一一本书有一本书的命运。她会在恰当的时刻诞生,在梦想得到的人那里施展翅膀如沐春风一尘不染。在紧张的旅行中带上火车,在闲暇的黄昏前走近窗口,在沉思的子夜时分依旧不肯放下。我常常想,如果一本书不能长久捧在读者的手上那么她的呼吸就太微弱了,甚至太薄命了。当然,有些书生不逢时,仿佛经过时间的埋没才可以重现本来的光辉,即使只剩下了断章残卷。《水怎样开始演奏》眼下就在我手上。 One book has the fate of a book. She will be born at the right moment, where the wings of her dreams come to life, soaked in spring. Take the train in the intense travel, walk near the window before free time, still refuse to let down in the contemplative midnight. I often think that if a book can not be held in the hands of readers for a long time then her breath is too weak, or even fatal. Of course, some scholar students fail at the same time, as if buried after time will be able to reproduce the original glory, even if only the broken ribbon. “How water begins to play” is in my hand right now.