We all become different readers in how we respond to books, why we need them, what we take from them. We become different in the questions that arise as we read, in the answers that we find, in the degree of satisfaction or unease we feel with those answers...In the hands of a different reader, the same story can be a different story.

Isn't hate merely the result of wounded love?

People there only dream that it is China, because if you are Chinese you can never let go of China in your mind.

With each passing day, I didn't lose hope. I fought to have more.

Who knows where inspiration comes from. Perhaps it arises from desperation. Perhaps it comes from the flukes of the universe, the kindness of the muses.

Chance is the first step you take, luck is what comes afterward.

And below the heimongmong, all along the ground, were weeds already spilling out over the edges, running wild in every direction.