每个读者都为故事带来不同的东西。
Every reader brings something different to a story.
To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive and impoverished.
"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one becomes a master."
译文：白云斜斜地挂在蔚蓝的天空上，独自登上高处心中一片怅然。遥想家乡像什么呢?在那杂乱山峰的深处，一片翠绿如烟。
变得更好的唯一途径就是与最强者竞争。
To write is to breathe, to live, to exist.