The greatest sorrow is a dead heart, and the greatest heartbreak is a laugh.
— Yan GelingVulgarity is driving a luxury Mercedes but not being able to spend money on a book with any enjoyment.
— Yan Geling
Pity is not a good emotion; the one pitied must accept the perfunctory attitude tinged with disdain.
— Yan Geling
Beauty without hope is the purest form of beauty.
— Yan Geling
No matter what, always be a good girl who doesn't compromise, doesn't cut corners, isn't cheap, and isn't terrible.
— Yan Geling
The most beautiful woman is not herself, but the beautiful atmosphere she creates.
— Yan Geling
I can endure hardship forever, but I cannot stay young forever.
— Yan Geling
Humans, these omnivores, huddled together smell worse than any other animal.
— Yan Geling
A person dies only once in their life, and dies hastily, less involuntary than when they came into this world.
— Yan Geling
This family is held together by every single person; if any one leaves, it will collapse.
—Yan Geling
It's not easy for a soft-hearted person to be happy. Whether she hurts others or others, it leaves her emotionally wounded.
—Yan Geling
Ferocity can be intoxicating, just as noble emotions can leave one tipsy.
—Yan Geling
Understanding without compassion is more terrifying than anything else.
—Yan Geling
Your smile is a form of surrender: this world is just like that, without reason, whether it's love or hate.
—Yan Geling
Your baseness, your nation's, and your own being recognized as base by his nation cannot make him brave.
—Yan Geling
Old Ji's formalities are very tight; you can't break through them, find a loophole, or build any extra, intimate friendship.
—Yan Geling
The most unbearable thing for a successful single woman is being controlled by another woman.
—Yan Geling
He looked at his seventeen-year-old self like a dying fish, struggling in her tolerant net.
—Yan Geling
Roses blooming into a disaster are not splendid, but desolate.
—Yan Geling
Why did she chase after me? To silence me? To silence that huge secret?
—Yan Geling
Shanshan glanced at her, implying that she hadn't bothered with such a hint.
—Yan Geling
The moment when opportunity, courage, and motive align are rare; their unity can only depend on human immaturity.
—Yan Geling
He understood Grape; for her, crying wasn't hard, but being taken advantage of was.
—Yan Geling
I discovered that after giving up the burden of making a good impression on others, one feels so at peace. One no longer needs to please others, and can, like me now, stop suffering.
—Yan Geling
The one who loves always endures silently, while the one who is loved can always shirk responsibility and enjoy the affection. Love and being loved are so distant, existing in silence, both helpless.
—Yan Geling
With parents, you can become a princess; with a man, you can become a queen; only by relying on yourself can you become a queen.
—Yan Geling
Following the crowd is a choice, a safe choice. Following your interests, following your ideals, is a risky choice, with unpredictable success and failure ahead. But because you're young, you can afford to choose, you can afford to fail. A predictable future is actually quite boring.
—Yan Geling
As people grow old, they become most sensitive to whether they are superfluous to others. They spend all day watching the expressions of their children and even grandchildren, checking if their place in their lives is wrong. If it is, then they are superfluous. There is nothing more tragic than discovering that you are superfluous.
—Yan Geling
A woman built on money, a woman bathed in honey, will create comedic climaxes and joyful endings wherever she goes.
—Yan Geling
Between relatives, there is no friendship without conflict. A beating is a sign of affection, a scolding is a sign of love. Afterwards, treat everything as a joke; reconciliation is so easy.
—Yan Geling
What you are destined to lose, it's better to lose willingly. Being able to willingly lose is being a giver. How can you do that? If not in this way, how can the weak express their tolerance and generosity towards the strong who oppress them?
—Yan Geling
There are only a few stories in the world, and men and women are all in those stories, unaware that the stories have already been rewritten and rehearsed by the ancients.
—Yan Geling
Why is it that loving someone makes you so unable to control yourself? Do you want to make them suffer, even want to torture them? Do you want them to know that this pain is love? Or that this love must involve pain?
—Yan Geling
People should give themselves enough democratic freedom to choose who to associate with, and openly admit the failure of a relationship.
—Yan Geling
"What kind of place is China? Doing scholarship is three parts, being a person is seven parts. Foreigners are most concerned with inventing this machine or that machine; Chinese people, on the other hand, are most concerned with you fighting with me, and me fighting with you. If you don't understand this kind of knowledge, you're a useless person in China."
—Yan Geling
Perhaps it's wrong to forcefully sever it; instead, it helps it take root. You can't forcefully cut off all childish games. Childish games are meant to grow and die on their own; if you cut them off, they hurt, they take root, and they become unwavering until death.
—Yan Geling
This is Nianhen. Her vitality shines through when she challenges you. She responds with rhetorical questions, agrees with protests, and is gentle yet confrontational. Nianhen is a gun; she fires forward according to your aim, but also delivers a heavy recoil.
—Yan Geling
She was someone who never knew sorrow or pain, someone who always postponed today's suffering to tomorrow's. Now, however, she can't escape it.
—Yan Geling
But this isn't a cause for worry for her. Things don't hide from people, and people hide from things. Things that can be avoided eventually aren't really problems.
—Yan Geling
Yan Shi's footsteps were distinguished from the cacophony of footsteps. Gradually, she couldn't hear the other footsteps anymore, only Yan Shi's feet: lifting, putting down… the symphony of footsteps became a solo.
—Yan Geling
Pretty and beautiful are two different things. Eyes may not be pretty, but the gaze can be beautiful; a less-than-perfect face can have a charming expression; an imperfect figure can have graceful posture and manners. It all comes down to the richness and openness of one's soul. Perhaps there are many ways to beautify the soul, but I think reading is one of the easiest, cheapest, and most accessible shortcuts that doesn't require help from others.
—Yan Geling
Youth is a blessing, a source of happiness. You can be like any other student, letting exams and universities choose you, or you can be different, letting your personal ideals and preferences choose you.
—Yan Geling
Their intimacy developed slower than planting a cherry tree. Suddenly, the tree was full of blossoms, and he realized that neither of them had been idle; they had both been secretly fertilizing and watering. The blossoming season was brought about by the person who constantly challenged him.
—Yan Geling
Neither of them immediately looked away. It's impossible for a friendship between a man and a woman to be completely devoid of any ambiguity.
—Yan Geling
Love is indeed a bitter thing, heart-wrenching. Is there anything more bitter than heart-wrenching? People are unwilling to suffer for other things, but they willingly seek out suffering and even enjoy it when it comes to love.
— Yan Geling
As descendants of the Yellow Emperor, we inherently possess a latent gambling tendency. Most men harbor a gambler within them, awakened from their centuries-old slumber by the scent of money.
— Yan Geling
A Chinese man in his twenties should be able to defend himself, even attack, without making a sound, exchanging benefits or engaging in shady dealings without leaving a trace. As long as he isn't caught, it's never considered cheating. At twenty, he should be accustomed to that subtle shamelessness in people, accepting it as normal human nature.
"
He wanted to run to her and tell her, 'We had a misunderstanding, maybe I had a misunderstanding with myself. The one I loved, I thought I didn't love. It had to be a cataclysmic event, a devastating disaster, a lifelong exile to understand myself, to know that I once loved.'"
—Yan Geling
"Even the mothers of beasts and livestock have this privilege given by the Creator: once they sense a predator approaching, if they cannot protect their offspring, they would rather kill them themselves."
—Yan Geling "
The heart doesn't refer to the physical heart; the heart is everything a life exists beyond the physical body. That existence doesn't ask you for food or drink, but it wants everything else besides food and drink, even your dreams. Therefore, it is the life of life—that is the heart. The pain of the heart is the pain of the life of life itself."
—Yan Geling
She stood up and gently took her bag from the sofa without disturbing him. She looked back at him again, her gaze complex, truly complex.
—Yan Geling
He didn't care that a sixteen-year-old criminal could call him the father of a sixty-year-old man; after all, many younger generations had been his "fathers." During a three-year famine, he discovered that those who starved to death were those who loved to act like fathers, those with too much internal heat.
—Yan Geling Even though he
couldn't see her face clearly, he could sense the image of the commander-in-chief of this era of great events, which had been imprinted in her mind, just like all the other earth-shattering events, equally remarkable.
—Yan Geling
She felt that she was more than just a wife to Zhang Jian; she gradually became a woman whose identity was blurred, as if all the identities and titles of women had merged into one, falling upon her—sister, wife, mother, even grandmother. Therefore, her love for him was also for all these women.
—Yan Geling
On one page, he wrote down how many things he wanted to accomplish before he turned thirty. I still remember them clearly: he wanted to travel ten thousand miles, write a book, plant a hundred trees, hold a solo art exhibition, take a plane ride, and fall in love.
—Yan Geling
She didn't know whether she was crying for Ouyang Yu or for herself. Because she loved him, he loved her; for this love, she demanded much from him, and she herself gave even more. They were at an age where the entanglements only grew more unresolved. Look at this family; isn't every single thing your own flesh and blood?
—Yan Geling
Look into his eyes now. Don't pretend you can't see the soul gradually rising from that blue. This means that there can no longer be any simple, joyful love between you and him.
—Yan Geling
He reached out and embraced Wanyu's slender shoulders. Those shoulders hadn't changed; they were as slender as they were forty years ago, but they seemed more sensitive, more responsive, and therefore more beautiful.
—Yan Geling
In my dreams, I am a person who loves to walk. I like to find a beautiful, secluded road and stroll leisurely. Walking through the dappled shade of trees is like walking through the flickering joys and sorrows in my heart.
—Yan Geling
Generations of novelists and playwrights have painstakingly written so much, all to help us understand ourselves. Yet, we remain so ignorant of ourselves. We believe we must experience a cataclysmic event, a devastating disaster, or an indefinite exile to truly understand ourselves and realize that we once loved.
—Yan Geling
While reading the letters, Lu Yanshi discovered that Feng Wanyu always remembered the beautiful half of things. Or rather, the events that happened to them could be seen as beautiful or mundane. In her letters, Wanyu relived those days with him, transforming them into good times.
—Yan Geling
Erda initially wanted to see this old man, but later he became more open-minded. He thought, why must we meet to be considered acquainted? Knowing someone doesn't require meeting them, and even if you meet them, you may not truly know them.
—Yan Geling
If you arrive in a distant and unfamiliar country and don't change or overturn your past, what's the point of this soaring flight?
—Yan Geling
She skipped up the stairs, a thought flashing through her mind: people still buy leeks and make spring rolls, but Sanzi is gone. People still haggle and bargain with the vegetable farmers over a penny's worth of leeks, but Sanzi is gone forever.
—Yan Geling
People then realized that Grape wasn't a normal person. She lacked something, something extremely important: fear. She was a woman born without fear. What kind of person lacks fear?
—Yan Geling
His palm touched her body, and his feeling was like a swing, this time deep in his lower abdomen. He deliberately made himself suffer, letting the swing in his lower abdomen rise higher and higher, making his soul feel increasingly detached from his body. He felt his whole body swinging.
—Yan Geling
As the glitz and glamour of old Shanghai gradually faded, the elegant attire and graceful figures scattered in the wind, settling on Lu Yanshi's worn-out wool coat, on his aged, piano-playing fingers, on the thick stack of letters he brought back to Shanghai… Time has passed, the charm is gone, but the grace left by the years will forever cherish the memory of that era.
—Yan Geling
Xu Qunshan patted the sofa beside him, asking her if she dared to sit there. He was joking with her, but there was no joking at all. His invitation to sit on the sofa was casual, relaxed, and indifferent, as if to say, "If you really dare, then you're asking for it."
—Yan Geling
Xu Qunshan, the "qun" in "masses" and the "shan" in "mountains and rivers of the motherland," said, his voice not loud, but like everyone else, graceful and unassuming.
—Yan Geling
They were witnessing for the first time the brutal bravery and generosity towards bloodshed of this race. They also experienced an Eastern-style masculine yearning: death on the battlefield. This death can be meaningless, because it is itself a glorious meaning. Swords flashing, blood flowing like a bath—what could be more magnificent than this death? Yes, infighting is their excuse, their illusion. They are committing collective suicide. From a certain perspective, they are dying for you to see; death is the final step. If they can take this step so calmly and willingly, are the many steps before it—discrimination, slander, expulsion, beatings—even worth mentioning? Those who are not afraid of death, what else is there to fear? Those who can face death, what else cannot they face?
—Yan Geling
A higher level of aesthetics is precisely the appreciation of ugliness. "It seems there's a kind of suffering within this pity; it seems that pity, taken to this extent, becomes suffering."
—Yan Geling
Old Pu, having lived life to the fullest, had by this time understood many things: marrying a woman like that is for others; the seemingly happy life of a perfect couple is also for show. A man who only shows off his life is foolish and miserable. True happiness comes from being alone with a woman like Grape. But as soon as a person gains a little power or success, they immediately want to show off their life to others.
—Yan Geling
In her mother's time, she should have been a typical "old maid." In these fleeting glances between mother and daughter, the mother already saw the precursors of an "old maid" in her daughter's face and body. Such purity and elegance were unreasonable. The closer she got to the goal of becoming an "old maid," the purer her purity and elegance became. This made it more difficult for each boyfriend; the further they went, the less they could break through her purity and elegance. And it seemed that everyone was afraid of being the one to destroy that purity and elegance, so they walked away.
—Yan Geling
Of course he hated her, hated her to the point of grinding his teeth, cursed her with the most satisfying words. But somehow, suddenly the hatred stopped. What man cannot do, time can: time has unknowingly taken its time, manipulated things, gradually removing hatred from your heart, leaving you with a beautiful dream one night, a dream of regret mixed with hope. When you wake up, you realize how ridiculous that hatred was.
—Yan Geling
Generally, these "useless people" possess a wealth of skills, mistakenly believing that these skills allow them to rise above others and make people dependent on them. While their skills are exploited, at least they are tolerated for their arrogance and allowed to live independently and freely throughout their lives. However, they never understand that their skills are rarely useful in isolation, and even when their skills are completely drained, no one will spare them. Unaware that they have already fallen into a web of petty matters, participated in collusion and conflict, and lost the independence and freedom they valued most.
—Yan Geling
There are times when you gaze for too long, your gaze like a fishing line cast out, impossible to pull back or retract. Your gaze has become detached from your eyes; your eyes move, but your gaze remains fixed on the object.
—Yan Geling
The extreme exoticism lured the young man to delve deeper into her, only to discover years later that it was motherhood—an ancient motherhood, the motherhood found in earlier civilizations. His understanding of motherhood encompassed suffering, forgiveness, and a willingness to destroy herself. Motherhood is the highest form of femininity; she opens herself up, allowing you to plunder and violate her. Her unreserved, indiscriminate embrace is the most beautiful expression of wantonness. Sixty-year-old Chris, pipe in hand, stood motionless, just as he had at fourteen, watching through the window as she opened herself up, allowing herself to be destroyed and trampled upon—more than ten people, and many more. In the instant she was utterly destroyed, something bloomed in her eyes, staring directly at him. Her true nature blossomed, suddenly leaping from her destroyed self, trampled into dust, into the air. The entire destruction brought forth this moment of unbridled freedom, a wild, unrestrained freedom! She had used that destruction to release herself in that instant!
—Yan Geling The sky
darkened, and I wanted to rest, to stop reading, to stop studying English, to stop thinking seriously. I wanted to chat with someone, to have someone soothe my tense, cramped mind with casual conversation. But I dismissed the idea, because when I need others, it doesn't necessarily mean they need me. Life is truly bitter. I can endure hardship forever, but I can't stay young forever…
—Yan Geling
That realization gradually became clear: they weren't killing each other; they were using this mutual slaughter to display and flaunt this classical, abstract courage and loyalty of the East. In their battle, they showed respect and trust to their opponents. If one person's knife fell to the ground, another would wait for him to pick it up. They used all of this to demonstrate their willingness to die for their cause. Some displayed wealth, others displayed character and talent. They used this blood-for-blood, life-for-life battle to demonstrate a spirit: death can be magnificent.
—Yan Geling
The life of an intellectual lies in accepting, analyzing, and disseminating knowledge, even questioning and denying it. In accepting and analyzing knowledge, one should not be subject to the arbitration of right and wrong. Intellectuals should also enjoy their final freedom—spiritual freedom. He said he increasingly understands Foy, the fifteen-year-old girl murdered by Christians. She refused idolatry simply to preserve her last bit of freedom—spiritual freedom. Yet later generations worshipped her as a saint, sculpting a part of her body into a statue, making her an idol as well, placing her in the temple built for her in Conch City, betraying the philosophers who sacrificed themselves for humanity's final freedom through worship.
—Yan Geling
We too gathered in Chinatown, there to calm the initial shock of entering a foreign land, to find work, housing, and comfort, to find a place to settle down and transition from warm to cold soil. We too crammed into small, dilapidated rooms, sharing rent as a group. Our sense of security was a shared unease, our sense of fortune a shared misfortune. Then, like your descendants, we began to cautiously venture into Western-inhabited areas.
—Yan Geling
Every woman, because of a secret, gives her husband double the passion and tenderness. Every happy husband should be grateful for those hidden rivals, real or illusory. Every strong family is strong because of the constant occurrence of illicit affairs, the mutual adjustment of conscience and lies, and the ever-present triangular relationships in the darkness.
—Yan Geling
In the damp chill of late autumn, two warm bodies embracing each other was practically a necessity for survival. In the throes of this brief separation that felt like a second honeymoon, he actually uttered the words he would normally scoff at as "what a load of crap"—"I love you!" He said it more than once, and Duohe believed it. Duohe had never heard those words before, nor did she know they were clichés. She was moved to tears. He held her tightly; it was such a perfect, fulfilling moment. He rested, sliding down to her side, his chin nestled in the crook of her neck.
—Yan Geling
I almost suspect you two deliberately didn't recognize each other. You took the bill, paid, and walked towards the door. When you reached the door, you turned back, but he turned his back to you. But as soon as you turned away, he turned back to look at you, seeing your aged, faltering back.
—Yan Geling
Before Chris passed away, he thought of Fusang. He was seventy-five, yet that single strand of black hair still looked youthful. He thought of how Fusang had cut herself apart from him, severing all the entanglements of love and affection. Perhaps the pain Fusang suffered from love was deeper than any physical pain. Perhaps she realized that love was the only pain, the source of all suffering, the thing that truly robbed her of her freedom. Her boundless physical freedom had been invaded by love, so she cut it away, liberating herself.
—Yan Geling
Chris also thought of his own life, a life changed by Fusang. He spent his life opposing the persecution of Chinese people and the mutual harm among them. He became a scholar of Chinese studies. He felt that Fusang was watching him do all this, whether she agreed or disagreed; she was always watching him. —Yan Geling Xiaofei
's
relationship with her daughter was similar to her relationship with her own mother—no communication, yet mutual understanding. What if that half of her blood hadn't come from Ouyang Yu? Would she and her daughter have been a loving mother and daughter? For example, what if that half of her blood was Han? Perhaps they would be an ordinary mother and daughter, but she wouldn't be so perpetually curious about her daughter. Every bit of her daughter's growth and development stirred a sense of wonder in Xiaofei's heart: How could this be? The expression of Ouyang Yu was so quintessential, yet after becoming feminine, it was completely different. Look at those slender fingers, those not-so-strong shoulders, the way she walked, especially the way she read—so content, absorbed in the pleasure of reading. For a girl to recreate that, it was somewhat comical. A lock of her hair fell across her forehead as she ground ink. Xiaofei thought, how wondrous! Perhaps because during her pregnancy she constantly sketched and copied Ouyang Yu's image in her mind, the imprint was all there—Xiaoxue was a female version of Ouyang Yu.
—Yan Geling
I imagine your sleep as a pile of broken, delicate porcelain shards, so thin, so translucent, barely pieced together into a container of surprise. It holds your physical and mental health, and each acupuncture treatment is a desperate attempt to maintain this container, lest it shatter completely, and your health dissipate along with it.
—Yan Geling
From bedside to stove, I thought no woman could compare to me. What I couldn't compare to them in was fate. Before I met you, I didn't accept my fate. I always thought, but now I understand, what people can't compare is fate. Fate is incomparable, nothing can be compared. The most miserable women have no choice but to accept their fate.
—Yan Geling
Xiao Fei would never forget the feeling of this moment: she had forever escaped that dark and lowly little town. Everything here was happy and clean. The mountain wind carried the scent of rain, so different from the gluttonous, lazy, and lustful smell of the small town. The mountains and the vast expanse of red and black clouds between them made Xiao Fei suddenly realize that people can be very magnanimous.
—Yan Geling
The wife quietly asked, "Has he returned?" The husband then understood; she was inquiring about the person she had been waiting for, even though she had forgotten his name was Lu Yanshi. "He's back," the husband quietly replied, "Is he still in time?" The wife asked again. "He's in time; he's already on his way." "Oh, the road is very long," Wanyu's last sentence was an attempt to protect her Yanshi: even if Yanshi couldn't arrive in time, it wasn't his fault; it was just that the road was too far.
—Yan Geling
Wanyu's distorted and fragmented memory stems partly from the fact that her memory is subjective, because she remembers things in a way she wishes. On the other hand, it's because her amnesia had already begun when she wrote that letter to my grandfather. I don't like to call it "Alzheimer's disease"; I feel her illness has no necessary connection to old age. It seems she prefers to tamper with her memories, ultimately turning them into fairy tales. No one can say that someone with a head full of fairy tales has Alzheimer's.
—Yan Geling
Old Pu, who had seen through life, had come to understand many things: marrying a woman like that was for someone else's sake; the happy life he and his wife lived as a perfect couple was also for show. A man who only lived his life for others was foolish and miserable. True happiness was living quietly with a woman like Grape. But as soon as a person gained a little power and success, he immediately wanted to live his life for others. At this moment, Old Pu and Grape set up another bed. He couldn't guarantee that if he ever got out of his current miserable situation, he wouldn't end up living for someone else again.
—Yan Geling
Many years later, on a night of senile insomnia, seventy-year-old Chris saw Fusang kneeling again. Fusang was still wearing that light red shirt, her figure smaller than he remembered from his youth. Her kneeling forgiveness was the most moving sight in his twilight years. He hadn't forgiven many people or things in his life; he was adept at finding evil in others and himself. In his old age, he realized that his upright life had been forgiven by a prostitute. On that sleepless night, he felt even more strongly that the woman kneeling in that light red shirt from a distant era was unbearably pitiful.
—Yan Geling
Here, if anyone has a heartache, a hidden wound, someone will surely expose it. Your unbearable pain can alleviate everyone else's. Share your misfortune to heal the collective misfortune. Why not me? A piece of fabric was enough for one person to make a cheongsam; with one more person, only two vests can be made.
—Yan Geling
"Aren't you ashamed? I am ashamed. If things have come to this, why did you do it in the first place? You value Ouyang Yu so much, aren't you afraid he'll find out about this? Then he'll leave and never look back!" Xiao Fei was silent for a while, then said faintly, "He won't leave. He won't leave me because of my mistakes. If he wants to leave me, it will be for his own reasons." "Want to try? Let me tell you, no man can swallow this insult." "So you don't understand, Commander." "Yes, the more I talk to you, the less I understand." "He's not an ordinary man." "Even the most refined man will be jealous." Xiao Fei smiled sadly: "If he cares about me so much, he'll be jealous. I'd be happy then." It turned out that her fear of Ouyang Yu finding out stemmed from this thought; she suddenly understood herself.
—Yan Geling
Hatred is a tragically magnificent emotion. It makes people feel just, sacred, and driven by a mission. It's not the kind of hatred where you bite me and I'll retaliate—that's a low-level, animalistic hatred. A higher and purer hatred is inherent in life itself. It's so vast that it can exist without a specific enemy, just like the boundless love of a person that has nowhere to be given. This highest form of hatred can be sealed away for many years, in complete darkness, and people may not even be aware of its existence. But when this darkness finally breaks through and engulfs all thought and reason, what people do is no longer purposeful destruction; they do it to complete a magnificent act of emotion. All the burning, smashing, killing, and raping become channels, channels through which this darkness spreads and disseminates. What initially aroused hostility has become so insignificant that it almost disappears. People gradually become intoxicated by the spectacle created by destruction and cruelty.
—Yan Geling
I tell you, it was this boy's heavenly affection for you that made me decide to write the story of Fusang. This kind of affection no longer exists in my time. When we talk about love, our minds are filled with a whole host of other things, such as: green cards, jobs, white-collar and blue-collar workers, Hondas or BMWs. When we talk about love, we all make a face that the other person can't see.
—Yan Geling
When she turned around, he picked her up. Xiaofei nestled in his arms like a docile kitten, letting him place her on his bed. Xiaofei became the 400 millionth and 400th. She later learned that he understood everything, from her secretly washing his blankets to giving him those foolish words in black and white, "I want to marry you." He always understood. He didn't need to unwrap the newspaper wrapped around the book to see that note. He also understood how she risked her life to pursue him. Among his distant and close relatives, more than a dozen cousins were similar to Xiaofei. He was a combination of arrogance, gentleness, unrestrainedness, and meticulousness, always catching women off guard and arousing their greatest sexual excitement and desire to conquer. Most of them would give up on him after returning to reality and start making long-term plans. He offered no practical benefit. Women who had read some books all harbored a wicked heart. They eloped with him in their dreams, their souls stealing pleasure to satisfy this wicked heart. They didn't care about "one-sided passion," as long as he was ambiguous and occasionally gave them a little bit of intimate feeling.
—Yan Geling
It's fatal for a woman to develop pity for a man. Admiration and appreciation are not terrible; what's terrible is when pity is added to the former two. In her later years, Xiaofei thought that she felt more pity for Ouyang Yu than for her own children at this moment, watching him walk away. She had never seen this through in her youth and middle age, always thinking that she loved his demeanor, talent, and appearance, admired his erudition, and appreciated his cynicism. But she truly understood herself when her hair turned white and she could lie well.
"
A long time ago, I thought it was good that you were useless, that you weren't filthy at heart, and that you were a clean person. People who are too useful are often a bit despicable. Now look, useless is useless."
—Yan Geling
On that ocean liner, seventeen-year-old Chris suddenly understood everything. Looking at the dark morning sea, he almost sighed: What a wonderful woman, so sincere, like a handful of soil beneath your feet, letting you tread on it, let you roll on it, let you cultivate it, plow it, sow and harvest on it—good because of her lowliness; any woman who considers herself noble has her femininity dried up, carrying a dried-up, dead femininity. All they have left for men are tricks; all temptations are artificial, unnatural. From this moment on, women become traps, women become the most utilitarian thing. Chris saw enough women in his society, women who had long since dried up. On this morning at sea, he thought, Fusang is a truly original woman, a woman as sincere as the soil.
—Yan Geling
He loved her because she loved him. For this love, she demanded much from him, and she herself gave even more. The years have become increasingly unresolved. Look at this family; isn't every single thing your own flesh and blood?
—Yan Geling
By the way, is Chris's gold button still hidden in your hair bun? How long do you plan to keep it hidden? Will it be hidden away along with this history? Just like Chris hiding a lock of your black hair, that time when you hurriedly walked down the steps of St. Mary's Church, a tall, thin old man walked up beside you. His gray hair was blown by the wind, making him look rather desolate. That was the elderly Chris. Neither of you recognized each other. Another time, you saw an elderly couple and a young man get out of a car parked by the roadside. The young man looked very familiar to you. You only remembered after they had all passed by. This young man looked like Chris in your memory. He was also named Chris, inheriting his father's name. Just like that, occasionally, but destined, you and Chris came together from completely different social classes. You met, then missed each other, neither of you giving the other a second glance. Sometimes my heart was in my throat because you almost turned back, and he almost stopped, but in the end, you still missed each other.
—Yan Geling
You feel your body throbbing with sensitivity under his touch. The chaotic state that once allowed you to drift and sink is gone, the vast unconsciousness recedes like a tide, and pain rises. You don't know what this pain is, you don't know that this pain is the price, the price paid for fidelity and eternal belonging. Fidelity and eternity enter your heart for the first time, yet you only feel that it is unbearably new.
"
Old Lu, I've thought about it a few times," Xu Daheng meant "death." "Sometimes it's really hard to bear. When I feel like I can't take it anymore, I think about committing suicide in a fit of anger. But then I think, 'Let's try to endure it a little longer. Anyway, I can always delay killing myself. With suicide as a backup, everything becomes easier. Try it and see for yourself. You can always delay killing yourself, and suddenly the world seems much bigger!'"
—Yan Geling
She suddenly found herself speaking in a hoarse voice, indistinct words gushing rapidly and hotly from her lips. She couldn't even grasp their meaning. She was talking nonsense, saying she didn't want anything anymore—no uniform, no military rank, no reputation, no life—as long as Dongjun took her away. The world was vast, and there were many kindred spirits wandering the ends of the earth. He seemed moved, his head bowed, looking heartbroken. Her words grew increasingly frantic, saying they should escape while everyone was asleep. "Don't talk nonsense!" he stopped her hoarsely. "We are revolutionary soldiers!" "She paused, stunned. Romeo and Juliet weren't revolutionary soldiers, nor were Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai. She said the only answer was death."
— Yan Geling "
You almost confirmed the encounter between souls at this moment; a mutual care transcending kind, achieving equality and profound understanding in that unexpected encounter."
— Yan Geling "
This concept of selling has been successfully distorted, becoming marriage. These women sell themselves to a man every night. Their bodies are like commodities, deaf and mute, indifferent. This sale brings them worry-free meals, several wardrobes of clothes and jewelry. And it's not just this kind of selling; some sell themselves to power, some to fame, some can sell themselves for a city residency permit or a US green card. How many women aren't selling themselves?"
—Yan Geling
He muttered to himself: "It's the prison howl again. I heard the old folks talk about it when I was little, but they never explained it to me. They only said that the souls of the hundreds of prisoners had already left their bodies. When they were killed, they only killed their physical bodies; their souls had long since flown away. The howl was the sound of their souls coming from the underworld."
—Yan Geling "
The art of Chinese language, so beautiful for thousands of years, is reduced to the correctness of subject, predicate, and object; to calculating whether you get three points on a question or two points on another. Such a utilitarian course, let alone you seventeen-year-olds, is utterly tasteless. Even I, a Chinese language teacher with over ten years of experience, couldn't find a single exciting point in the entire class. "
—Yan Geling
"And then?" I asked with a smile. "Then our parents started arranging our marriage." "And then?" "Then we just date. If things don't go badly, we get married," he said, still smiling, but his eyes looked elsewhere. "What do we do then?" Sui Zi, I must eventually forget you.
—Yan Geling
Hatred is a tragically magnificent emotion. It makes one feel righteous, sacred, and driven by a mission. It's not the kind of hatred where you bite me and I'll retaliate—that's a low-level, animalistic hatred. A higher and purer hatred is inherent in life itself. It's so vast that it has no specific enemy, just like the boundless love of a person that has nowhere to be given. This highest form of hatred can be sealed away for many years, in complete darkness, and people may not even be aware of its existence. But when this darkness finally breaks through, engulfing all thought and reason, what people do is no longer purposeful destruction; they do it to accomplish a magnificent act of emotion.
—Yan Geling
I was startled, staring at him. In that instant, I thought of all the chasing, playing, bickering, coquettishness, aimless wanderings, and munching on candied hawthorns that all young men and women experience. They have all of this, I don't. I envy Wang Xiaoxue; I envy these things, these things I've never truly tasted and will lose forever.
—Yan Geling
From the day she put on that deep rose-red dress until now, she has understood that she is destined never to fall in love again. Whether it is tragedy or bitter fruit, she cannot be distracted from her love for him. To try to be distracted is foolish. In the end, revenge will only be revenge on herself. Chen Yiqun has many excellent qualities, and she is full of tenderness towards Ouyang Yu's weaknesses. When he returned from the countryside half-human and half-ghost, her love for him flared up once again. She wondered what made the disheartened Ouyang Yu so moving.
—Yan Geling
After returning from the memorial service, for several days in a row, whenever Xiao Fei thought of Du Han ordering the troops to watch her perform on his deathbed, to cheer her on and support her, she couldn't stop crying. That evening, Ouyang Yu handed her a towel, saying, "Now, I have no one to be jealous of." She looked up with tearful eyes, seeing that he was trying to amuse her, and immediately shouted, "Don't you have a conscience? I owed you in my past life, and Du Han owed me in his past life, and we've both paid it all back. Do you have a conscience?" She didn't care about logic anymore; she just let out all her grievances, half of which were for Du Han. He was stunned, because he realized that she truly couldn't bear to part with that old man. If he had ever felt the pain of jealousy in his life, it was at this moment.
—Yan Geling
She thought, what a noisy people this family is! How much time do they spend arguing? If they didn't argue, perhaps the floor would be cleaner, the furniture tidier, and the clothes smoother. If they spent less time arguing, they wouldn't have to "make do" with food, clothing, and life.
—Yan Geling
I tell you: Every woman has her most beautiful moment; a fleeting bloom. The important thing is who is fortunate enough to witness this unparalleled bloom.
—Yan Geling
In at most a week, he will see Wanyu. He will tell her that the old prodigal son has returned at the risk of his life. He was seduced back by Wanyu's gaze years ago. He was too oblivious; it took him so many years to understand the allure of those eyes. If he doesn't return soon, it will be too late, too old, too old to love anymore.
—Yan Geling
Father and Mother killed each other their whole lives because they didn't understand that sometimes, both men and women must be forgiving.
—Yan Geling
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