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那个被我认为是“呆子”的朋友在这次的信上问了这样一个似乎很小儿科的问题——“什么是幸福?”夜里,我回信给她:知道吗?沉默在这样的黑暗中饱尝寂静的空气,我就觉得幸福。黑夜,一如既往地永恒着重复,重复着永恒……所有的声音都退得很远,我喜欢这种干净纯粹的呼吸,所以,我总会用最高的热情去品味张爱玲的冷漠和琐碎、沈从文的哀婉和凄凉、韩寒的不羁和洒脱、朴树的平静和真实……曾经强迫自己必须丢下它们睡去,为明天的学习储蓄能量,可躺下去也只能呆眼望向天花板,白天上数学课时还昏沉的脑袋偏要在这个时候坚持清醒。于是,床头的蜡烛往往必须把自己全部牺牲才能唤起我的睡意……
The friend whom I consider to be “a child” asked in this letter a seemingly small pediatric question - “What is happiness?” At night, I wrote back to her: Did you know that silence is lingering in such darkness? In the still air, I feel happy. In the darkness, as always, eternal repetition and repetition of eternity ... all sounds retreated very far. I like this kind of pure, pure breathing. Therefore, I always use the highest enthusiasm to taste Chang Ailing’s indifference and triviality. Shen Congwen’s The mourning and desolateness, the coldness and freedom of Han Han, the calmness and truthfulness of the hackberry trees... Once forced to leave them to sleep, to save energy for tomorrow’s learning, to lie down and stare into the ceiling, taking math lessons during the day. The drowsy head also wants to stay awake at this time. So, the candles on the bedside often have to sacrifice themselves to evoke my drowsiness...