When I was young, I could bounce back from things like a brand-new rubber ball.

Green makes me think of silence, or maybe it's loneliness. I get the feeling of a terribly distant star.

Time cannot be spurred on like a horse.

Something whose connection with human experience we cannot grasp is bound to be frightening.

Yet there seemed to be some truth in the law of probability, according to which the chance of success is directly proportionate to the number of repetitions.

Mankind, which has always been a part of nature, has reached a point where it is too much for nature to accommodate.

Do you shovel to survive, or survive to shovel?