在我的精神世界里,文学的土地,一向是没有中外之分的。上世纪七十年代末,是我大量接触外国古典文学的时期。莎士比亚、雨果、歌德、巴尔扎克、塞万提斯、契河夫、托尔斯泰、梅里美,我把他们的作品中译本频繁地从师专的图书馆里搬进搬出。我喜欢这些人的名字,更喜欢他们优雅的照片。我经常把这些书翻开,翻到印有作者照片的一页,看着它们发呆。他们奇异的装束,他们神秘的表情,他们滑稽的头发和胡子,让我百看不厌。一度,我非常不应该 In my spiritual world, the land of literature has always had no distinction between China and foreign countries. The late seventies of last century, I access a large number of foreign classical literature period. Shakespeare, Hugo, Goethe, Balzac, Cervantes, Chekhov, Tolstoy, and Meridian, I frequently moved the translations of their works out of the library of my college. I like the names of these people and prefer their elegant photos. I often open these books, turn to the page with the author’s photo and watch them in a daze. Their bizarre costume, their mysterious look, their funny hair and beard, I never tire of. For a time, I really should not