And what a noble medium the English language is. It is not possible to write a page without experiencing positive pleasure at the richness and variety， the flexibility and the profoundness of our mother-togue. If an English writer cannot say what he has to say in English， and in simple English， depend upon it—it is probably not worth saying. What a pity it is that English is not more generally studied. I am not going to attack classical education. No one who has the slightest pretension to literary tastes can be insensible to the attraction of Greece and Rome. But I confess our present educational system excites in my mind grave misgivings. I cannot believe that a system is good， or even reasonable， which thrusts upon reluctant and uncomprehending multitudes of treasures which can only be appreciated by the privileged and gifted few. To the vast majority of boys who attend our public schools a classical education is from beginning to end one long useless， meaningless rigmarole. If I am told that classes are the best preparation for the study of English， I reply that by far the greater number of students finish their education while this preparatory stage is still incomplete and without deriving any of the benefits which are promised as its result.
And even of those who， without being great scholars， attain a certain general acquaintance with the ancient writers， can it really be said that they have also obtained the mastery of English？ How many young gentlemen there are from the universities and public schools who can turn a Latin verse with a facility which would make the old Romans squirm in their tombs. How few there are who can construct a few good sentences， or still less a few good paragraphs of plain， correct， and straightforward English. Now， I am a great admirer of the Greeks， although， of course， I have to depend upon what others tell me about them，—and I would like to see our educationists imitate in one respect， at least， the Greek example. How is it that the Greeks made their language the most graceful and compendious mode of expression ever known among men？ Did they spend all their time studying the languages which had preceded theirs？ Did they explore with tireless persistency the ancient root dialects of the vanished world？ Not at all. They studied Greek. They studied their own language. They loved it， they cherished it， they adorned it， they expanded it， and that is why it survives a model and delight to all posterity. Surely we， whose mother-tongue has already won for itself such an unequalled empire over the modern world， can learn this lesson at least from the ancient Greeks and bestow a little care and some proportion of the years of education to the study of a language which is perhaps to play a predominant part in the future progress of mankind.
Let us remember the author can always do his best. There is no excuse for him. The great cricketer may be out of form. The general may on the day of decisive battle have a bad toothache or a bad army. The admiral may be seasick—as a sufferer I reflect with satisfaction upon that contingency. Caruso may be afflicted with catarrh， or Hackenschmidt with influenza. As for an orator， it is not enough for him to be able to think well and truly. He must think quickly. Speed is vital to him. Spontaneity is more than ever the hallmark of good speaking. All these varied forces of activity require from the performer the command of the best that is in him at a particular moment which may be fixed by circumstances utterly beyond his control. It is not so with the author. He need never appear in public until he is ready. He can always realize the best that is in him. He is not dependent upon his best moment in any one day. He may group together the best moments of twenty days. There is no excuse for him if he does not do his best. Great is his opportunity； great also is his responsibility. Someone—I forget who—has said： Words are the only things last for ever. That is， to my mind， always a wonderful thought. The most durable structures raised in stone by the strength of man， the mightiest monuments of his power， crumble into dust， while the words spoken with fleeting breath， the passing expression of the unstable fancies of his mind， endure not as echoes of the past， not as mere archaeological curiosities or venerable relics， but with a force and life as new and strong， and sometimes far stronger than when they were first spoken， and leaping across the gulf of three thousand years， they light the world for us today.
黄金国
El Dorado
罗伯特·路易斯·史蒂文森 / Robert Louis Stevenson
人活一世，渴望得到的东西好像很多：不胜枚举的婚姻和决战等；无论身居何方，每天固定的时刻，我们都不可避免地将一份食物津津有味并且迅速地吞入腹中。粗看一下，倾尽所能去获取就是人纷扰一生唯一的目的。然而从精神层面上说，这只是一个假象。如果我们生活幸福，我们就如登梯，步步高升，没有终结。眼光长远的人，天地自然宽。虽然我们蜗居在这颗小行星上，整日为琐事而忙，生命短暂，但我们生来就心比天高，生命不息，奋斗不止。真正的幸福就在于怎样开始而不是怎样结束，是想拥有什么，而不是得到了什么。渴望是一种永恒的幸福，它是一笔财富，犹如房地产一样踏实，用之不竭、年年受益、幸福一生。精神的富有和这些渴望是成正比的。对于既没有艺术细胞也没有科学细胞的人们而言，世界只是颜色的混合体，或者是一条崎岖的小路，一不小心就会摔伤小腿。正是这些渴望和好奇，吸引人们充满耐心地生活着，形形色色的人和物吸引着你我，促使我们每天醒来可以兴致盎然地工作和娱乐。渴望和好奇是人们打量这个五彩世界的一双眼睛：女人因它而美丽，化石因它而有趣。只要有这两道护身符，即使这个人挥霍无度沦为乞丐，他仍能笑口常开。假设一个人一顿饭吃得紧凑而丰盛，他将不会再饿；假设他把这世间万象看了个明明白白，便不再有求知欲；假设他在每个经验领域中都如此——你觉得他的人生还有乐趣吗？
一个徒步旅行的人，随身只带了一本书，他会精心研读，不时地思考一下，还会合上书本凝视风景或者玩赏小酒馆雅间中的画。他害怕书读完了，乐趣也随着消失，剩下的旅程将无以为藉。最近一个年轻人拜读完托马斯·卡莱尔的著作。如果我没记错的话，他把有关腓特列大帝的笔记整整做了十本。“什么？”这个年轻人惊讶地叫道：“卡莱尔的书都看完了？那我只能天天看报纸了？”最典型的例子是亚历山大，因为已无国家供他征服，他号啕大哭。吉本写完《罗马帝国衰亡史》时也只兴奋了一时，他带着一种“清醒而又悲凉的心情”与以往的劳动果实辞别。
我们高兴地把箭射向月亮，却总是毫无效果；我们总是将希望寄托在遥不可及的黄金国上，我们好像什么也没完成。就像芥菜一样，兴趣的收获只是为了下次的耕种。你会想当然地以为孩子出生了，什么麻烦都没了，其实这只是新麻烦的开始。你看着他长大，入学，结婚生子，唉！每天都有新问题、新的感情撞击，你孙儿辈的健康将像你的健康一样牵动着你的心。当你步入婚姻殿堂时，你认为已经到顶了，可以轻松地往下走了。但这只是恋爱的终结，婚姻的开始。对于桀骜不驯或者反叛的人来说，坠入爱河和获得爱情都很困难，但维持爱情也很重要，夫妻之间应该相敬如宾。真正的爱情故事从圣坛开始，在每对夫妇面前都有一场关于智慧和慷慨的壮观竞争，他们要为不可能实现的理想终生奋斗。不可能？啊，当然不可能，因为他们不是一个人，而是两个人。
传道者哀叹“著书无止境”，却没有觉察到它已高度评价了作家这一职业。确实，世界上有很多事是无止境的，例如著书立说、旅行、试验、获取财富等。一个问题会引发另一问题。我们必须活到老学到老，我们的学习永远得不到满足。我们从未雕刻出符合我们梦想的塑像。我们发现一个新大陆，翻过一座山脉时，总会看到远方还有未曾涉足的海洋和大陆。宇宙浩渺，不像卡莱尔的著作可以读完。即使在其一角，一个私人花园，一个农庄附近，尽管在那里生活一辈子，天气和季节的无常变化也令我们有常看常新的感觉。
世界上只有一种愿望可以实现，也仅有一种事物绝对能得到，那就是死亡。死的方式很多，但没有人知道是否能死得其所。
