All objects exist in a moment of time.

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

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

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

Isn't hate merely the result of wounded love?

Your only shame is to have shame.

How do I create something out of nothing? And how do I create my own life? I think it is by questioning, and saying to myself that there are no absolute truths.