Every time I do it at least proves I can still do it.

Our meetings are held to discuss many problems which would never arise if we held fewer meetings.

My computer must be broken: whenever I ask a wrong question, it gives a wrong answer.

Strangely enough, this is the past that somebody in the future is longing to go back to.

What good is it if you talk in flowers, and they think in pastry?

The task I've been given seems absurd: To wait here on earth until I no longer exist.

Nothing really matters except a few things that really don't matter very much.