在某种程度上,我们都是流亡者,寻找一个可能并不存在的家。
为什么一条狗,一匹马,一只耗子都有生命,而你却没有一丝的呼吸。
Writing is a journey into the unknown, a constant search for meaning in the chaos of existence.
当第三条鲨鱼出现时,他拿刀子向鲨鱼戳去。鲨鱼打了一个滚,结果把刀给折断了。
The human heart is like the sea: it has its storms, its tides, and its depths; in it, too, there are pearls.