你尝试用苹果梨子来酿酒，酿出来的自然不是葡萄酒。

一个渴死在弱水三千面前的人，手里拿着干裂的瓢。

《夜游者》里一共四个人，谁也没有看着谁。没有温度的黄色光线洒落在空无一人的街面上。绿色，蓝色，红色，一切都没有温度。不强硬，不粗糙，甚至是温柔的，但是没有温度——不是寒冷的那种“没有温度”。

你从来不觉得这幅画阴森，大概是因为对那种情感太熟悉的缘故。

那些话你在心里说了无数次，也不知道说给谁听。如果一生中这都只是一种练习，那就当成是说给自己听吧。

你起身离开去冲澡。冷白光下，空荡荡的办公椅轻微地晃动着。

My loves like a red, red rose

Thats newly sprung in June;

My love is like a melody

So sweetly playd in tune

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in love am I;

And I will love thee still, my dear,

Though all the seas gone dry.

Though all the seas gone dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt with the sun;

I will love thee still my dear,

Though the sands o life shall run.

So fare-thee-weel, my only love!

And fare-thee-weel awhile!

And I will e to you again,

Though it were ten thousand miles!

Though it were ten thousand miles, my dear

Though it twere ten thousand miles.

I will e to you again.

Though it twere ten thousand miles

《My Love is Like A Red Red Rose》