“May I know what you’re doing Sir?”
“Painting pictures.”
“But you aren’t using any brushes.”
“Aye.”
“So you don’t paint?”
“Aye, I do paint. I can paint the skies, the earth, and everything in between. I can paint a portrait of a fine young damsel and recapture a starry night on a plain white canvas. And I paint all these not with a brush, but with a quill every commoner possesses but never fully utilizes. To tell you the truth, I can do far greater things with a quill than when wielding a brush; I can bring to life any color I choose using just one; I can make rain pour down whenever I please on a perfectly fine day with just a few extra strokes of ink. And my paintings are more than just two-dimensional visuals confined to the corners of a canvas; they are words engraved on paper that transcend time and space and become etched on hearts and minds; they are words whose essences animate and dance like the flames of burning wood and flow like the waters of a stream. And my paintings cannot be perceived solely through the human eyes, but require the combined powers of all the senses and the mighty mind. So aye, I paint pictures, but with words.”