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grudging ourselves the time for rest; indefatigable, adventurous pioneers. It is true that we shall never reach the goal; it is even more than probable that there is no such place; and if we lived for centuries and were endowed with the powers of a god, we should find ourselves not much nearer what we wanted at the end. O toiling hands of mortals! O unwearied feet, traveling ye know not whither! Soon, soon, it seems to you, you must come forth on some conspicuous hilltop, and but a little way further, against the setting sun, descry the spires of El Dorado. Little do ye know your own blessednes; for to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive, and the true success is to labour. 译文： 在这充满联姻婚嫁、决战厮杀的世界里，每天特定时刻，我们都欣然而又迅 速地把一份食物一去不返地吞入包裹我们的皮囊。 这个世界看上去似乎有很多东 西都是可以得到的。 猛然看来， 尽可能地获取也成为纷繁人生的唯一目标。 然而， 对于精神世界来说，这只不过是表面现象。 正是因为不停地追求进取，我们才感到生活幸福。一件事完成后，另一件随 之而来， 如此连绵不绝， 永无止境。 对于往前看的人来说， 眼前总有一番新天地。 虽然我们蜗居于这颗小行星上，整日忙于锁事且生命短暂，但我们生来就有不尽 的希望，如天上繁星，遥不可及。只要生命犹在，希望便会不止。真正的幸福在 于怎样开始，而不是如何结束，在于我们的希翼，而并非拥有。 渴望是永远的乐趣，一笔如地产般真实稳固的财富，用之不尽，取之不竭。 每年我们都会因为拥有渴望而充满活力。一个人如有许多希望，精神便会富足。 人生只不过是一场单调乏味且编导拙劣的戏，除非我们对这戏有些兴趣;对于既 没有艺术细胞也没有科学细胞的人来说，这个世界只不过是各种颜色的堆积，或 者是一条崎岖小路，一不小心就会摔伤小腿。 正是因为希望与好奇，我们才会以加倍的耐心继续生存，才会着迷于纷繁复 杂、多姿多彩的人或事，早晨醒来才会以崭新的热情投入新一天的工作和娱乐。 希望和好奇是人观看这绚丽迷人的世界的一双眼睛： 正是这双眼睛使得女人美丽 妩媚，又使顽石妙趣横生 。一个人可以倾家荡产，沦为乞丐，可是只要他还有 这两个“护身符”，他就仍然可能拥有无限的欢乐。 假如一个人一顿饭吃得紧凑而丰盛，那他就不会再感到饥饿；假如一眼就能 看透人间世事，他就不会再有求知的欲望。如果他在生活中其它任何领域都是如 此，那他的生活还有乐趣可言吗？ 一个徒步旅行的人，背包里只有一本书，他会精心的研读，不时停下来思考 一番，还经常会放下书，凝视着风景，或者观赏酒馆里的装饰图案；他害怕一但 读完，便没有什么乐趣了，剩下的旅程将寂寞而无以为藉。 最近，一位年轻人读完了托马斯*卡莱尔的著作。如果我没记错的话，关于腓特 列大帝的笔记他记了整整十本。“什么？”这个年轻人惊恐地叫道：“没有卡莱尔 的书可读了？那我只能看看日报了？” 最有名的例子是亚历山大， 他因为已没有 国家供他征服而号啕大哭。 当吉本完成《罗马帝国衰亡史》 ，也只不过高兴了一 时，然后带着清醒而又抑郁的心情，他向往日的劳动成果挥手作别。 我们欣然把箭射向月亮，却毫无结果；我们把希望建立在遥不可及的黄金国上， 最终却一无所获。就像芥菜一样，兴趣的收割，只是为了下次的播种。你可能会 认为等孩子出生了，一切麻烦也就结束了；然而这只是新麻烦的开始：你看着他 长出牙齿，看着他接受教育，直到最后看着他结婚。天哪！每一天都会有新的担 忧，新的感情冲击。儿孙的健康像你的健康一样牵动着你的心。 当你步入婚姻的殿堂,你可能认为已经爬到了山顶,剩下的只是悠闲地沿着平缓的 山坡下山.然而,这只是恋爱的结束,婚姻的开始.拥有一颗骄傲而又叛逆的心,坠入 爱河与赢得爱情都是难事;但维持爱情也很重要,夫妻都应相敬如宾,互相关爱. 当 真爱起始于圣坛之时, 夫妻之间便开始了一场智慧与慷慨的竞争,一场为了一个 不可能实现的理想而持续一生的奋斗. 不可能实现? 啊,当然不可能,因为他们不 是一个人,而是两个呀. 传道者感叹到:"著书立说没有止境",却没发觉他已高度评价了作家这一职业. 的确,写作,旅行,积聚财富都是没有终结的.一个问题引发另外一个问题.我们不断 学习,且永远达不到心中所渴望的那般学识渊博.我们永远雕刻不出自己心仪的塑 像.当发现一个新大陆,或翻过一座山脉时,我们总会看到远方还有未曾涉足的海 洋与陆地.宇宙浩渺,总会有供我们勤奋努力的东西,总会有供我们探索的空间.它 不像卡莱尔的著作,可以读完.即使在其一角,在一个私人花园,或一个农庄附近,四 季轮回,天气瞬息万变,哪怕在那里生活了一辈子,也总会有让我们惊喜的事情. 世上只有一种愿望可以实现,也仅有一种事物绝对能得到,那便是死亡.但因 身处境地的不同,没人能告诉我们是否死得其所. 我们不停向着梦想前进,不肯稍作休息,这形成了一幅奇异的画面:不知疲倦, 勇于冒险的先锋.的确,我们永远不会达到目标,甚至目的地根本就不存在;即使活 上几百年,被赋予神的力量,我们最终也不能接近目标多少.啊辛劳的双手! 啊,不 知疲倦的双脚,一直不停地奔走,却不知要到何方.不久,你便会发现,你必须登上某 些显著的山头,然而在不远处,在夕阳的照耀下,你又会看到黄金国的尖顶.身处于 幸福之中,你却没有觉察:满是信心地跋涉远比抵达要充满乐趣;真正的成功就在 于奋斗. Passage 3 The old lady had always been proud of the great rose-tree in her garden, and was fond of telling how it had grown from a cutting she had brought years before from Italy, when she was first married. She and her husband had been travelling back in their carriage from Rome ( it was before the time of railways ) and on a bad piece of road south of Siena they had broken down, and had been forced to pass the night in a little house by the road-side. The accommodation was wretched of course; she had spent a sleepless night, and rising early had stood, wrapped up, at her window, with the cool air blowing on her face, to watch the dawn. She could still, after all these years, remember the blue mountains with the bright moon above them, and how a far-off town on one of the peaks had gradually grown whiter and whiter, till the moon faded, the mountains were touched with the pink of the rising sun, and suddenly the town was lit as by an illumination, one window after another catching and reflecting the sun's beam, till at last the whole little city twinkled and sparkled up in the sky like a nest of stars. That morning, finding they would have to wait while their carriage was being repaired, they had driven in a local conveyance up to the city on the mountain, where they had been told they would find better quarters; and there they had stayed two or three days. It was one of the miniature Italian cities with a high church, a pretentious piazza, a few narrow streets and little palaces, perched, all compact and complete, on the top of a mountain, within and enclosure of walls hardly larger than an English kitchen garden. But it was full of life and nose, echoing all day and all night with the sounds of feet and voices. The Cafe of the simple inn where they stayed was the meeting place of the notabilities of the little city; the Sindaco, the avocado, the doctor, and a few others; and among them they noticed a beautiful, slim, talkative old man, with bright black eyes and snow-white hair — tall and straight and still with the figure of a youth, although the waiter told them with pride that the Conte was molto vecchio — would in fact be eighty in the following year. He was the last of his family, the waiter added — they had once been great and rich people — but he had no descendants; in fact the waiter mentioned with complacency, as if it were a story on which the locality prided itself, that the Conte had been unfortunate in love, and had never married. The old gentleman, however, seemed cheerful enough; and it was plain that he took an interest in the strangers, and wished to make their acquaintance. This was soon effected by the friendly waiter; and after a little talk the old man invited them to visit his villa and garden which were just outside the walls of the town. So the next afternoon, when the sun began to descend, and they saw in glimpses through door-ways and windows, blue shadows beginning to spread over the brown mountains, they went to pay their visit. It was not much of a place, a small, modernized, stucco villa, with a hot pebbly garden, and in it a stone basin with torpid gold-fish, and a statue of Diana and her hounds against the wall. But what gave a glory to it was a gigantic rose-tree which clambered over the house, almost smothering the windows, and filling the air with the perfume of its sweetness. Yes, it was a fine rose, the Conte said proudly when they praised it, and he would tell the Signora about it. And as they sat there, drinking the wine he offered them, he alluded with the cheerful indifference of old age to his love-affair, as though he took for granted that they had heard of it already. "The lady lived across the valley there beyond that hill. I was a young man then, for it was many years ago. I used to ride over to see her; it was a long way, but I rode fast, for young men, as no doubt the Signora knows, are impatient. But the lady was not kind, she would keep me waiting, oh, for hours; and one day when I had waited very long I grew very angry, and as I walked up and down in the garden where she had told me she would see me, I broke one of her roses, broke a branch from it ; and when I saw what I had done, I hid it inside my coat — so —; and when I came home I planted it, and the Signora sees how it has grown. If the Signora admires it, I must give her a cutting to plant also in her garden; I am told the English have beautiful 翻译公司 (责任编辑：北京翻译公司) |