过去并未死去，它甚至从未过去。

Maybe every man has had two such women, at least two. Married to a red rose, over time, the red becomes a mosquito blood stain on the wall, while the white remains "moonlight before the bed"; married to a white rose, the white becomes a grain of sticky rice on the clothes, while the red remains a cinnabar mole on the heart.

If we want to feed the world, we must first learn to listen to it.