隨著城市里那些密集而冰冷的高樓大廈拔地而起，在擁堵的車流中，在污濁的空氣里，人們的幸福正在一點點地破碎，飄零。大家住得越來越寬敞，越來越私密。自我，也被劃進一個單獨的空間里，小心地不去觸碰別人的心靈，也不容許他人輕易介入。可是，一個人安靜下來時會覺得，曾經厭煩的那些嘈雜回想起來很溫情很懷念。
比起高樓聳立的曼哈頓，人們更加喜歡佛羅倫薩紅色穹頂下被陽光淹沒的古老巷道；比起在夜晚光輝璀璨的陸家嘴，人們會更喜歡充滿孩子們打鬧嬉笑的萬航渡路，就算已蒼然老去，支撐起夢境的應該是老房子暗灰的安詳，吳儂軟語的叫賣聲，那一方氤氳過溫馨和回憶的小弄堂。
Yet. when one quiets down, he may feel that the clamor he once found tiresome is, in retrospect, warm and nostalgic.
In contrast to Manhattan with towering high-rises, people prefer the ancient lanes bathed in sunlight beneath the red dome of Florence; in contrast with the brilliantly lit Lujiazui at night, they prefer the Wanhangdu Road filled with the laughter and play of children. Older as we grow, what looms up in our dreams should be the serenity of the old dark gray houses, the gentle hawking in Suzhou dialect, and those small lanes pervaded with warmth and recollections.
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