Hien

“He was a man of black and white. And she was color. All the color he had.”
― Fredrik Backman, A Man Called Ove

“Run. Eat. Drink. Eat more. Don't throw up. Instead, take a piss. Then take a crap. Wipe your butt. Make a phone call. Open a door. Rid your bik. Ride in a car. Ride in a subway. Talk. Talk to people. Read. Read maps. Make maps. Make art. Talk about your art. Sell your art. Take a test. Get into a school. Celebrate. HAve a party. Write a thank-you note to someone. Hug your mom. Kiss your dad. Kiss your little sister. Make out with Noelle. Make out with her more. Touch her. HOld her hand. Take her out somewhere. Meet her friends. Run down a street with her. Take her on a picnic. Eat with her. See a movie with her. See a move with Aaron. Heck, see a movie with Nia, once you're cool with her. Get cool with more people.. Drink coffee in little coffee-drinking places. Tell people your story. Volunteer. Go back to Six North. Walk in as a volunteer and say hi to everyone who waited on you as a patient. Help people. Help people like Bobby. Get people books and music that they want when they're in there. Help people like Muqtada. Show them how to draw. Draw more. Try drawing a landscape. Try drawing a person. Try drawing a naked person. Try drawing Noelle naked. Travel. Fly. Swim. Meet. Love. Dance. Win. Smile. Laugh. Hold. Walk. Skip. Okay, it's gay, whatever, skip.
Ski. Sled. Play basketball. Jog. Run. Run. Run. Run home. Run home and enjoy. Enjoy. Take these verbs and enjoy them. They're yours, Craig. You deserved them because you chose them. You could have left the all behind but you chose to stay here.
So now live for real, Craig. Live. Live. Live. Live.
Live.”
― Ned Vizzini, It's Kind of a Funny Story

“tôi gục xuống tay em
trong cái đêm lặng lẽ nầy
giữa run rẩy những hàng cây
giữa bóng tối và gập ghềnh bãi đá
em mang gì cho tôi?
một bao thuốc lá
một bài thơ về nước Ả Rập bại trận
một bức tranh cổ xưa trong viện bảo tàng”
― Lưu Quang Vũ, Gió và tình yêu thổi trên đất nước tôi

“Ngày tháng thoi đưa, con đã cao hơn mẹ
Chẳng hồn nhiên khi lòng con biết nghĩ
Áo dài hơn, tuổi mẹ cũng nhiều hơn
Dẫu vá vai, màu bạc, chỉ sờn
Nhưng trong áo ấm đường khâu mẹ vá
Yêu mẹ nhiều nên áo cũ con thương”
― Lưu Quang Vũ, Gió và tình yêu thổi trên đất nước tôi