我曾经在纸上信手写下这么一句话:语言是我钟爱所在。虽然它是信手写下的,但我想作为一个写作人,语言无疑是我倾心交结,希望引为知己的。外部的风景成形呈态,猎猎有声,我们只需扫一眼便能得到大致印象。可是内心的声音,内心的状态呢?它常常混沌未开,迷蒙一片,此起彼伏,若隐若现。我们若不梳理它,探究它,追踪它,再现它,我们往往不知所以,不明就里。 I once wrote this sentence on paper: language is my favorite. Although it is written by letter, I think that as a writer, the language is undoubtedly the result of my heart-warming desire to be confidante. The external landscape is shaped and hunt, and we get a rough impression of it with a single glance. But the voice of the heart, the state of the heart? It is often chaos is not open, a subtle, one after another, looming. If we do not sort it out, explore it, follow it, reproduce it, we often do not know it, and we do not know where we are.