We give birth to ideas and often need that “something“, a means to achieve the fulfilment of our aspiration. We would like to make someone happy with our letter, to write a story of life or present our beloved ones with a seal of affection, gratitude and loyalty. All of our love is contained in words, which need to be rendered substantial, written by hand, not with the help of a word processor. Each letter that we write bears our seal, testifying of our existence, our love and readiness to enjoy a book, a text, a pen and paper. Thus, there is a fountain pen beside you, which, just as our ancestors used to, you will fill with ink, the blackness of the colour, take the cartridge and write something sweet, special and precious, defying thus the civilisation that destroys individuality. There is power in the hand that writes, the power that stems from the sharpness of the mind, developing motor skills and making a perfect harmony between our unconscious and the reality of paper. A number of writers of today do not use the word processor for writing as their power lies in the miraculousness of the movement, nimble fingers pressing and joints flexing. The intensive companionship with paper can soothe their fears and sorrows, open the doors of their loneliness, eventually enabling the reader to experience inexpressible pleasure. It is the fountain pen that enables the encounter of the writer, the paper and the reader, as a means to bestow joy, relief and new worlds.