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。
里面究竟有多少墨水看不出。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么。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，那么会用它来做什幺呢？你将怎么来进行这个游戏呢
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，好像这支笔在下一个时刻就可能会干枯；还是装作或相信这支笔能够永远写下去而信手写来呢？
并且你又会写下些什么呢：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？抑或是藉替人书写而愉己？
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……
Virtue美德
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright！
The bridal of the earth and sky—
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;
For thou must die.
Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave,
And thou must die.
Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,
My music shows ye have your closes,
And all must die,
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like season'd timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.
甜美的白昼，如此凉爽、安宁、明媚！
天地间完美的匹配——
今宵的露珠儿将为你的消逝而落泪；
因为你必须离去。
美丽的玫瑰，色泽红润艳丽，
令匆匆而过的人拭目而视，
你的根永远扎在坟墓里，
而你必须消逝。
美妙的春天，充满了美好的日子和芳香的玫瑰，
如一支芬芳满溢的盒子，
我的音乐表明你们也有终止，
万物都得消逝。
唯有美好而正直的心灵，
犹如干燥备用的木料，永不走样；
纵然整个世界变为灰烬，
它依然流光溢彩。
Let Us Smile让我们微笑
The thing that goes the farthest toward making life worthwhile,
That costs the least and does the most, is just a pleasant smile.
The smile that bubbles from the heart that loves its fellow men,
Will drive away the clouds of gloom and coax the sun again.
It’s full of worth and goodness, too, with manly kindness blent;
It’s worth a million dollars, and it doesn’t cost a cent.
There is no room for sadness when we see a cheery smile;
It always has the same good look; it’s never out of style;
It nerves us on to try again when failure makes us blue;
The dimples of encouragement are good for me and you.
It pays the highest interest — for it is merely lent;
It’s worth a million dollars, and it doesn’t cost a cent.
A smile comes very easy — you can wrinkle up with cheer,
A hundred times before you can squeeze out a salty tear;
It ripples out, moreover, to the heartstrings that will tug,
And always leaves an echo that is very like a hug.
So, smile away！ Folks understand what by a smile is meant;
It’s worth a million dollars, and it doesn’t cost a cent.
那最能赋予生命价值、代价最廉而回报最多的东西，
不过一个令人心畅的微笑而已。
由衷地热爱同胞的微笑，
会驱走心头阴郁的乌云，心底收获一轮夕阳。
它充满价值和美好，混合着坚毅的仁爱之心；
它价值连城却不花一文。
当我们看到喜悦的微笑，忧伤就会一扫而光；
它始终面容姣好，永不落伍；
失败令我们沮丧之时，它鼓励我们再次尝试；
鼓励的笑靥于你我大有裨益。
它支付的利息高昂无比──只因它是种借贷形式；
它价值连城却不花一文。
来一个微笑很容易──嘴角欢快翘起来，
你能百次微笑，可难得挤出一滴泪；
它的涟漪深深波及心弦，
总会留下反响，宛若拥抱。
继续微笑吧！谁都懂得它意味着什么；
它价值连城却不花一文。
The More Loving One 让我们成为更有爱心的人
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them ,say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
仰望群星的时分，我一清二楚，
尽管它们关怀备至，我亦有可能赴地府，
可是尘世间我们丝毫不必畏惧
人类或禽兽的那份冷漠。
倘若群星燃烧着关怀我们的激情，
我们却无法回报，我们作何感想？
倘若无法产生同样的感情，
让我成为更有爱心的人。
尽管我自视为群星的崇拜者，
它们满不在乎，
现在我看群星，我却难以启齿，
说我成天思念一颗星星。
倘若所有的星星消失或者消亡，
我应该学会仰望空荡的天空，
同时感受天空一片漆黑的崇高，
虽然这样可能要花费一点时间。
The Cobbler And The Banker皮匠和银行家
A cobbler passed his time in singing from morning till night; it was wonderful to see, wonderful to hear him; he was more contented in shoes, than was any of the seven sages.
His neighbor, on the contrary, who was rolling in wealth, sung but little and slept less. He was a banker; when by chance he fell into a doze at day-break, the cobbler awoke him with his song. The banker complained sadly that Providence had not made sleep a saleable commodity, like edibles or drinkables. Having at length sent for the songster, he said to him,"How much a year do you earn, Master Gregory?"
"How much a year, sir?" said the merry cobbler laughing,"I have reckon in that way, living as I do from one day to another; somehow I manage to reach the end of the year; each day brings its meal."
"Well then！ How much a day do you earn, my friend?"
"Sometimes more, sometimes less; but the worst of it is, -and, without that our earnings would be very tolerable, -a number of days occur in the year on which we are forbidden to work; and the curate, moreover, is constantly adding some new saint to the list."
The banker, laughing at his simplicity, said,"In the future I shall place you above want. Take this hundred crowns, preserve them carefully, and make use of them in time of need."
