在远方河畔旷野，我与吾爱并肩伫立，在我微倾的肩膀，她搭上纯白的手臂。她嘱我淡然生活，像青草滋长于岸堤。但当时年少无知，如今早已泪眼凄凄。

In a field by the river my love and I did stand,And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

"The problem with fiction is that it makes too much sense. Reality never makes sense."

小说的问题在于它太有道理了。现实从来都没有道理。