I am irritated by my own writing. I am like a violinist whose ear is true, but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within.
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I am irritated by my own writing. I am like a violinist whose ear is true, but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within.
“Members of the human race bring destruction on each other: they make murderous instruments that can sever hands and feet and slice limbs from torsos. Most of those not killed by fate are killed by their fellow men, and since nowadays men disdain the old ways of war as inadequate, they are constantly thinking up new techniques and dreaming of ways to increase the damage they cause. It has truly reached the point that in every stretch of countryside and in every town the killing never stops.”
Matteo Ricci | Jiren shipian