Some people, when they're called before the police, like nothing better than to spill everything, fact and fiction alike, hoping to create a good impression.

The minute you begin to have doubts, the floor under your feet starts to shake.

Perhaps the act of writing is necessary when nothing happens.

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

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.

Year after year students tumble along like the waters of a river. They flow away, and only the teacher is left behind, like some deeply buried rock at the bottom of the current.

Do you shovel to survive, or survive to shovel?