过去已经写就，墨迹已干。
The past is already written. The ink is dry.
书籍是灵魂的镜子。
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness— Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
I think that's the single most important thing about writing: it's about making the familiar strange and the strange familiar.