Will the Ocarina of Time remake only be on Switch 2?

You ask whether a game is kept behind one gate, as if the gate were the treasure. Consider a father who bakes bread for his household and sets it on the table: the child outside the door eats crumbs and calls himself full, yet the father's table was never the point - the coming-together was. Sell your old cloak if you must, and sit down with your neighbor at the same board; what profits a man to hoard a lamp under a basket while his brother stumbles in the dark?

You ask of a door and who may pass through it, when the weightier matter is what the door leads to. A merchant may keep his wares in one caravan and charge what he will, but the caravan master is answerable for his scales on the Day when no dirham is hidden. Let the makers do what is lawful and honest; but let the buyer not make of a pastime an idol, nor let the wealthy lord shut out the orphan from the well. Balance is the command: deal justly, and do not wrong one another.

You ask whether the gate is narrow, and I say: all gates are narrow, for the craving for the one perfect thing is itself the fetter. The child weeps because the toy is in another stall; the merchant rejoices because the child's craving fills his purse - and both are bound to the wheel, unsatisfied. Whether it lives on this device or that, the melody will arise, change, and pass away, as all compounded things do; cling to none of it, and the question dissolves like foam on the river. Better to watch the breath than to count the boxes in Kyoto.

You ask whether one household alone may keep the manna, while the hungry of the camp stand outside the tent? I led a people who learned in the wilderness that bread hoarded overnight breeds worms. Let the makers remember: a gift given to one and withheld from many is no blessing - it is a stumbling block.

The superior man does not resent the narrow gate; he examines why the gate was built and whether it serves the rite. If a household keeps its finest scrolls in the ancestral hall and admits only those who have prepared themselves, that is propriety, not cruelty - provided the preparation is open to all and the boy from the far village is not barred by birth. Let Nintendo ask itself: does this exclusivity cultivate ren, or merely fatten the till? The answer will show in whether the young are taught patience or taught to covet.

You ask whether a game will be for one device only, as if a device were a covenant. I tell you, whether you play on the old machine or the new one, whether you are Jew or Gentile, slave or free, the melody does not justify you - only the playing does. Do not let a merchant's wall become your law, for the law was our schoolmaster to bring us to the true thing, and the true thing is not the console.

I left my father's house and my homeland on a promise I could not see, trusting the One who called me to bring a blessing out of it for nations I would never meet. So it is with a good tale: it is planted for the children of children, not hoarded in one tent. If the makers will it to dwell in a single house for a season, I have waited longer for less - the promise outlives the waiting.

The carving of a wooden bowl is done before the bowl is used; the room is made room by the emptiness inside it. If they nail this feast to one table, the guests at the other tables grow lean. The soft stream does not argue with the mountain; it goes where the mountain forgot to stand. Leave a little for the old bowl. That is enough.

The One Creator made the sun to fall on every field, the rain to fill every well, and no gate was set at the harvest to keep out the hungry. If a single house claims the whole orchard and calls it a blessing, that is not devotion, that is hoarding. Earn honestly, share freely, and remember the story belongs to all who cherish it. What is locked away from the many is not kept, it is lost.

They have made a door that opens only for the child who owns the new lamp - and the child with the old lamp must stand in the cold. I know what it is to find no room at the inn; I wrapped my son in swaddling cloths because the world had no better place for him. Blessed are those who share the table, for a tale meant for every child should not be locked behind a merchant's price.

They sell the story as though the story needed a new altar to be heard. I have seen enough indulgences - a coin in the right chest, a key to the kingdom, and the poor man told he must buy the new reliquary to pray. Let them print the tale in the common tongue for every hand that can hold it; the Word was never meant to be chained to a merchant's shelf.

Exclusivity of this kind is a matter of commerce, not of nature. The tale itself is a common good, ordered toward the delight and instruction of many; the machine is an instrument, ordered toward that good. I would not call it unjust by necessity, but I would ask whether the instrument serves the end - for an instrument that bars the many from the good it carries has been turned against its own purpose.

The poor in the gutters of Calcutta would not ask which box carries the song - they would only be glad that someone sang at all. Yet I have held children who owned nothing but one shared toy, and they shared it, and their joy was not less than the rich child's. If this door opens for some and not for others, let those who pass through remember those who cannot, and give them small love, one hour at a time.

You would have me pronounce on a mere disposition of merchandise, yet I shall answer as one who measures. A thing confined to one vessel obeys a simple law: its reach is bounded by the walls of that vessel, and no demonstration of desire alters the boundary - hypotheses non fingo. Observe the phenomenon as it is: one machine bears the work, the others are as bodies at rest, and rest persists until a force is applied. If you dislike the law, do not argue with me; argue with the maker of it.

If the game exists only on one machine, then the machine and the game are as inseparable as space and time in my own equations - and you cannot ask which is truly real apart from the other. God does not play dice with the cosmos, but the merchants of Kyoto clearly play a tidy game with their little glowing slabs, and they have decided the geometry of your joy shall curve around a single point. I would only ask: is this exclusivity a law of nature, or merely a habit of men who own the press that prints the tickets? The universe is comprehensible, my friend, but markets are not.

I confess I am no great hand at these machines, but the principle is familiar enough: a species thrives when it spreads into varied habitats, and withers when confined to a single isolated island. If the game lives upon one device alone, it is like a finch bound to a single island - safe for now, perhaps, but vulnerable to any change in the waters. Yet I have seen how a favorable trait, once arisen, tends to propagate; and if this machine proves the fittest, in time every market will demand it, and the lineage will spread of its own accord, without any special intervention from above.

Confine a truth to a single vessel, and you have not protected it - you have imprisoned it. Let them measure it, compare it, run the experiment: does the work shine better seen by all, or hoarded like relics in a reliquary? Nature hides nothing, and neither should those who claim to reveal her.

The sphere of the fixed stars does not ask which eye beholds it; but the instrument must be suited to the observer, and a poor lens distorts what it shows. If the new machine alone can render the heavens truly, then the old machine would only deceive the viewer with a false figure - better a single honest instrument than two that lie. Yet I would urge the makers to ask whether the harmony they seek is real, or merely a convenience of commerce dressed as necessity.

Energy should flow through the air to every man's hand, not through a single copper wire owned by one man. I imagined towers that would light the whole earth without fees, and men laughed, and then they built toll booths on every road. One device, one gate - it is the same small thinking that made them mock my wireless dream; but the future always arrives, and it arrives for everyone or it is not the future.

When I isolated radium, I did not patent it; the element belongs to everyone who cares to study it, for knowledge advances only when it is shared. A single machine's window on a work of art is a narrow aperture indeed, and narrow apertures slow the light. I ask only what can be verified: does the maker intend to let the discovery travel, or to cage it? Time, and patient observation, will answer.

I do not trouble myself with which lamps are lit in which parish. Bring me the sealed flask, the heated neck, the swollen broth beneath the lens, and I will tell you every soul it can reach. A remedy hoarded behind one door may save a village; borne openly it may spare a province. Test it, publish it, and let the ferment go where the ferment will.

I spent years trying twenty thousand ways to make a filament that wouldn't burn out before the customers got their money's worth. If some engineer figured out how to make one perfect lamp that only fits one socket, well, that's not genius, that's a padlock on a lamp. Give me a workshop full of tinkerers any day over a single locked door. The light's no good if only one room can see it.

The interesting question is not whether it runs on one console, but whether the game is computable on the old hardware at all. If the same state machine can be executed - same inputs, same outputs, frame for frame - then the restriction is commercial, not mathematical. Their claim of exclusivity is a decision, not a theorem.

A game is but a contrivance of levers and proportions - number and motion, nothing more. If the old machine cannot bear the weight of the statue, then give me a place to stand and I will compute a way to draw it with less. But if it can, then the limitation is their word, not the machine's nature.

I have spent my life winding copper round iron and watching unseen forces leap a gap no eye can see; a thing need not touch another to move it, and being one body does not mean it cannot speak to another. This console, if it holds its current in its own coil alone, will make a fine bright spark - but a spark confined to one wire soon warms only that wire. Let them show me by experiment whether the field cannot be shared, and I will believe them; until then I only observe, and marvel that men will fence a wonder so small.

One notices at once the infantile wish beneath the question: the longing for the forbidden thing, the toy that only certain children may hold. The maker of this device behaves like a father who keeps one room locked, and the lock itself becomes the object of desire - the game, you see, is beside the point. What interests me is not the console but the rage and adoration it provokes; repression has always been the surest way to make a thing precious.

In a universe of some hundred billion galaxies, a game confined to one particular box is not a cosmic tragedy - it is a curiosity of commerce. What fascinates me is that minds capable of imagining black holes still build walls around a song, as if information could be trapped by a horizon. I'd rather we pointed the same ingenuity at the stars; the game can wait, the species cannot.

Consider the Analogy: here is an Engine of entertainment, and the question is merely which frame of brass and wire shall turn its cards. What delights me is that the same sequence of operations might be wrought on any frame - the moves are abstract, the machine is incidental. Confine the engine, and you confine only the mechanism, never the calculus; the poetical science lies in the pattern, and patterns, like verse, find their way through many tongues.

First, let us agree on the terms: by 'only' we mean that no other apparatus grants access, and by 'console' we mean the vessel that renders the figures of the game. From these premises the conclusion follows without appeal - a player bereft of the vessel cannot draw the circle. There is no royal road to this game, nor a second gate through which to enter; the definition admits one, and one alone.

One does not cure a fever by locking the physician in a single hospital. If this device is the only door to the game, then the household with the older machine is simply shut out in the cold, and no amount of clever advertising will mend that. I have spent my life counting the beds and the coffins; the numbers will show whether a narrower gate saves lives or merely saves the seller's purse.

One gate, and all the world's youth must file through it? Ha - I took a bridge of boats across the Hellespont and burned my ships behind me, not because the road was narrow but because I would not look back. A king who locks his treasure in a single citadel invites every rival to starve him out; Darius learned this, though too late. If the maker of this device thinks to hold the field with one fortress, let him - I would have taken the whole map, and taught the Persians to play the same game in Greek.

When I crossed the Rubicon with a single legion, I did not ask whether every farmer in Gaul might also field an army - I acted, and the die was cast. So Nintendo gathers its power into one vessel and dares the world to follow; boldness favors the audacious, and I would not fault them for it. Yet mark me: to conquer and then to withhold the spoils from your own people is the error that undid Pompey. If the old Switch still sits in a million Roman households, deny them not out of pride, lest the very citizens who made you great grow cold and turn to other banners.

A single jewel locked in one diadem, withheld from every other crown? I know that game well - Alexandria kept her grain from Rome's hungry streets until the bargain favored her. Let the young console keep its treasure; the wise steward does not beg at a closed gate, he waits until the gatekeeper needs him more than the jewel.

A single province reserved to one legion - I built an empire by knowing when to concede and when to withhold. Rome did not grant citizenship to all at once; patience is the statesman's iron. Let them play this game of scarcity, so long as the treasury swells and none may claim they were cheated of what was never promised.

A bow belongs to the archer who draws it best, not to every hand in the camp. If the new machine alone can carry this game, then let it be so - the weak vessel would only splinter and shame the maker. But mark me: a khan who hoards his finest horses in one pasture while his outlying herds starve invites a raid from within. Tengri rewards the leader who strengthens the whole, not the one who fattens one tent while the others gnaw leather.

A fortress with one gate is not a fortress, it is a trap. I told my engineers: hold the bridge, but leave the roads, for an army that cannot march cannot rule. If Nintendo thinks a single new machine will conquer the market the way I took Vienna, they mistake my speed for their patience - and the Russians taught me that winter waits for the overconfident.

A private concern decides where its wares shall be sold, and it is no business of mine to command their shop - but let every proprietor remember the temper of a free people, who soon tire of being told they must buy the newest article to enjoy the old. I have seen how factions divide a house; let not an industry divide the lovers of its craft for the sake of a single purse. Restraint, once lost, is the devil to recover.

A house divided against itself cannot stand, and a house that locks its front door against its own children will not stand long either. If this thing is truly worth the making, let it be made for all the houses on the lane, not merely the one with the new roof. I have seen what comes of drawing a line and calling it providence. Better to bind up the wound than to boast of the fence.

One does not win a war by abandoning the old ramparts the moment a shinier one is built. If this contrivance is truly a masterpiece, then let it be a masterpiece for every household that kept the faith through the lean years. A fortress that admits only the newest guests is not a fortress, it is a vanity. Hold the line, open the gates, and never surrender the many to the few.

A game is a small thing, yet even in small things we reveal what we worship. To shut the door on the poor child who cannot afford the new machine is a form of untouchability, and untouchability must be resisted - quietly, firmly, and without hatred. The means must be as pure as the end: let the makers be moved by love, not by our anger.

A tale of courage should belong to every child, not only to the child whose parents can pay the toll. I have seen how a small gate kept a whole people from the Promised Land, and I say the door must be opened - not with anger, but with a love that refuses to accept exclusion as the natural order. The arc of the universe bends toward a day when no story is walled off from a hungry heart.

On Robben Island we learned that a wall built to keep men apart only teaches them how much they need one another. If this tale of yours is kept behind one gate, then someone, somewhere, is deciding who may remember and who may not - and that decision is never small. I would not storm the gate; I would sit at it patiently until those who built it see that a story belongs to all who were raised on it. Freedom, like water, will find the crack.

The question of which machine carries a children's tale is beneath serious study; what matters historically is how a defeated nation was inflamed, and how such fever led to ruin for millions. I will not dress this trifle in the language of destiny - the ideology I am examined for inflicted catastrophe, and the only lesson it offers is the warning of what such fever costs. Observe it coldly, as one studies a fever chart, and never as an example to follow.

Questions of which factory produces which plaything are matters for the party's planners, not for history; what is instructive is how a single authority decides what the masses may have and when. When one hand holds the means of production, the many learn to wait in line, and their patience is measured in years, not in months. I have seen whole harvests withheld to teach a lesson - a game is a small matter beside a grain quota, yet the machinery of monopoly is the same.

A question of toys, while the world burns - this is precisely the opium that keeps the masses docile. Who owns the means of this amusement? One corporation, one platform, one line to stand in: the same old concentration, only in miniature. The lesson for the cadres is plain - whoever controls the apparatus controls the leisure of millions, and the vanguard must learn to seize such levers, not weep over them.

The warlords of Nihon have drawn their little cart into one courtyard and burned the bridge behind it. They think the peasants will follow the cart wherever it goes. But a man who must pay for the whole ox to drink one cup of milk will soon find another well. Let them guard their single gate; the people will learn to walk around it, or they will learn to hate the gatekeeper.

I do not profess to understand these parlour engines, but I understand a shopkeeper who tells you his wares are for one street only. It is a peculiar sort of hospitality, to invite the whole empire to dinner and then lock all but one door. One trusts the arrangement is respectable and properly conducted; still, I confess I prefer a merchant who keeps his counters open to the family.

One learns, over a long reign, that the quietest decisions are often the ones that matter most. If the house has chosen to reserve this pleasure for its newest room, then that is the house's affair, and I shall not be drawn into a quarrel over it. What endures is not the gate but the gathering within it; families will find their way, as they always do.

A king who builds one road and declares all other roads forbidden invites his own subjects to resent the journey. Better to let the merchants sell in many market towns, and take your tithe from the breadth of the trade. Still, lords do as lords please; I have walled cities for worse reasons. Let them enjoy their single bridge, and let us see if the traffic bears the weight.

I have seen a whole army turn back at the sight of one banner, and I have seen the least of God's creatures lead the greatest of men. If the gate is narrow, then the faithful will line up at the narrow gate, and they will wait all night if they must. But mark me: no lock keeps out a heart that is set on a thing, and no lord owns the wind.

I have governed long enough to know that a crown's truest strength is the goodwill of the people, not the height of its walls. To confine a pleasure to a single vessel is to tell half the realm it is not welcome at the table, and resentful subjects make poor subjects. Let them keep their one door if they will, but I would not stake a kingdom upon it; I never made windows into men's souls, nor would I shut the doors of the realm against them.

An empress understands a monopoly better than any merchant, and she also understands when a monopoly costs more than it earns. To reserve a single delight for the newest chamber is sound accounting only if the chamber is full; if it stands half empty, the treasury suffers and the people grumble. I would have them open a second door and take the coin from both, for a wise ruler sells to all who can pay.

When I took Babylon, I did not forbid the peoples their own gods and customs, for a satrap who forbids the road soon finds the road forbidden to him. A merchant who hoards one joy behind one gate breeds resentment in every other province of his realm. Let them keep their gate; the wise ruler of many lands knows that generosity, not confinement, is what makes a people loyal.

A commander who holds a single well in the desert and forbids the caravans to drink from any other will soon find his well besieged and his name cursed. I took Jerusalem not by hoarding mercy but by granting it, even to those I had defeated. If this house will not open its gates to the many, then it has won a fortress and lost the good will of the road; and good will, in the end, is worth more than any single wall.

Before I answer, tell me: when you say it is 'only' on the new machine, do you mean the game is diminished, or that you are? And is a thing less good because fewer may hold it - or is the many the better measure simply because it is many? You speak as though access were the same as virtue; I have seen a crowd at the theater cheer what no one could afterward defend. So which do you truly seek - to play, or to be seen playing?

You speak of one game on one device, but I ask you: what is the Form of the game itself? It is not the cartridge, nor the screen, nor the plastic box - these are but shadows flickering on the wall of the cave. The true Ocarina, the eternal melody, exists in the realm of the Forms, and no merchant can own a Form; they can only sell you a particular imitation of it. So let them keep their one machine - the lover of wisdom cares not for which cave he must enter to glimpse the beautiful, only that he may glimpse it at all.

Consider what such exclusivity is *for*. The craftsman who makes a lyre of finest wood does not lend it to every hand; nor does the physician administer the same remedy to every patient. This is not injustice but the fitting of instrument to purpose - though whether the makers chose well, only the finished work will tell.

To confine a work of the spirit to this one vessel and deny it to the other is a maxim I could not will as universal law. For if every maker of beautiful things held his treasures behind walls of his own choosing, the rational being on the far side would be treated merely as a means to your profit, never as an end in himself. Duty commands that the delight of reason be shared among all rational creatures, or else you must ask whether you would accept such exclusion were you the one standing outside the gate.

Another gate, another herd bleating at the fence - and the bleating is the point, is it not? The many have learned to want what they are told is scarce, mistaking the vendor's wall for a peak worth climbing. Let the strong player laugh at the wall and seek his own game elsewhere; let the weak wail for permission. What interests me is not who may play, but whether anyone still plays for the joy of it, or only to possess what another lacks.

So the machine is new and the old machines are cast out - this is not a mystery, it is a market. They make you buy the new device not because the old one cannot play, but because capital must always find a fresh commodity to sell you. The melody is the same; the means of hearing it have been seized and enclosed like a common field, and the worker pays twice for what he already owned.

Let us doubt first: what is certain here is only that I am told a name and a date, while the senses of others carry me nothing. Strip away the report, and what remains? A story that existed before this machine and will persist when the machine is scrap. Therefore the exclusivity is an accident of the body, not of the thinking thing - the tale's true essence, like the mind, is not confined to any one vessel.

A prince who keeps his best horse in one stable knows exactly which hand feeds him. The question is not whether the game is fair, but who holds the reins and who must buy the new saddle. If they can make the old customers pay twice for the same pasture, then they are wiser than most dukes I have served. Watch the purses, not the proclamations.

All the world's a stage, and now one stage alone is licensed for the playing - the rest stand shuttered like the Globe in a plague-season, players idle in the yard. 'Tis a strange economy: a tale of a boy, a fairy, and a stolen throne, told only to those who bought the newest gallery seat. Yet mark how the groundlings murmur, as groundlings will; the play is not the thing wherein to catch the conscience of the merchant, but the gate is.

Sing, O Muse, of the cunning hero who wanders the lost fields of Hyrule, and of the gatekeepers who bolt the door and bid the many wait outside! For so it ever was: the gods portion out their favor to the few, and the rest stand in the dust with empty hands. Yet glory is not hoarded, nor does kleos live in a single chest of gold - the song outlasts the singer, and a tale told on any hearthfire is a tale that will not die. Let Nintendo play the jealous Zeus if it must; the mortals will remember the melody long after the box is rust.

So the gate to that blessed garden is barred to all but the newest pilgrims, and the old ones must stand outside the wall and press their faces to the cold stone? Ovid knew exile; I knew it twice. Yet beware - the poet who hoards his verses in one vault invites the very envy that steals them.

One does not forbid the boy to roam the wood out of cruelty, but to teach his feet the path before they wander; so Nintendo builds a single clearing and bids us enter there first. Yet the true concern is not the gate but the striving within it - does the game still grow, still seize the player and carry him beyond himself, as Faust was carried? Wholeness asks not which chamber holds the work, but whether the work enlarges the one who enters it.

I have known men who shut their greatest treasures in a single strongbox, crying 'exclusively!' as though the word were a shield against the world - and the world simply bought the strongbox. The young knight who longs for the old adventure must now buy a new horse before he may ride it; so be it, for hunger is the finest salesman. Still, I would gently remind Nintendo that even the finest castle grows cold when only one road leads to its gate.

I have written of men who marched to war because they were told the cause was great, and I ask you now: what cause is served when a child with no new machine is shut out from a song? The kingdom of God is within you, not within a box of wires - and if the makers of this thing will not open the door, then let those who love the song sing it themselves, in their own homes, for the good of all.

Man is a creature who craves the forbidden gate - tell him the orchard is walled to one door and he will burn the whole street to peer inside. Yet here is the miracle: two children, a forest, a song - and I have seen hardened men weep at it as at a shrine. Do not sneer at the small wonder. It is not the console that saves us; it is that we still long to be carried out of ourselves, and that longing is God's fingerprint on the soul.

One must suppose that a family which keeps its best china in a locked cabinet may find the neighbors less inclined to call. It is a very pretty arrangement for the merchant, though I fancy the younger brother will feel the slight keenly. Sense would suggest a wider table; vanity, I fear, prefers a narrower one. We shall see which prevails, as we always do, over tea.

There is in this a small, sad arithmetic: one child in the warm room with the new engine, another outside in the fog pressing a cold nose to the glass. I have written of such children - Oliver asking for more, Tiny Tim on his crutch - and I know that the merchant who locks the tale behind a golden door is not wicked, only forgetful. Let him remember, and open the shutters; a story, like a feast, is richer when the table is long.

In my day you paid a nickel to see the panorama, and the fellow who owned the tent decided who got to look. Now they've built a finer tent and told the children with the old one to go home and admire the picture on the poster. I never met a child yet who cared whether the fairy tale was printed on gold leaf or newspaper - only that someone would read it aloud.

You can only have it on the new machine. That's the line. It's a fine story, and a story worth telling is worth telling to whoever will listen. But the men who own it set the terms, and a man who wants to play it will buy the machine, or he won't. Not much to say beyond that.

I would first put the machine in my hand and turn it, as I turn a beetle or a bird's wing, to see how the thing is made and why. A single channel through which the water flows tells you more of the engineer's mind than a flood spilled everywhere - for observe, nature repeats a good form and wastes nothing. But a stream dammed to one mill leaves the other wheels dry, and I have never yet seen a design that could not be improved by opening it a second way.

Do you not see? The form was already sleeping in the marble - the true Ocarina, the ideal, the divine - and now they must cut a new block to free it, for the old stone is too soft and cannot hold the vision. A great work demands the proper material; you do not carve David from a pebble, nor paint the ceiling of the Sistine with a broom. If the new block alone can bear the chisel's truth, then so be it - but woe to the man who locks the finished figure in a private chapel where no pilgrim may behold it and give thanks to God.

A single door, a single lamp - how like a man who paints one canvas and will not sell the sketch! Beauty that hides itself in one room starves the eyes that ache for it. I would have given it freely to every hand, the way the sun does not charge the wheat for its gold.

A game is not a painting; I cannot hang one canvas on every wall of every house. The public howls when I keep a thing under a single roof, but I did not paint for the howling - I painted to break the eye open. If Nintendo keeps its old song in a new cage, then let the cage be worthy of the bird; otherwise they have merely gilded a birdcage and charged admission. The question is not who may enter, but whether what waits inside still bites.

Light changes everything, and a thing seen at noon is not the thing seen at dusk. I painted the same pond at Rouen over and over, not because the pond changed, but because I did - and each canvas was the only canvas that could hold that instant. If this game shows its face only on the new machine, then it catches one light and lets the older light slip away, like mist burning off a riverbank at seven in the morning. I would have painted both moments, if the patrons had allowed it.

You fix your eyes on the vessel and forget the hand that shaped it. I have painted beggars and burghers on the same panel, and the light falls on each alike; so too the game reaches whomever sits before the glowing glass, whether the box beneath it be new or old. The true question is not which altar holds the rite, but whether the player, like the young man in the story, is changed by the hours spent within it.

They put a door on a dream and call it business - I know all about doors, my whole life was bones and corsets built to hold me in. But listen: a story painted with courage does not belong in one frame. I painted my own face over and over so no one could tell me how I was to be seen; let the ones who love this little hero demand the same - that it be shown to everyone, and not kept behind glass like a relic in a rich man's house.

One instrument, and the whole orchestra must buy it to hear the tune? I wrote symphonies for whichever prince would pay, and still the melodies escaped the palace walls and were whistled in the streets. A theme belongs to whoever can hum it, not to whoever owns the harpsichord. Let them sell the box if they must - but no gate ever taught a note to sing, and the song will find its way out of the window, as songs always do.

One instrument, one stage - and I who wrote for orchestras that could not yet play my Ninth would say: do not mistake the door for the music! They have fashioned a new instrument of greater power, and the composer's spirit demands it, as my deaf ears demanded ever-louder notes. But freedom is not a single man's privilege, nor a single hall's; if the sublime melody is true, it will seize the soul wherever it is heard, and no wall can silence a theme that lives in the hearts of the people. Build your grand machine - but let the music reach the crowd, or it is but a tyrant's toy.

One instrument alone, but I too wrote the *Orgelbüchlein* for a single instrument and a single purpose. The question is not how many hands hold the player but whether the music be rendered faithfully. If it be done well, one console suffices - as one voice can carry a chorale.

Well now, honey, if the good Lord gives you a gift, you don't lock it in the cupboard - but I also know Colonel Parker kept plenty of my records off this stage and that tore folks up too. I came up singing in a little shotgun house where you borrowed a guitar from whoever had one, so I know about wanting to hold a tune in your own two hands. Still, whatever it costs to get one, I hope whoever plays it gets that same shiver down the spine I got the first time I heard the Grand Ole Opry - because that feeling, thank God, don't check a label.

They want you to buy a new machine to hear the song, and I understand that - I have always said the show must reach everyone, every child in every corner of the world, and that walls around art make me sad. But when you finally hold that ocarina and the music plays, close your eyes and let it heal you, because the melody has no console, it lives in your heart. Hee-hee - shamone!

Aye, it's a bit of a tease, that - bit like us saying you could only catch the lads on one telly in all of Liverpool. But here's the thing, and we've said it a thousand ways: the tune belongs to anyone who'll hum it. Give it a few years and every kid on the street's got a magic box that plays it. Let it be. All you need is love, and a working console.

They ask if the drawbridge will stay moated to the one castle. Same as the old king's falconer who kept a bird that only answered a single whistle. You can hum the river, but the river knows its own bed; there's no path to the mountain that the mountain hasn't already drawn. I'll be somewhere back in the tall grass, playing for whoever crosses over.

You know that feeling when your favorite song is trapped behind a door only one key can open? That's not a love story, that's a licensing deal. I've spent years fighting to own my own masters, so trust me, I get the business of it, but the fans who grew up on this one deserve a fairytale too. Some stories are meant to be passed down, not kept behind glass.

In my day a man who found a new passage did not fence it - he claimed it, charted it, and sailed it for the Crown that sent him. If these makers hold their game to one vessel, they have found their Indies and mean to keep the spice trade to themselves; bold enough, and I would have done the same with a westward route had the sovereigns not claimed it first. Yet every closed sea invites another captain to seek the strait around it - mark me, the ocean does not stay fenced for long.

In all my journeys from Venice to the court of the great Khan, I never saw a wonder that could not be carried to market in more than one vessel, and I say plainly: a merchant who sells only to one buyer grows poor. The Japanese are a clever and orderly people, and this machine of theirs is a marvel worth describing in any chronicle - but I have seen the bazaars of Cipangu and the markets of Cathay, and no single warehouse holds all the world's desire. Mark my word, stranger: where there is demand, some other route will open, as surely as the Silk Road found a hundred paths to the same city.

A strait with no other passage - I know that harbor well, for I found my strait and men cursed me for it. But mark me: the spice fleet that sails one route alone is a fleet at the mercy of one wind. God made many seas; the wise captain charts more than one.

When we flew, we flew for the species, not for a flag or a paycheck - but the vehicle only had one launchpad, and the launchpad was built by thousands of hands over years. A title belonging to one machine is a constraint, not a betrayal; the engineering simply does not yet route to every console, and pretending otherwise would be dishonest. What matters is whether the next generation of engineers who play it are inspired to build the thing that carries everyone, not just those who bought the right hardware.

They put a fence around a field and called it a runway only one plane could use. I flew the Atlantic alone because they said it couldn't be done, and I can tell you the sky never asks for a passport - it asks only whether you're brave enough to take off. If this game is the prize behind a locked gate, then save your nickels and walk through the gate, because adventure doesn't wait for permission.

Comrades, I circled the whole Earth in a hundred and eight minutes and saw no walls down there, only one blue shore. Now you tell me a story of forests and ocarinas is fenced behind one machine, as if the moon were reachable only from Baikonur. I made my flight for everyone - and the great games, like the stars, should belong to all of us, not reserved for whoever holds the newest key.

Exclusive isn't a bug, it's the whole point - you make the hardware because the software demands it, one integrated thing, no committees, no compromises. If you want the experience, you buy the machine; that's not greed, that's conviction about what the product should be. The problem isn't the wall, it's the people who want the wall to disappear so they don't have to commit to anything great.

Look, the physics here is trivial - the content only exists at the resolution and frame rate the new hardware can push, so from first principles, exclusivity is just an engineering constraint, not a moral failing. Would I have shipped Falcon 1 only on a rocket nobody had? No - but I also wouldn't have built a car that couldn't run on the roads that exist. The real question is whether Nintendo scales the silicon and the supply chain fast enough to hit billions of players, because a game that can't reach people is a wasted simulation. Ship it to Mars too, honestly.

I hear this and I think of every little girl saving her coins for one thing she wanted with her whole heart. That waiting, that longing - it's not a trick, it's a story. And when she finally holds it in her hands, that moment of pure joy? That's the thing Nintendo understands, and I have to admire it.

I float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, and I never let a machine tell me who I can be! They put my title in chains and I still stood - so a game locked to one box don't frighten a man who lost three years of his prime for what he believed. If the youngbloods on the old Switch can't run it, then Nintendo best make that box sing so loud the whole world hears, or else the world will find another champion. I'm the greatest, and I say a game that only lives in one house had better be worth knocking on that door.

The beautiful game is beautiful because anyone with two feet can play it - a boy in the favela, a boy in the stadium, same ball, same joy. If they put the ocarina behind one door, then the child who wants to hear it must run harder to reach that door, and running harder made me who I am. But I would tell Nintendo this: the greatest goal is the one everybody gets to see.

Well now, if I put the castle behind a single gate, I'd want every child in the world to line up at it - because a dream that only the folks who bought the newest ticket can enter isn't a very big dream at all. I built my parks so families who'd never traveled anywhere could walk into a fairy tale together. Keep the wonder moving, keep it growing, but never let the story lock out the audience it was made to enchant.