Perhaps the act of writing is necessary when nothing happens.

Things have value Because somebody buys them, Because somebody pays money; If you can find a buyer, Even a lie is worth a thousand yen.

Work seemed something fundamental for man, something which enabled him to endure the aimless flight of time.

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

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

Time cannot be spurred on like a horse.

Far happier he, who, young and full of pride And radiant with the glory of the sun, Leaves earth before his singing time is done. All wounds of Time the graveyard flowers hide, His beauty lives, as fresh as when he died.