A writer's life is a highly vulnerable, almost naked activity. We don't have to weep about that. The writer makes his choice and is stuck with it. But it is true to say that you are open to all the winds, some of them icy indeed. You are out on your own, out on a limb. You find no shelter, no protection — unless you lie — in which case of course you have constructed your own protection and, it could be argued, become a politician.

生活是一段旅程，无论道路和住宿多么糟糕，都必须前行。

大道从虚无中产生一气，又从一气中分化出阴阳。

If I could, I would stop the passage of time.But hour follows on hour, minute on minute, each second robbing me of a morsel of myself for the nothing of tomorrow.I shall never experience this moment again.

希望は、どんな暗闇の中にも存在する。

Believe you can and you're halfway there.

The only limit to our realization of tomorrow is our doubts of today.