“家”这个词对我来说总是听起来像谎言。
The life of man is of no greater importance to the universe than that of an oyster.
In a field by the river my love and I did stand,And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
成为艺术家就是要看到别人看不到的东西。
It's not always rainbows and butterflies, it's compromise that moves us along.
The discipline of the written word punishes both stupidity and dishonesty.
