All those to whom I made a dedication of the novel-story that I finished writing in 2000 (which is therefore at least twenty years old) tell me: "Well my friend, if you were interested soon in writing, you could have been a good writer!" On the one hand, they remind me of my misfortune or they congratulate me, unless it is something else! sarcasm, maybe? Heck! Poor me!

Tom's girlfriend scared the heck out of him.

Who the heck is this guy, really?" "He's Tom. Tom from Boston."

Just what the heck is going on here?

Why the heck did you do this?

What the heck happened here?

It was the sort of weird car that made me want to blurt out, "what the heck is that?"

Heck of a woman!

Who the heck is Tom?

Rather - who the heck are you?! Iori enquired of the girl, ignoring my form rolling around on the floor.