人生中,最美好的风光全在对岸。雾失楼台,月迷津渡。远方,总是那样令人神往。年少时,我们总渴望一次出走,乘上青春躁动的白马,挣脱父母的管束,策马飞驰,在空旷的荒野里驰骋。少年心事多如云,少年的思想总想化作一只自由飞翔的鸟,飞越万水千山,飞向那一片令人心驰神往的林子。林子似乎总是别处的好,难怪哲人说,此地的鸟把投身别处的林子看作是 Life, the most beautiful scenery all across the lake. Loss of the fog floor, month on the ferry crossing. Afar, always so enchanting. When we were young, we always longed for a runaway ride on the white, restless white horse, freeing ourselves from the control of our parents, galloping in the open wilderness. As young as many thoughts, young mind always wanted to turn into a free-flying bird, flying over a thousand miles, flying to that piece of fascinating woods. The woods seem to always be good elsewhere, no wonder philosophers say the birds here regard the woods elsewhere as