A writer's life is a highly vulnerable, almost naked activity. We don't have to weep about that. The writer makes his choice and is stuck with it. But it is true to say that you are open to all the winds, some of them icy indeed. You are out on your own, out on a limb. You find no shelter, no protection — unless you lie — in which case of course you have constructed your own protection and, it could be argued, become a politician.
Technology in forestry has evolved from chainsaws to satellites, but our responsibility remains the same.
真相就像诗歌,而大多数人他妈讨厌诗歌。
The world is more malleable than you think. We can bend it into better shape.