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.

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.

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.

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

A plausible rumor / Seems a lot more believable / Than the truth itself.

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.

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