英语美文英汉互译

Suppose someone gave you a pen - a sealed, solid-colored pen.
You couldn't see how much ink it had. It might run dry after the first few tentative words or last just long enough to create amasterpiece (or several) that would last forever and make a difference in the scheme of things. You don't know before you begin. Under the rules of the game, you really never know. You have to take a chance!
Actually, no rule of the game states you must do anything. Instead of picking up and using the pen, you could leave it on a shelf or in a drawer where it will dry up, unused. But if you do decide to use it, what would you do with it? How would you play the game? Would you plan and plan before you ever wrote a word? Would your plans be so extensive that you never even got to the writing? Or would you take the pen in hand, plunge right in and just do it, struggling to keep up with the twists and turns of the torrents of words that take you where they take you? Would you write cautiously and carefully, as if the pen might run dry the next moment, or would you pretend or believe (or pretend to believe) that the pen will write forever and proceed accordingly?
And of what would you write: Of love? Hate? Fun? Misery? Life? Death? Nothing? Everything? Would you write to please just yourself? Or others? Or yourself by writing for others?Would your strokes be tremblingly timid or brilliantly bold? Fancy with a flourish or plain? Would you even write? Once you have the pen, no rule says you have to write. Would you sketch? Scribble? Doodle or draw? Would you stay in or on the lines, or see no lines at all, even if they were there? Or are they?
There's a lot to think about here, isn't there?
Now, suppose someone gave you a life...
假如有人送你一支笔，一支不可拆卸的单色钢笔。

看不出里面究竟有多少墨水。

或许在你试探性地写上几个字后它就会枯干，或许足够用来创作一部影响深远的不朽巨著(或是几部)。

而这些，在动笔前，都是无法得知的。

在这个游戏规则下，你真的永远不会预知结果。

你只能去碰运气！
事实上，这个游戏里没有规则指定你必须要做什幺。

相反，你甚至可以根本不去动用这支笔，把它扔在书架上或是抽屉里让它的墨水干枯。

但是，如果你决定要用它的话，那么你会用它来做什幺呢？你将怎幺来进行这个游戏呢？你会不写一个字，老是计划来计划去吗？你会不会由于计划过于宏大而来不及动笔呢？或者你只是手里拿着笔，一头扎进去写，不停地写，艰难地随着文字汹涌的浪涛而随波逐流？你会小心谨慎的写字，好象这支笔在下一个时刻就可能会干枯；还是装做或相信这支笔能够永远写下去而信手写来呢？
你又会用笔写下些什么呢：爱？恨？喜？悲？生？死？虚无？万物？你写作只是为了愉己？还是为了悦人？抑或是借替人书写而愉己？你的落笔会是颤抖胆怯的，还是鲜明果敢的？你的想象会是丰富的还是贫乏的？甚或你根本没有落笔？这是因为，你拿到笔以后，没有哪条规则说你必须写作。

也许你要画素描，
乱写一气？信笔涂鸦？画画？你会保持写在线内还是线上，还是根本看不到线，即使有线在那里？嗯，真的有线吗？
这里面有许多东西值得考虑，不是吗？
现在，假如有人给予你一支生命的笔……
The Salty Coffee
He met her at a party. She was so outstanding, many guys chasing after her, while he was so normal, nobody paid attention to him.
At the end of the party, he invited her to have coffee with him, she was surprised but due to being polite, she promised. They sat in a nice coffee shop, he was too nervous to say anything, she felt uncomfortable, and she thought to herself, “Please, let me go home”
Suddenly he asked the waiter, “Would you please give me some salt? I’d like to put it in my coffee.” Everybody stared at him, so strange! His face turned red but still, he put the salt in his coffee and drank it. She asked him curiously, “Why you have this hobby?” He replied, “When I was a little boy, I lived near the sea, I liked playing in the sea, I could feel the taste of the sea, just like the taste of the salty coffee. Now every time I have the salty coffee, I always think of my childhood, think of my hometown, I miss my hometown so much, I miss my parents who are still living there.” While saying that tears filled his eyes. She was deeply touched. That’s his true feeling, from the bottom of his heart. A man who can tell out his homesickness, he must be a man who loves home, cares about home, has responsibility of home Then she also started to speak, spoke about her faraway hometown, her childhood, her family.
That was a really nice talk, also a beautiful beginning of their story. They continued to date. She found that actually he was a man who meets all her demands; he had tolerance, was kind hearted, warm, careful. He was such a good person but she almost missed him! Thanks to his salty coffee! Then the story was just like every beautiful love story, the princess married to the prince, and then they were living the happy life And, every time she made coffee for him, she put some salt in the coffee, as she knew that’s the way he liked it.
After 40 years, he passed away, left her a letter which said, “My dearest, please forgive me, forgive my whole life’s lie. This was the only lie I said to you －the salty coffee. Remember the first time we dated? I was so nervous at that time, actually I wanted some sugar, but I said salt. It was hard for me to change so I just went ahead.
I never thought that could be the start of our communication! I tried to tell you the truth many times in my life, but I was too afraid to do that, as I have promised not to lie to you for anything Now I’m dying, I afraid of nothing so I tell you the truth, I don’t like the salty coffee, what a strange bad taste But I have had the salty coffee for my whole life! Since I knew you, I never feel sorry for anything I do for you. Having you with me is my biggest happiness
for my whole life. If I can live for the second time, still want to know you and have you for my whole life, even though I have to drink the salty coffee again.”
Her tears made the letter totally wet. Someday, someone asked her, “What’s the taste of salty coffee?” She replied, “It’s sweet.”
Pass this to everyone because love is not to forget but to forgive, not to see but understand, not to hear but to listen, not to let go but HOLD ON!!!
在一个舞会上他遇见她，她那么出众，许多男孩追求她。

他却这么普通，没人注意他。

舞会结束后，他邀请她去喝咖啡，她有些惊奇，但，出于礼貌，还是答应了他。

他们坐在一家典雅的咖啡厅，他非常紧张，她却并不觉得浪漫，一心在想，“ 请让我回家吧……”
突然他对服务员说，“请给我一点盐好吗? 我要把它加在我的咖啡里。

” 咖啡厅里每个人都惊奇地看着他。

他的脸红了，却很镇静。

他把盐放入咖啡中，并喝咖啡。

她好奇地问他，“你怎么有这样的嗜好?” 他回答，“ 小时候我住得离大海很近，我喜欢在海里玩，感觉大海的滋味，就象这盐咖啡的味道。

现在，每当我喝盐咖啡，我总是想起我的童年，我的故乡，我思念我依然生活在那里的父母。

” 他说到这些，眼泪涌了出来。

她深深地感动了，
那是发自他心底的真情一个能够说出思乡病的男人，一定是一个爱家，对家有责任感的人……随后，她也开始说起自己遥远的家乡，她的童年，她的家庭。

那真是一次美好的约会，也是他们故事的一个美丽开端。

从那以后，他们继续约会。

她发现事实上他是一个能满足她要求的男人：他善良，善于忍受，给人以温暖，又心细。

他真是一个好人，她有时非常思念起他来! 真要谢谢他的盐咖啡!
后来，正像每一个美丽的爱情故事，这个公主嫁给了这个王子。

他们过着幸福的生活……并且，每次为他煮咖啡，她都加上盐，因为他喜欢。

四十年后他去世了，留给她一封信，信中写道，“亲爱的，请原谅我。

原谅我这说了一生的谎言。

这是我对你唯一撒谎的一次---就是盐咖啡。

记得第一次约会吗，那时我太紧张了，其实我想要一些糖，但却说成了盐。

当时我觉得难以改口，只好顺其自然，却怎么也没想到那会是我们交往的开始! 在后来有许多次，我都想告诉你事实真相，但是我有点害怕，因为答应过你事事要说真话。

现在我快要去了，我不怕了。

所以告诉你，我不喜欢盐咖啡，那味道真是差极了……但是我却喝了一生。

自从我认识你，为你做的事，我从不后悔。

在我一生中，拥有你是我最大的幸福。

如果我能活第二回，我仍想与你结识，并和你在一起，即使再让我喝盐咖啡。

”
她的泪水把信纸全弄湿了。

后来一天，有人问起她，“盐咖啡味道怎样？”“味道好极了！” 她回答。

Like that of her own character， Harry Potter， J.K. Rowling's life has the luster of a fairy tale. Divorced， living on public assistance in a tiny Edinburgh flat with her infant daughter，Rowling wrote Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone at a table in a cafe during her daughter's naps — and it was Harry Potter that rescued her.
Joanne Kathleen Rowling entered the world in Chipping Sodbury General Hospital in Bristol，England， a fitting beginning for someone who would later enjoy making up strange names for people，places and games played on flying broomsticks. Her younger sister Di was born just under two years later.
Rowling remembers that she always wanted to write and that the first story she actually wrote down， when she was five or six， was a story about a rabbit called Rabbit. Many of her favorite memories center around reading—hearing The Wind in the Willows read aloud by her father when she had the measles， enjoying the fantastic adventure stories of E. Nesbit， reveling in the magical world of C. S. Lewis's Narnia， and her favorite story of all， The Little White Horse by Elizabeth Goudge.
At Exeter University Rowling took her degree in French and spent one year studying in Paris. After college she moved to London to work for Amnesty International as a researcher and bilingual secretary. The best thing about working in an office， she has said， was typing up stories on the computer when no one was watching. During this time， on a particularly long train ride from Manchester to London in the summer of 1990， the idea came to her of a boy who is a wizard and doesn't know it. He attends a school for wizardry——she could see him very plainly in her mind. By the time the train pulled into King's Cross Station four hours later， many of the characters and the early stages of the plot were fully formed in her head. The story took further shape as she continued working on it in pubs and cafes over her lunch hours.
In 1992 Rowling left off working in offices and moved to Portugal to teach English as a Second Language. In spite of her students making jokes about her name （this time they called her "Rolling Stone"）， she enjoyed teaching. She worked afternoons and evenings， leaving mornings free for writing. After her marriage to a Portuguese TV journalist ended in divorce， Rowling returned to Britain with her infant daughter and a suitcase full of Harry Potter notes and chapters. She settled in Edinburgh to be near her sister and set out to finish the book before looking for a teaching job. Wheeling her daughter's carriage around the city to escape their tiny， cold apartment， she would duck into coffee shops to write when the baby fell asleep. In this way she finished the book and started sending it to publishers. It was rejected several times before she found an London agent， chosen because she liked his name——Christopher Little， who sold the manuscript to Bloomsbury Children's Books.
Rowling was working as a French teacher when she heard that her book about the boy wizard had been accepted for publication. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone was published in June 1997 and achieved almost instant success. With the publication of the American edition， retitled Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone， in 1998， Rowling's books continued to make publishing history. Harry Potter climbed to the top of all the bestseller lists for children's and adult books. Indeed， the story of the boy wizard， his Cinderlad childhood， and his adventures at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry caught the imagination of readers of all ages. In Britain a separate edition of the first book appeared with a more "adult" dust jacket so that grown-ups reading it on trains and subways would not have to hide their copy behind a newspaper.
Jo Rowling lives in Edinburgh， Scotland， with her daughter Jessica and continues to work on writing the seven-book saga of Harry Potter.
魔法妈妈—J.K.罗琳
J.K.罗琳的生活展现出童话般的光芒，如同她所创造的魔法小巫师—哈利。

波特。

经历了一次失败的婚姻后，这个靠救济金过日子，独自抚养女儿的单亲妈妈和出生不久的女儿搬到了爱丁堡的一个狭小的公寓里。

为了逃离又小又冷的房间，她常待在住家附近的咖啡馆里，待女儿熟睡后开始写作，女儿睡多久，她就写多久。

就在这个小咖啡馆里，她写出了《哈利。

波特与魔法石》，塑造了那个将她带离窘境的小巫师。

乔安。

凯瑟琳。

罗琳出生在英格兰的一家综合医院里，这对一个喜欢给别人起奇怪名字，喜欢坐着扫帚满场飞奔的小姑娘来说，是个合适的开始。

她的妹妹两年后来到这个世上。

罗琳从小就喜欢写作，五、六岁时就写了一篇跟兔子有关的故事。

小时候美好的记忆似乎总是围绕阅读的—得麻疹时听爸爸大声讲故事，读奇异的冒险故事，沉浸在奇妙的故事世界里。

大学里，罗琳主修法语，在巴黎留学一年。

毕业后，她搬去伦敦担任调查员和双语秘书。

罗琳回忆说，那段时间最有趣的事情就是趁没人的时候在电脑上打小说。

1990年，时值24岁的罗琳坐在由曼撤斯特出发前往伦敦的火车上，哈利。

波特闯入了她的生命。

她可以在脑海里清晰地勾画他的模样，看到他进入魔法学校。

四小时后，当火车驶入王十字车站时，大部分人物和故事的前期框架已经在她的脑海里形成了。

当她午餐时间坐在咖啡馆里继续构思时，故事的结构变得更加清晰。

1992年，罗琳结束了白领生涯，前往葡萄牙做英语教师。

尽管学生们常拿她的名字开玩笑，叫她滚石（英语中Rowling与rolling同音），她仍然非常喜欢教书。

她在下午和晚上去学校工作，上午用来写作。

不久后，她与一名葡萄牙的电视台记者结婚，但这段婚姻最终以离婚告终。

离婚后，罗琳带着女儿和满满一箱子哈利。

波特的笔记与手稿回到了英国。

为了能住得靠近妹妹，罗琳在爱丁堡定居下来，准备在找新工作前完成这部小说。

她常常推着女儿的手推车四处闲逛，只是为了逃离又小又冷的公寓。

她会躲到咖啡馆里，趁女儿睡着时写作。

就这样，罗琳在咖啡馆里完成了哈利。

波特的创作，开始寻找出版商。

但她的稿件被多次退回，直到她找到了一个伦敦的经纪人。

罗琳之所以会找到他，仅仅是因为喜欢他可爱的名字—克里斯多夫。

里特（Christopher Little）。

当罗琳得知这本关于小巫师的小说被出版商接受时，她正在一所学校教法语。

《哈利。

波特》才一出版，就大获成功。

随着哈利。

波特1998年在美国的出版，罗琳的书继续创造着出版界的历史。

哈利。

波特登上了儿童与成人书籍的最佳销售榜的首位。

确实，这个小巫师的故事，他灰姑娘一样的童年，和他在霍格华兹魔法学校的历险引发了各个年龄读者的丰富想象力。

在英国，出版商出版了一种更成人化封面的版本，使得大人们能在火车或者地铁里阅读而不用把书藏在报纸后面。

现在，J.A.罗琳和她的女儿捷西卡住在苏格兰的爱丁堡，继续完成哈利。

波特的冒险故事
Just One More Time
There"s a 19th-century English novel set in a small Welsh town in which every year for the past 500 years the people all gather in church on Christmas Eve and pray. Shortly before midnight, they light candle lanterns and, singing carols and hymns, they walk down a country path several miles to an old abandoned stone shack. There they set up a creche scene, complete with manger. And in simple piety, they kneel and pray. Their hymns warm the chilly December air. Everyone in town capable of walking is there.
There is a myth in that town, a belief that if all citizens are present on Christmas Eve, and if all are praying with perfect faith, then and only then, at the stroke of midnight, the Second Coming will be at hand. And for 500 years they"ve come to that stone ruin and prayed. Yet the Second Coming has eluded them.
One of the main characters in this novel is asked, "Do you believe that He will come again on Christmas Eve in our town?"
"No," he answers, shaking his head sadly, "no, I don"t."
"Then why do you go each year?" he asked.
"Ah," he says smiling, "what if I were the only one who wasn"t there when it happened?"
Well, that"s very little faith he has, isn"t it? But it is some faith. As it says in the New Testament, we need only have faith as small as a grain of mustard seed to get into the Kingdom of Heaven. And sometimes, when we work with disturbed children, at-risk youth, troubled teens, alcoholic or abusive or depressed and suicidal partners, friends or clients . . . it is at those moments that we need that small bit of faith that kept that man coming back to the stone ruin on Christmas Eve. Just one more time. Just this next time, perhaps I"ll make the breakthrough then.
We sometimes are called upon to work with people for whom others have abandoned all hope. Perhaps we have even come to the conclusion that there"s no possibility of change or growth. It"s at that time that, if we can find the tiniest scrap of hope, we may turn the corner, achieve a measurable gain, save someone worth saving. Please go back, my friend, just this one more time.
It"s Never Too Late
With a flick of a tassel, my lifelong dream was fulfilled. At the age of sixty-eight, I graduated from college - with honors.
It was a triumphant, yet bittersweet achievement. I"d had a loving, happy marriage, filled with travel, friends and children. Then my husband died. I had never done anything on my own. Ever.
I realized I could sit at home and cry over my loss, or I could do something I had wanted to do all my life. I could go to college.
It was the scariest decision I"ve ever made.
Even then, making that decision was one thing. Actually doing it was another. I was so nervous my first day of school. I was terrified. Could I find my way around? Would I stick out like a sore thumb? Would the professors think I was a dilettante? Would I be able to do the work? What if everyone was smarter than I?
At the end of the first day, I was so tired.
But I was also elated. I knew I could do it. Although it was hard, the exhilaration of learning new things was worth it. My love of art led me to major in art history. It was a joy to spend my days listening to experts.
One of my unexpected pleasures was being with the other students. The age difference wasn"t a problem, although it was a shock at first having kids call me by my first name. They were delightful; we discussed our classes, studied and walked together. One young man even taught me how to use computers. Best of all: No one talked about cholesterol.
I also received a great deal of attention from many of my teachers (most of whom were young enough to be my children). I suppose they weren"t used to seeing a student get so excited about their lectures. As time went on, many used me as a resource. In history class, no one else knew what
living through the Depression was like. I did, and I was asked to talk about my experiences.
Many of my acquaintances thought I was crazy. Sometimes I thought so, too. The papers, exams, the hours of research, the mad dashes to get across campus in time for the next class, the exhaustion. However, it didn"t deter me from fulfilling all the academic requirements, including physical education. I was determined to do whatever it took to get my diploma.
My daughters were very supportive. Talk about role reversals. We planned our visits around my school vacation schedule. They helped me with my homework. They commiserated when I talked about a difficult professor and told me to stop worrying so much about getting good grades. (They swore I was getting back at them for all the times they had called me in a panic when they were in school.)
In addition to classroom study, I learned I could study abroad by taking school-sponsored tours during the summer. One trip took us through Eastern Europe (before the fall of Communism); on another, we explored art in Italy. I had traveled a great deal with my husband, but never by myself. I was apprehensive about going on the first trip alone. However, I met some wonderful people who took me under their wings. I had mastered another step in being on my own.
Little did I know that my college experience would provide knowledge that doesn"t come from books. Looking back, I realize that going to school kept me young. I was never bored. I was exposed to new ideas and viewpoints. Most important, I gained confidence, realizing I can accomplish things by myself.
The day before my husband died, he asked me if I would go back to college. He was telling me to go on with my life and fulfill a dream. On my graduation day four years later, I walked across the stage to accept my diploma. I could feel him giving me a standing ovation. It"s Never Too Late
It"s Never Too Late
By Mildred Cohn
With a flick of a tassel, my lifelong dream was fulfilled. At the age of sixty-eight, I graduated from college - with honors.
It was a triumphant, yet bittersweet achievement. I"d had a loving, happy marriage, filled with travel, friends and children. Then my husband died. I had never done anything on my own. Ever.
I realized I could sit at home and cry over my loss, or I could do something I had wanted to do all my life. I could go to college.
It was the scariest decision I"ve ever made.
Even then, making that decision was one thing. Actually doing it was another. I was so nervous my first day of school. I was terrified. Could I find my way around? Would I stick out like a sore thumb? Would the professors think I was a dilettante? Would I be able to do the work? What if everyone was smarter than I?
At the end of the first day, I was so tired.
But I was also elated. I knew I could do it. Although it was hard, the exhilaration of learning new things was worth it. My love of art led me to major in art history. It was a joy to spend my days listening to experts.
One of my unexpected pleasures was being with the other students. The age difference wasn"t a problem, although it was a shock at first having kids call me by my first name. They were delightful; we discussed our classes, studied and walked together. One young man even taught me how to use computers. Best of all: No one talked about cholesterol.
I also received a great deal of attention from many of my teachers (most of whom were young enough to be my children). I suppose they weren"t used to seeing a student get so excited about their lectures. As time went on, many used me as a resource. In history class, no one else knew what living through the Depression was like. I did, and I was asked to talk about my experiences.
Many of my acquaintances thought I was crazy. Sometimes I thought so, too. The papers, exams, the hours of research, the mad dashes to get across campus in time for the next class, the exhaustion. However, it didn"t deter me from fulfilling all the academic requirements, including physical education. I was determined to do whatever it took to get my diploma.
My daughters were very supportive. Talk about role reversals. We planned our visits around my school vacation schedule. They helped me with my homework. They commiserated when I talked about a difficult professor and told me to stop worrying so much about getting good grades. (They swore I was getting back at them for all the times they had called me in a panic when they were in school.)
In addition to classroom study, I learned I could study abroad by taking school-sponsored tours during the summer. One trip took us through Eastern Europe (before the fall of Communism); on another, we explored art in Italy. I had traveled a great deal with my husband, but never by myself. I was apprehensive about going on the first trip alone. However, I met some wonderful people who took me under their wings. I had mastered another step in being on my own.
Little did I know that my college experience would provide knowledge that doesn"t come from books. Looking back, I realize that going to school kept me young. I was never bored. I was exposed to new ideas and viewpoints. Most important, I gained confidence, realizing I can accomplish things by myself.
The day before my husband died, he asked me if I would go back to college. He was telling me to go on with my life and fulfill a dream. On my graduation day four years later, I walked across the stage to accept my diploma. I could feel him giving me a standing ovation.
Three Passions I have Lived For 吾之三愿
Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, like great winds, have blown me hither and thither, in a wayward course over a deep ocean of anguish, reaching to the very verge of despair.
I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy—ecstasy so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of my life for a few hours for this joy. I have sought it, next, because it relieves loneliness—that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the world into the cold unfathomable lifeless abyss. I have sought it, finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what—at last—I have found.
With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of men. I have wished to know why the stars shine…A little of this, but not much, I have achieved.
Love and knowledge, so far as they were possible, led upward toward the
heavens. But always pity brought me back to earth. Echoes of cries of pain reverberate in my heart. Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a hated burden to their sons, and the whole world of loneliness, poverty, and pain make a mockery of what human life should be. I long to alleviate the evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer. This has been my life. I have found it worth living, and would gladly live it again if the chance were offered me.
贝特兰·罗素
吾生三愿，纯朴却激越：一曰渴望爱情，二曰求索知识，三曰悲悯吾类之无尽苦难。

此三愿，如疾风，迫吾无助飘零于苦水深海之上，直达绝望之彼岸。

吾求爱，盖因其赐吾狂喜——狂喜之剧足令吾舍此生而享其片刻；吾求爱，亦因其可驱寂寞之感，吾人每生寂寞之情辄兢兢俯视天地之缘，而见绝望之无底深渊；吾求爱还因若得爱，即可窥视圣哲诗人所见之神秘天国。

此吾生之所求，虽虑其之至美而恐终不为凡人所得，亦可谓吾之所得也。

吾求知亦怀斯***。

吾愿闻人之所思，亦愿知星之何以闪光……吾仅得此而已，无他。

爱与知并力，几携吾入天国之门，然终为悲悯之心拖拽未果。

痛苦之吟常萦绕吾心：受饥饿之婴，遭压迫之民，为儿女遗弃之无助老叟，加之天下之孤寂、贫穷、苦痛，具令吾类之生难以卒睹。

吾愿穷毕生之力释之，然终不能遂愿，因亦悲极。

吾生若此而已，然吾颇感未枉此生；若得天允，当乐而重为之。

(
In 1982 Steven Callahan was crossing the Atlantic alone in his sailboat when it struck something and sank. He was out of the shipping lanes and floating in a life raft, alone. His supplies were few. His chances were
small. Yet when three fishermen
found him seventy-six days later
(the longest anyone has survived a
shipwreck on a life raft alone), he
was alive-much skinnier than he was
when he started, but alive.
His account of how he survived is
fascinating. How he ingeniously
managed to catch fish, how he fixed
his solar still, which evaporates
seawater to make fresh water, is very interesting.
But the thing that caught my eye was how he managed to keep himself going when all hope seemed lost, when there seemed no point in continuing the
struggle, when he was suffering greatly, when his life raft was punctured and after more than a week struggling with his weak body to fix it, it was still leaking air and wearing him out to keep pumping it up. He was starved. He was desperately dehydrated. He was thoroughly exhausted. Giving up would have seemed the only sane option.
When people survive these kinds of circumstances, they do something with their minds that gives them the courage to keep going. Many people in similarly desperate circumstances give in or go mad. Something the survivors do with their thoughts helps them find the guts to carry on in spite of overwhelming odds.
"I tell myself I can handle it," wrote Callahan in his narrative. "Compared to what others have been through, I"m fortunate. I tell myself these things over and over, building up fortitude…."
I wrote that down after I read it. It struck me as something important. And I"ve told myself the same thing when my own goals seemed far off or when my problems seemed too overwhelming. And every time I"ve said it, I have always come back to my senses.
The truth is, our circumstances are only bad compared to something better. But others have been through much worse. I"ve read enough history to know you and I are lucky to be where we are, when we are, no matter how bad it seems to us compared to our fantasies. It"s a sane thought and worth thinking.
So here, coming to us from the extreme edge
of survival, are words that can give us
strength. Whatever you"re going through,
tell yourself you can handle it. Compared
to what others have been through, you"re
fortunate. Tell this to yourself over and over, and it will help you get through the rough spots with a little more fortitude.
1982年史蒂文·卡拉汉独自驾驶着帆船横渡大西洋，途中帆船遇难下沉。

他在救生艇里孤独地漂浮着，远离了航道。

当时他身上的食物所剩无几，生存机会非常渺茫。

但76天后，三个渔民发现了他，他还活着（他是世界上遭遇海难，在救生艇上存活最长时间的人），他当时瘦骨嶙峋，与出航前相比简直判若两人，然而他还活着。

关于他大难不死的故事让人惊叹。

其中他是如何巧妙地抓鱼，如何固定太阳蒸馏器来提取淡水的事情都非常有趣。

但我最感兴趣的还是在他感到彻底绝望的时候，当一切抗争都似乎已毫无意义的时候，当灾难苦苦折磨着他的时候，他是如何支撑着活下来的？救生艇穿了洞，他强撑着虚弱的躯体，花了一周多的时间去修理，可救生艇仍然漏气，于是他耗尽了所有的力气去吹气。

饥肠辘轳的他极度脱水，精疲力竭，就算放弃也完全在情理之中。

如果人们能够战胜这种情况，那么他们的脑海中一定有什么信念支撑着他们。

许多人在遭遇类似的绝境时会选择放弃或精神失常，但幸存下来的人，靠的是心中的信念，是信念给予了他们战胜一切恶劣情况的勇气和决心。

“我跟自己说我一定可以挺过去的，”卡拉汉在他的叙述中写到。

“跟别人的遭遇相比，我已经算是幸运的。

我由始至终都这样鼓励自己，在自己心中建立起永不放弃的信念。

”
读完这几句，我就把它们抄下了，并深深地为之震撼。

当我觉得自己的目标似乎遥不可及又或者我遇到了似乎无法解决的问题的时候，我就用它们来勉励自己。

而每每念及它们，我总能有所醒悟。

事实上，不幸都是相对而言的，有些人比我们更不幸。

不管现实和理想相距多远，纵观历史，我们应该为现在所处的时代和景况感到幸运。

这样的想法是明智的，而且也值得思考。

从这个大难不死的的故事中，我们学到了能给予我们勇气和力量的话语。

无论你遭遇了什么，你都要对自己说：一定能挺过去的。

和其他人的不幸相比，你已经算幸运了。

要一遍一遍地用此话鼓励自己，这个信念将会使你更有决心去度过难关。