How often do we tell our own life story? How often do we adjust, embellish, make sly cuts? And the longer life goes on, the fewer are those around to challenge our account, to remind us that our life is not our life, merely the story we have told about our life.

艺术家消失得越多，他的作品就出现得越多。

有些时候，过去感觉如此之近，仿佛伸手就能触碰，然后它又消失了，像烟一样。