我的生命不是长河，也不是大海，我的生命是小溪，是一条蜿蜒的小溪。 小溪的旅途平淡而又曲折，漫长而又单调。小溪的目的地永远在下一站，小溪从不停滞，却也从不曾匆匆赶路，忘了沿途的风景。小溪的水流很缓慢，好像随时都有干涸的危险，可他却总是很坦然——只要能随心所欲地流向远方的远方，即使干涸了，又何妨? 小溪没有方向，就像徐志摩的风一样。它渴望漂泊，却拒绝孤独;追寻自由，却摒弃放荡;它有点荒凉，却从未放弃希望;它有点固执，却从不曾彷徨迷惘。只是慢慢地流着，忍受着风干或冻结的痛苦，等待着口渴的小鹿停在身边啜饮纯净的溪水。 小溪，没有长河的宁静淡泊，没有大海的汹涌澎湃，却依然缓缓地流向远方，随心所欲，随遇而安。
THE MORE we live, more brief appear
Our life’s succeeding stages:
A day to childhood seems a year,
And years like passing ages.
The gladsome current of our youth,
Ere passion yet disorders,
Steals lingering like a river smooth
Along its grassy borders.
But as the care-worn cheeks grow wan,
And sorrow’s shafts fly thicker,
Ye Stars, that measure life to man,
Why seem your courses quicker?
When joys have lost their bloom and breath
And life itself is vapid,
Why, as we reach the Falls of Death,
Feel we its tide more rapid?
It may be strange—yet who would change
Time’s course to slower speeding,
When one by one our friends have gone
And left our bosoms bleeding?
Heaven gives our years of fading strength
Indemnifying fleetness;
And those of youth, a seeming length,
Proportion’d to their sweetness.