水边的芦苇夜间结霜，月色寒冷与山色一同显得苍茫。
A writer must be stubborn, must have a vocation of sacrifice, and must accept that literature is a very cruel mistress.
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.
You have to be fearless in this industry.