1. Old age, sickness, and death—they all leave no trace. Once born, one is left to grow naturally; once grown, one grows; if one doesn't grow, so be it. Old age—it doesn't matter much. If eyesight fails, one simply stops seeing; if hearing fails, one simply stops hearing; if teeth fall out, one simply swallows whole; if one can't walk, one simply lies paralyzed. What can one do? Whoever gets old has it. Sickness—humans eat grains and vegetables; who doesn't get sick? Death—that's a truly tragic thing. When a father dies, the son cries; when a son dies, the mother cries; when a brother dies, the whole family cries; when a sister-in-law dies, her family comes to cry. After a day or three days of weeping, they always go outside the city, dig a hole, and bury the person.
—Xiao Hong, *Tales of Hulan River*2. They are like the lowest of plants, able to survive with very little water, soil, and sunlight—or even without sunlight. Their vitality is exceptionally tenacious; it's a primal tenacity.
—Xiao Hong, *Tales of Hulan River*
3. In the evening, with nothing to do, I sit and watch the red glow on the horizon. Where the red glow illuminates her, I think of her heart, as red as the horizon.
He is like a downpour, quickly soaking you, but the clouds drift away, and he soaks someone else.
I am like a match he struck, turning to ashes in the blink of an eye, and then he strikes another match right before my eyes.
—Xiao Hong
4. You say my life is a pity, but I don't care. You see danger, but I am proud. What if I'm not proud? Life is more bitter than sweet.
—Xiao Hong, *Tales of Hulan River*
5. Flowers bloom, as if waking up. Birds fly, as if strolling in the sky. Insects chirp, as if talking. Do what you want to do.
—Xiao Hong, *Tales of Hulan River*
6. I still stir the cup; perhaps a heart adrift for too long is like seawater off the shore, which won't stir unless a strong wind blows.
—Xiao Hong, *The Last Piece of Wood*
7. They are the kind of people who don't know where the light is, but they truly feel the chill within them. They want to escape the chill, and thus sorrow arises.
—Xiao Hong, *Tales of Hulan River*
8. The drumbeats seemed to deliberately provoke those unfortunate people, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, like a lost person lamenting their confusion in the night, or an unfortunate old man reminiscing about his short but happy childhood. It was like a loving mother sending her son off on a long journey. It was like a separation of life and death, extremely difficult to part. What is the purpose of life, that there are such desolate nights?
—Xiao Hong, *Tales of Hulan River*
9. Half my life was spent enduring scorn and cold treatment; I died first, unwilling, unwilling. My greatest pain and misfortune in life is because I am a woman.
—Xiao Hong
10. Society and life flowed calmly like a river. Calmly flowing was ignorance and hardship, and also calmly flowing was tranquil self-satisfaction.
Loneliness is for those who have once held beautiful hopes for life but have been repeatedly disillusioned; loneliness is for those who are confident in their abilities and have ambitious plans for their work, but whose lives are filled with bitterness and unable to lift themselves up, causing them distress and anxiety. Such spiritually lonely people, once they realize that the light of their lives is about to be extinguished and that everything is beyond "remedy," experience a sorrow of loneliness that is probably indescribable. And such a lonely death has become a heavy burden on my emotions; I am willing to forget it, yet I cannot and cannot bear to forget it easily.
—Xiao Hong, *Tales of Hulan River*
11. Last May was the season when I ate green apricots in Beiping; this May, the pain of my life is truly as bitter as green apricots.
—Xiao Hong's
evaluation of "The Golden Age": There is always a prejudice against autobiographical writers who have made a mess of their lives, made one wrong choice after another, and relied on so-called tragic lives. Writers live a double life. You can write from many angles. Less real life, the simpler the better, more literary life, is much better than this.
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