The only thing that counts is what cannot be explained.
The architecture of the human mind is better adapted to the Pleistocene than to the modern world.
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.
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。