...we were like two people standing apart on separate mountain peaks, recklessly leaning forward to throw stones at one another, unaware of the dangerous chasm that separated us.

Too many good things all seem the same after a while.

Hardships can harden even the best person.

For unlike my mother, I did not believe I could be anything I wanted to be. I could only be me.

In [writing] fiction, every sentence is its own reward.

Wise guy, he not go against wind. In Chinese we say, Come from South, blow with wind -- poom! -- North will follow. Strongest wind cannot be seen.

And now I have to stop. Because every time I remember this, I have to cry a little by myself. I don't know why something that made me so happy then feels so sad now. Maybe that is the way it is with the best memories.