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我总觉得一些故事泛滥了。在人间自在的轨道上,它们不应该是故事。道理不在天上,在人间大地上的人心里。在一些颓废的阴霾里,人心的熔炉昼夜奔波,在黎明的摇篮里不知道那是黎明,不承认一切始于晨光。回顾人心,在那个粮票时代,一些故事是非常坚定的,它们是明镜的朋友。那些杂粮喂养的灵魂,在情爱的锅碗里,熬煮和谐的气脉,衔接人气,不是回报挚爱,而是创造暖人暖心的哲学。如果哲学不属于一片片冰心,那么它也不属于天下的众
I always feel that some stories are overflowing. In a worldly orbit, they should not be stories. The truth is not in heaven, in the heart of the earth. In some decadent haze, the melting heart of man day and night rush in the dawn of the cradle do not know that it is dawn, do not admit that everything began in the morning light. In retrospect, in the era of food stamps, some of the stories are very firm and they are friends of Der Spiegel. The soul of those miscellaneous grains feeding, in the love pot, boiled harmonious veins, convergence of popularity, not to return love, but to create warm and warmhearted philosophy. If philosophy does not belong to a piece of ice heart, then it does not belong to all the world