The process of writing has something infinite about it. Even though it is interrupted each night, it is one single notation.
“A farmer travelling with his load Picked up a horseshoe on the road, And nailed if fast to his barn door, That luck might down upon him pour; That every blessing known in life Might crown his homestead and his wife, And never any kind of harm Descend upon his growing farm.”
“You have one big mythology in your favor: Everyone believes that you Europeans are impeccable. But I know you are jerks.”