他辟开了岩石，使水涌出，在沙漠中好像江河流注。
He opened the rock, and water gushed out, flowing like a river through the desert.
唯有小说家能凭借墨水拥有像血一样自行流注纸上的奇迹，为我们恢复失去的世界，使它的面貌活灵活现。
Only the novelist can restore to us, in the miracle of ink that pours itself like blood onto paper, the lineaments of our lost worlds, alive.
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