The life of a writer is absolutely solitary. He has to be alone to do his work.
【释义】松柏在严寒的岁末最后凋谢，雄鸡在风雨交加之时依然啼鸣不止。
I don't believe in ghosts, but I see them all the time.
I have to say to myself that some birds aren't very close. Their feathers are just too bright. When they fly away, you know it's a sin to lock them up, and you'll be inspired by them. Still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone. I think I really miss my friends.