"The painting, the magic and aliveness of it, was like that odd airy moment of the snow falling, greenish light and flakes whirling in the cameras, where you no longer cared about the game, who won or lost, but just wanted to drink in that speechless windswept moment. When I looked at the painting I felt the same convergence on a single point: a sunstruck instant that existed now and forever. Only occasionally did I notice the chain on the finch's ankle, or think what a cruel life for a little living creature--fluttering briefly, forced always to land in the same hopeless place."
結尾章節好像哲理的獨白也無法拯救這本很糟糕的小說。節奏、節奏、節奏，節奏是小說好不好看的關鍵吶，節奏不對瑣碎的描寫和對白只讓人覺得心煩覺得流水帳，不是寫了十年寫了厚厚一本就能稱上傑作吶，喔這還是得了獎的書。
為了說出這本小說很糟這樣的話竟然花了三個星期看完這本很糟的小說也覺得自己非常是在哈囉。
在寫給Hobie的信Theo說他感謝他的良善對待讓他想到小時候和媽媽撿回家照養的流浪狗，他們盡心力照顧他，而事實上他不過有著破壞的心性，這是少少keep in mind 的地方。
