Seeing his daughter slowly die, coupled with his infinite sadness and misery, the clockmaker becomes a recluse to the tower of the castle and begins to build something behind closed doors, not even his daughter knows what he's up to. For five years, she only sees him briefly at meal-times before locking himself up in the tower once again...... Did he have a bathroom in the tower? Yes, Jack. A big one! En-suite! Power-shower and spa! Where was I!?

Your castles and strongholds shall have bars of iron and bronze, and as your day, so shall your strength, your rest and security, be.— Deuteronomy 33:25 AMP

Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one's own self.

If you can show people how to build castles, make sure you do not neglect building and nurturing your own.

Rainer Maria Rilke greeted and wrestled with the angels of his Duino Elegies in the solitude of a castle surrounded by white cliffs tall trees and the sea. I greeted most of mine in the solitude of a house that still vibrated with the throbs of a singular life that had helped shape many lives and with the ache of attempts to render useful service to that life. The River of Winged Dreams was therefore constructed as a link between dimensions of past and future emotions and intellect and matter and spirit.

People either build a castle or a dungeon. The former by their virtues, pull people into positive edifices with gainful impression. The later by their vices, push people into negative huts with painful oppression.