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 act of writing is an act of optimism. You would not take the trouble to do it if you felt it didn't matter.
我们内心的黑暗使我们成为人类。承认它是迈向真正力量的第一步。
Writing is that neutral, composite, oblique space where our subject slips away, the negative where all identity is lost, starting with the very identity of the body writing.
Innovation is not just about technology; it's about changing the way people think and work.