Morning Stories

“I’m not moving forward anymore.” That’s usually the first sentence when stagnation sets in — or is quietly installed. When a nation’s economy stands still, and technology stops surprising anyone, stagnation is in full bloom.

“This will go down in history.” Well, practically everything alive goes down sooner or later. But whoever goes down in history — that person stays there, forever and ever, carved into the chronicles of humankind. Now, if that isn’t an exquisite kind of immortality, what is?

The air is ringing with frost. The lights are glowing with warmth. The shop windows sparkle with glitter and gold. And the people—oh yes—are full of expectation.

It’s practically impossible to avoid them. They’re everywhere. Sometimes coming toward you, sometimes walking away. They move through the days — sometimes loud, sometimes in groups — but always present: people.

“I know that I know nothing.” A line that sparkles with meaning — and, once again, a few old, very old men are involved. Socrates, they say, never actually said those words — certainly not in English — but the spirit of his philosophy is right there.

Madame Melan Cholie lived in ancient times — in an age overflowing with philosophers. Especially in Greece … and southern Italy.

The word itself already gives it away — my opinion. In that little word hides a whole universe of individuality.

Old Shakespeare really has very little to do with this sentence. William, in this case, is entirely innocent. So much for the facts.

“Advent-ure? Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.” No worries — it’s not Italian. And it’s not two words either.

The driver drives — and leads — a moving something from a real point A to an imagined point B. Once upon a time, such people were called coachmen, train engineers, or captains.

When the knee was invented — one for the left leg and one for the right — the instruction leaflet read: “Move frequently.” A truly moving recommendation.

If there’s a question, it’s not a trap — it’s a letting go. What pretends to be a quote here isn’t one. Or not yet.

Ah, how soothing melodies can be when they wash through both ears into the sensorium, spreading pure delight. To lift that delight to higher spheres, technology long ago gave birth to a word — and a wonder — called Stereo.

Ouch. That wasn’t my intention. And I truly mean that. But somehow, the headline slipped through my fingers — effortlessly, almost mischievously. I can’t quite explain how. And perhaps it’s better not to try.

The woman looks at the two powerful men without batting an eye. She knows exactly who they are. She also knows what her duty as a journalist is.

The path of least resistance is hardly worth mentioning. It’s forgotten the moment a new object of curiosity comes into view. Or, to put it more bluntly: the path is gone.

Those three little letters — PRO — sound like a declaration of approval. Pro Paganda almost seems like something positive, as if one were for this kind of communication. But that’s an illusion. “Pro” is neither good nor bad; it’s merely directional — for or against something. Nothing more. No judgment, no virtue, no quality seal attached.

Television formats have flooded our screens for decades—some inspiring, others instantly forgettable. Light entertainment has a peculiar talent: it lulls its audience into a gentle, lasting slumber.

Some words are born with heavy baggage. “Decision” is one of them. When a word carries that much emotional mortgage, life is hardly sugarcoated. And to make matters worse, even the word itself can’t hold together.

Does intelligence need a PhD? Or is it enough just to be inventive — to find solutions where others see walls?

“This surgeon really messed up,” someone in the audience said. “And what about that nurse? She’s even worse!”

“Don’t play with the dirty words!” That’s what the German singer-poet Franz-Josef Degenhardt warned sixty years ago. Back then, he wasn’t talking about words, but about the so-called Schmuddelkinder — the “grubby kids” of society.

There are certain words that never sound good to teenage ears. Tradition is one of them.

Once upon a time, there was that one story — the one where a camel was told to pass through the eye of a needle. Clear as mud, right?

I don’t see stumbling as an accident — not when it makes your feet lose rhythm or your routine take a detour.