Life is not what one lived, but what one remembers and how one remembers it in order to recount it.
The only sensible ends of literature are, first, the pleasurable toil of writing; second, the gratification of one's family and friends; and lastly, the solid cash.
The only limit to our realization of tomorrow is our doubts of today.
当我第一次看见你的时候,我们都还年轻,我闭上眼睛,一幕幕往事又在脑海中重现,我站在阳台上,空气里,浓浓的,是夏天的味道,看见灯火,看见热闹的舞会,华丽的盛装。