“The Hemulen woke up slowly and recognized himself and wished he had been someone he didn’t know. He felt even tireder than when he went to bed, and here it was – another day which would go on until evening and then there would be another one and another one which would be the same as all days are when they are lived by a hemulen.
[ . . . ]
Suddenly the Hemulen thought that all he ever did was to move things from one place to another or talk about where they should be put, and in a moment of insight he wondered what would happen if he left things alone.”
(Tove Jansson, Moominvalley in November, trans. Kingsley Hart)