Writing is not a great profession as a lot of writers proclaim. I write because this is something I can do. Another thing—very often I think a lot of writers write because they have failed to do other things. How many writers can’t drive? A lot. They’re not practical. They are not capable in everyday life.

We can't continue to be like this. Who am I? Your fiancée or your concubine?

I don't think of myself as a dissident, and I'm more of an immigrant than an exile.

Without writing, what would I have become? Nothing. In China the individual used to be treated as a screw or a small cog in the revolutionary machine. I wanted to be a human being with a voice.

Every summer Lin Kong returned to Goose Village to divorce his wife, Shuyu.

Indifference is the strongest contempt.

You strive to have a good heart. But what is a heart? Just a chunk of flesh that a dog can eat.