or flailing handkerchiefs. There is a smattering of color amongst the sea of traditional black. Even the light rain cannot push it down into the realms of despair. It rests instead in a space of thoughtful melancholy.”

“Only the ship is made of books, its sails thousands of overlapping pages, and the sea it floats upon is dark black ink.”

“The boy spends most of his time reading. And writing, of course. He copies out sections of books, writes out words and symbols he does not understand at first but that become intimately familiar beneath his ink-stained fingers, formed again and again in increasingly steady lines.”

“This card entitles the holder to unlimited admission is imprinted on one side in black ink, and on the reverse it reads: Le Cirque des Reves and in smaller letters beneath that: Chandresh Christophe Lefevere, Proprietor”

“I don't think there's anything wrong being a dreamer.”