“The best way to keep a prisoner from escaping,

is to make sure he never knows he’s in prison”

Fyodor M. Dostoevsky


It was only a matter of time before my favourite Russian brother spoke up.  And if anyone knew prisons, it was certainly the man who lived and wrote about the House of the Dead.

There is no escape.  No way out.

Most of us are prisoners of our own making.  Wardens of our own insecurities and doubts. 

We gave up the joy and happiness we so sincerely yearned for as children, so long ago. 

We no longer dream.  We don't let others dream either.

We simply exhaust ourselves in a desperate attempt to merely survive.

We will die never having the courage to sing our song. 

We will die after a frustrating life of quiet desperation.

We continue to sit comfortably and ever so numb in our progressively glowing caves, looking at the passing shadows on a wall.

We will always deny that we are inside a prison.


We’re never getting out, are we?