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。
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
We are all searching for something, whether we admit it or not, and that search defines us.
A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom.
海洋在任何地方都是相同的,只是被赋予了不同的名称。
The writer’s life is a life of humiliation.