“家”这个词对我来说总是听起来像谎言。
We are all detectives of our own past.
我不是说唱歌手，我是一个恶棍。
最好的发现总是发生在那些没有寻找它们的人身上。
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
When you live for others' opinions, you are dead.