"We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and—in spite of True Romance magazines—we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way."

In the ruins of our cities, we search for the fragments of our identity.

你的美，遗世而独立，你的声音，似流水之韵；我不语，不寻，亦不吐露你的芳名。