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兔灰灰的小窝

每天进步一点点

 
 
 

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小说:恋恋笔记本  

2013-05-11 12:01:43|  分类: 原著欣赏 |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

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The Notebook

小说:恋恋笔记本 - 兔灰灰 - 兔灰灰的小窝

  

The sun has come up and I am sitting by a window that is foggy with the breath of a life gone by. 

I am nothing special, of this I am sure. I am a common man with common thoughts, and I’ve led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I’ve loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me this has always been enough.

 The romantics would call this a love story: the cynics would call it a tragedy. In my mind it’s a little bit of both, and no matter how you choose to view it in the end, it does not change the fact that it involves a great deal of my life. 

my days are spent like an old party balloon: listless, spongy and growing softer over time. 

A person can get used to anything, if given enough time. 

I realize that the odds, and science, are against me. But science is not the total answer. This I know, this I have learned in my lifetime. And that leaves me with the belief that miracles, no matter how inexplicable or unbelievable, are real and can occur without regard to the natural order of things. 

North Carolina trees are beautiful in deep autumn: greens, yellows, reds, oranges, every shade in between. Their dazzling colors glowing with the sun. 

The evening passed, staying warm, nice. Noah listened to the crickets and the rustling leaves, thinking that the sound of nature was more real and aroused more emotion than things like cars and planes. Natural things gave back more than they took, and their sounds always brought him back to the way man was supposed to be. 

The evening passed, staying warm, nice. Noah listened to the crickets and the rustling leaves, thinking that the sound of nature was more real and aroused more emotion than things like cars and planes. Natural things gave back more than they took, and their sounds always brought him back to the way man was supposed to be. 

But he had been in love once, that he knew. Once and only once, and a long time ago. And it had changed him forever. Perfect love did that to a person, and this had been perfect.

Coastal clouds slowly began to roll across the evening sky, turning silver with the reflection of the moon.

People do that for three reasons. Either they crazy, or stupid, or tryin’ to forget. 

Sometimes he wondered if man’s instincts had changed in that time and always concluded that they hadn’t. At least in the basic, most primal ways. As far as he could tell, man had always been aggressive, always striving to dominate, trying to control the world and everything in it.

 Poets knew that isolation in nature, far from people and things man-made, was good for the soul, and he’d always identified with poets.

 From a distance, he looked the same as he had back then. For a moment, When the light from the sun was behind him, he almost seemed to vanish into the scenery. 

He’d seen beautiful women before, women who caught his eye, but to his mind they usually lacked the traits he found most desirable. Traits like intelligence, confidence, strength of spirit, passion, traits that inspired others to greatness, traits he aspired to himself. 

But if there’s a part of you that isn’t sure, then don’t do it. This isn’t the kind of thing you go into halfway. 

Poetry, she thought, wasn’t written to be analyzed: it was meant to inspire without reason, to touch without understanding.

Lon brought his palms together, as though he were praying, resting his fingertips against his lips. (瞬间穿越,这是老福的经典动作)

He liked to let the river work its magic, loosening up his muscles, warming his body, clearing his mind. 

He’d learned long ago to never underestimate the weather, and he wondered if it was a good idea to go out. The rain he could deal with, lightning was a different story. Especially if he was on the water. A canoe was no place to be when electricity sparked in humid air. 

Perhaps it was the poetry that made him different, or perhaps it was the values his father had instilled in him, growing up. Either way, he seemed to savor life more fully than others appeared to, and that was what had first attracted her to him. 

Poets often describe love as an emotion that we can’t control, one that overwhelms logic and common sense. That’s what it was like for me. I didn’t plan on falling in love with you, and I doubt if you planned on falling in love with me. But once we met, it was clear that neither of us could control what was happening to us. We fell in love, despite our differences, and once we did, something rare and beautiful was created.

 Passion would fade in time and things like companionship and compatibility would take its place. 

You are the answer to every prayer I’ve offered. You are a song, a dream, a whisper, and I don't know how I could have lived without you for as long as I have. 

Poetry brings great beauty to life, but also great sadness, and I’m not sure it’s a fair exchange for someone my age. 

We are in the final minutes in the day of our lives, and the clock is ticking. 

I have no time for worry in this twilight of my life. 

It is a barren disease, as empty and lifeless as a desert. It is a thief of hearts and souls and memories. 

Dusk, I realized then, is just an illusion, because the sun is either above the horizon or below it. And that means that day and night are linked in a way that few things are; there cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time. How would it feel, I remember wondering, to be always together, yet forever apart? 

I know the answer now. I know what it's like to be day and night now; always together, forever apart. 

We sit and watch the world around us. This has taken us a lifetime to learn. It seems only the old are able to sit next to one another and not say anything and still feel content. The young, brash and impatient, must always break the silence. It is a waste, for silence is pure. Silence is holy. It draws people together because only those who are comfortable with each other can sit without speaking. This is the great paradox. 

That life is simply a collection of little lives, each lived one day at a time. That each day should be spent finding beauty in flowers and poetry and talking to animals. That a day spent with dreaming and sunsets and refreshing breezes cannot be bettered. 

She says nothing else right away, she doesn't have to, and she gives me a look from another lifetime that makes me whole again.

"You are blessed, my friend, and I am blessed, and together we meet the coming days." The ripples and waves circled and twisted in agreement, the pale glow of morning light reflecting the world we share. The creek and I. Flowing, ebbing, receding. It is life, I think, to watch the water. A man can learn so many things. 

I think I hear someone coming, so I enter her room and close the door behind me. Blackness descends and I cross her floor from memory and reach the window. I open the curtains, and the moon stares back, large and full, the guardian of the evening.

 

 (2013-05)

 200多页,比较简单,化时一周,属女孩子看的轻松消遣型。

 

 

 

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