Who drives me forward like fate? The Myself striding on my back.
“谁如命运似的催着我向前走呢？““那是我自己，在身背后大跨步走着。”
"Language is the house of being. In its home, man dwells."
Beware of the Turing tar-pit in which everything is possible but nothing of interest is easy.
自由就像我们呼吸的空气；没有它，我们会窒息。
The novel is the great art form of the individual voice.
We often think happiness is about getting what we want, but it's more about wanting what we have.