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.

The soul needs only one thing: to do what the body is doing.

龙吟虎啸，风鸾翱翔才是大丈夫的气象。像蚕茧蜘蛛丝、蚂蚁封巢、蝗蚓纠结般是小人的经营。

我们都是由故事构成的，而这些故事从来不只是属于我们自己。

我一生中最遗憾的是善良的失败。