世界上最优美的散文--人生短篇-第21章
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concentration is a habit of mind。 men are not born equal in their power of c oncentration any more than in their power of playing billiards。 but up to a poin t every one can improve his powers in every direction。 this is the age of specia lists。 remember that concentration is necessary not only to do things； but to se lect what to do。 in these days no one can achieve great distinction unless he co ncentrates on some one thing。
it must be remembered that concentration is an exhausting mental and physica l business for those who are unacomustomed to it。 therefore； to begin with； the s train should not be too prolonged。 attention should be relaxed for a suitable pe riod。 in other words the habit should be gradually formed。 brisk； vigorous conce ntration for a quarter of an hour on the first day may be gradually expanded int o two hours or more at the end of a month。 the essence of concentration is that the full powers of the mind should be centered on the task in hand。 a tired mind and body cannot acomcplish this to the best advantage； and in the case of child ren and young persons harm may result from too prolonged efforts。
飞蛾之死
弗吉尼亚。伍尔芙
……
然而，虽然他很小，却是一种很简单的能量形式。这种能量从打开的窗口纷至沓来，深 入到我自己和他人头脑里无数狭小复杂的角落，所以他身上有着某种可悲而神奇的东西。好 像有人取来一小滴生命原汁，极其灵巧地为他装上羽翼，叫他来回穿梭飞舞，向我们展示生 命的实质。这种展现十分奇特，叫人难以忘怀。望着他弓腰驼背，受人差遣，被人装扮，身 负重荷，不得不特别小心特别庄严地飞舞，你会忘记一切。另外，你如果想想他生成另一种 样子会怎么生活，就会带着一种怜悯来看待他简单的活动。
过了一会儿，他显然飞累了，落在阳光下的窗台上。奇怪的场面一结束，我也就把他忘 了。后来，我抬起头，目光又被他吸引住了。他想重新飞舞，但显得很僵硬，很笨拙，只能 飞到窗格底下；想飞到窗格上面却没有飞成。我因为注意旁的事情，一时间看到这种种徒劳 的举动也没去细想，下意识地等着他重新飞起来，就像一台机器一时停了，等着它再启动一 样，也不去考虑它停机的原因。大概试飞了7次以后，他在木质窗台上滑了一下，扇动着翅 膀，背着地落到窗沿上。他那无可奈何的样子引起了我的注意。我突然想到他遇到麻烦了。 他自己爬不起来；双腿徒劳地挣扎着。但是，我伸出铅笔想帮他翻身的时候，才想到他飞不 动、身体笨拙，是快要死了。我又把铅笔放下。
他的腿又抽搐了一下。我抬起头来，仿佛要寻找他与之战斗的敌人。我朝门外望去。怎 么回事？想必到了中午，田里没有人干活。静谧与安宁代替了先前的喧闹。白嘴鸦飞到河里 觅食去了。马儿一动不动地站着。但是那种力量依然聚集在外面，冷冷冰冰，对什么都不闻 不问，似乎它在与这个干草『色』的飞蛾作对。做什么都没用，只能眼睁睁地望着小飞蛾的两条 细腿在厄运即将来临之际『乱』踢『乱』蹬。如果愿意，厄运会淹没整个城市，不光是一座城市，还 有大批大批的人；我知道什么也逃不了一死。然而，精疲力竭的飞蛾停了一会儿，又开始蹬 腿，这最后的反抗非常精彩，十分激烈，终于他翻过身来。人的同情心自然都是向着生命的 。而且，虽然没有人在意，没有人知道，这个微不足道的小飞蛾还是拼命地与这么巨大的力 量抗争，保存别人看不起也不愿保留的东西，此情此景会给你一种奇特的感动。同时，你不 知怎么又会看到生命，一滴纯粹的生命。我又拿起铅笔，虽然我知道不管用。但就在我拿着 铅笔的时候，死亡的迹象已经明白无误地表现出来。飞蛾的身体松弛下来，立刻又僵硬了。 抗争结束了。现在微不足道的小生物死了。我打量着死飞蛾，是强大的力量打败这么卑微的 对手，轻易取得了小小的胜利，这不能不让我惊讶。几分钟以前，生命令人奇怪，而现在， 死亡同样令人奇怪。现在飞蛾翻过身来，体面安详地躺着，没有一丝怨言。是啊，他似乎在 说：死亡比我强大。
the death of the moth
virginia woolf
…
yet； because he was so small； and so simple a form of the energy that was ro lling in at the open window and driving its way through so many narrow and intri cate corridors in my own brain and in those of other human beings； there was som ething marvelous as well as pathetic about him。 it was as if someone had taken a tiny bead of pure life and decking it as lightly as possible with down and feat hers； had set it dancing and zigzagging to show us the true nature of life。 thus displayed one could not get over the strangeness of it。 one is apt to forget al l about life； seeing it humped and bossed and garnished and cumbered so that it has to move with the greatest circumspection and dignity。 again； the thought of all that life might have been had he been born in any other shape caused one to view his simple activities with a kind of pity。
after a time； tired by his dancing apparently； he settled on the window ledg e in the sun； and the queer spectacle being at an end； i forgot about him。 then； looking up； my eye was caught by him。 he was trying to resume his dancing； but seemed either so stiff or so awkward that he could only flutter to the bottom of the windowpane； and when he tried to fly across it he failed。 being intent on o ther matters i watched these futile attempts for a time without thinking； uncons ciously waiting for him to resume his flight； as one waits for a machine； that h as stopped momentarily； to strut again without considering the reason for its fa ilure。 after perhaps a seventh attempt he slipped from the wooden ledge and fell ； fluttering his wings； on to his back on the windowsill。 the helplessness of hi s attitude roused me。 it flashed upon me that he was in difficulties； he could n o longer raise himself； his legs straggled vainly。 but； as i stretched out a pen cil； meaning to help him to right himself； it came over me that the failure and awkwardness were the approach of death。 i laid the pencil down again。
the legs agitated themselves once more。 i looked as if for the enemy against which he struggled。 i looked of doors。 what had happened there。 presumably it w as midday； and work in the fields had stopped。 stillness and quiet had replaced the previous animations。 the birds had taken themselves off to feed in the brook s。 the horses stood still。 yet the power was there all the same； massed outside indifferent； impersonal； not attending to anything in particular。 somehow it was opposed to the little haycoloured moth。 it was useless to try to do anything。 one could only watch the extraordinary efforts made by those tiny legs against an oncoming doom which could； had it chosen； have submerged an entire city； not merely a city； but masses of human beings； nothing； i knew； had any chance again st death。 nevertheless after a pause of exhaustion the legs fluttered again。 it was superb this last protest； and so frantic that he sucomeeded at last in righti ng himself。 one's sympathies； of course； were all on the side of life。 also； whe n there was nobody to care or to know； this gigantic effort on the part of an in significant little moth； against a power of such magnitude； to retain what no on e else valued or desired to keep； moved one strangely。 again； somehow； one saw l ife； a pure bead。 i lifted the pencil again； useless though i knew it to be。 but even as i did se； the unmistakable tokens of death showed themselves。 the body relaxed； and instantly grew stiff。 the struggle was over。 the insignificant litt le creature now knew death。 as i looked at the dead moth； this minute wayside tr iumph of so great a force over so mean an antagonist filled me with wonder。 just as life had been strange a few minutes before； so death was now as strange。 the moth having righted himself now lay most decently and uncomplainingly composed。 o yes； he seemed to say； death is stronger than i am。
第1卷 第九章
《海鸥乔纳森。利文斯顿》节选
理查德。贝奇
理查德。贝奇曾是一位飞行员，参加过二战，后从事写作。本文节选自他的寓言体小说 《海鸥乔纳森。利文斯顿》。
大多数海鸥只要学会最简单的飞行本领就行了——怎样从岸上飞出去觅食，再飞回来。 对多数海鸥来说，重要的不是飞，而是吃。可是，对于这只海鸥而言，重要的是飞，而不是 吃。海鸥乔纳森。利文斯顿喜爱飞行胜于其他一切。
他发现自己的这种思想不会受到同类欢迎。他整天独自练习飞行，做几百次低飞滑翔， 连他的父母都为此感到灰心。
比如，他自己也不知道为什么，只要他飞翔在离水面不到翼展一半的高度时，他在空中 停留的时间就会更长，用的力气也更小，这样他就不需要用脚朝下溅落海中的一般方式落水 ，而可以两脚呈流线型紧贴身体，在水面上留下长而平滑的波纹，然后落水。他在沙滩上滑 翔着陆时开始用两脚紧贴身体的方法，然后步测在沙面上滑行的长度。他的父母见了，也实 在不知怎么办才好。
“怎么啦，乔恩！怎么啦？”他母亲问道，“难道像别的海鸥那样就这么难吗，乔恩？ 低飞是鹈鹕和信天翁的事，你为什么学这个？你怎么不吃东西呢？孩子，你都瘦得皮包骨头 了。”
“我不在乎瘦得像皮包骨头，妈妈。我只是想知道，当我在空中时能做什么，不能做什 么，就是这样，我只是想了解而已。”
“你瞧，乔纳森，”他父亲亲切地说，“冬天快来了，船只要减少了，海面上的鱼也要 往深处游了。如果你一定要学，那就学学觅食吧。飞行这种事虽然好，可你不能拿滑翔当饭 吃吧。别忘了，你飞行的目的就是为了觅食。”
乔纳森顺从地点点头。以后几天，他尽量学其他海鸥的样子，他真的这么做了，他同鸥 群一起，围绕着码头和渔船，尖叫着争夺食物吃，扎到海里，抢点碎鱼和面包渣。可这对他 行不通。
他有意把好不容易才弄到的一条鲤鱼扔给一只追逐他的饥饿的老海鸥。他想，这真没意 思，我可以用这些时间来学飞行。有很多东西需要学习！
……
“这儿为什么没有那么多的海鸥呢。呃，在我原来住的那个地方有”
“……我知道有成千上万只海鸥。”沙利文摇摇头，“乔纳森，我惟一知道的答案是， 你是万里挑一的好鸟儿。我们中间的大多数都是姗姗来迟。大多数鸟儿从一个世界进入另一 个几乎完全相同的世界，立刻就忘了是来自哪里，也不在乎到哪里去，只顾眼前。你是否知 道，要初步领悟生活中比充饥、战斗、争权更重要的事，我们要经过多少次生活经历吗？乔 ，要经过一千次一万次呢！然后还要经过一百次，才能领悟到，存在着尽善尽美这样的东西 。然后再经过一百次，才会认识到，追求尽善尽美就是我们生活的目的，使之彰明昭著…… ”
excerpts from “jonathan
livingstone seagull〃
richard d。 bach
most gulls don't bother to learn more than the simplest facts of flight — h ow to get from shore to food and back again。 for most gulls； it is not flying th at matters； but eating。 for this gull； though； it was not eating that mattered； but flight。 more than anything else； jonathan livingston seagull loved to fly。
this kind of thinking； he found； is not the way to make one's self popular w ith other birds。 even his parents were dismayed as jonathan spent whole days alo ne； making hundreds of lowlevel glides； experimenting。
he didn't know why； for instance； but when he flew at altitudes less than ha lf
