Happiness, like unhappiness, is a proactive choice.
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.
The night is a great city, but the stars are its lights.
什么是神?是精微至极而成为灵性的存在。