我所思念的美人，她在泰山。想追随她，但泰山支脉艰险。侧身东望，眼泪沾湿了衣襟。

The only real paradise is a paradise we have lost.

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.

当下总是不稳定的地方，而过去是我们自以为知道身在何处的地方。