Writing is making sense of life. You work your whole life and perhaps you've made sense of one small area.

四月是最残忍的月份，从死去的土地里培育出丁香，把回忆和欲望混合，又用春雨搅动迟钝的根芽。

这就好像自己赤裸着身体却指责别人掀起衣服不礼貌一样。 

The world is a place of the living, and the dead have no place in it. The dead are nothing. They are not even a memory. They are forgotten. And the living, too, will be forgotten.

"Technique without vision is empty, vision without technique is blind."

I don't think about my legacy. I just try to do good work.