Do you shovel to survive, or survive to shovel?

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

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

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

Many people ask why a writer commits suicide. But I think that people who ask don't know the vanity and the nothingness of writing. I think it is very usual and natural for a writer to commit suicide, because in order to keep on writing he must be a very strong person.

Perhaps the act of writing is necessary when nothing happens.

Defeat begins with the fear that one has lost.