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爱情像一棵树,它自己生长,把根深深扎进我们的整个生命。
Freedom is not merely the opportunity to do as one pleases; neither is it merely the opportunity to choose between set alternatives. Freedom is, first of all, the chance to formulate the available choices, to argue over them—and then, the opportunity to choose.
To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive and impoverished.