Do you shovel to survive, or survive to shovel?

Perhaps the act of writing is necessary when nothing happens.

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.

The most frightening thing in the world is to discover the abnormal in that which is closest to us.

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

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.