"We are all, in some way, exiles from ourselves."
在某种程度上，我们都是自己的流亡者。
你接近生命的终点——不，不是生命本身，而是其他东西：生命中任何改变的可能性的终结。
世界充满了神奇的事物，耐心地等待着我们的感官变得更加敏锐。
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.
Architecture should not shout. It should whisper to people's lives.
森林不需要我们，而是我们需要森林。