Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away。 And yellow leaves of autumn， which have no songs， flutter and fall there with a sigh。
夏天的飞鸟，飞到我窗前唱歌，又飞去了。 秋天的黄叶，他们没有什麼可唱的，只是叹息一声，飞落在那里。
The most important thing I have learned is that the best way to get something done is to begin.
文学是一种反抗，是对不公的反抗。