P1-80 在我变成人之前，我是一支箭——在很早以前 The old dreams were good dreams,they didn't work out, but I'm glad I had them. “旧梦是好梦，没有实现，但是我很高兴有过这些梦” 他们受对诗歌的偏见的影响太深，把诗看做是英雄气短的产物。 此地是孩子成长的好地方，可这是大人成长的好地方吗？ “为了古老的夜晚和远方的音乐” 他经过朦胧将灭的月色中的那所白房子时抬头望一望，摇头叹息男人多愚蠢，有些男人，多数...
The old dreams were good dreams,they didn't work out, but I'm glad I had them.
Chapter: Robert Kincaid He stepped from the truck and looked at her, looked closer, and then closer still. She was lovely, or had been at one time, or could be again. 中译： 他下了车，望着她，近些，更近些。她风姿绰约，或者曾经一度如此，或者可能再度如此。 觉得“一度如此”“再度如此”有些累赘，却也想不出怎么改。不过好喜欢这样的表达。 ---------------------------------------------------- Chapter: A...
Chapter: Robert Kincaid
He stepped from the truck and looked at her, looked closer, and then closer still. She was lovely, or had been at one time, or could be again.
Franccesca said nothing, wondering about a man to whom the difference betweeen a pasture and a meadow seemed important, who got excited about sky color, who wrote a little poetry but not much fiction. Who played the guitar, who earned his living by images and carried his tools in knapsacks. Who seemed like the wind. And moved like it. Came from it, perhaps.
God, what was it about him! He was like some star creature who had drafted in on the tail of a comet and dropped off at the end of her land.
The image of Robert is partly built on how Francesca gasped with admiration at him, perhaps. Love this metaphor of comet.
[when F came downstairs in her light pink dress] "Jesus," he said softly. All of the feelings, all of the searching and reflecting, a lifetime of feeling and searching and reflecting, came together at that moment.
With her face buried in his neck and her skin against his, she should smell rivers and woodsmoke, could hear steaming trains chuffing out of winter stations in long-ago nighttimes, could see travelers in black robes moving steadily along frozen rivers and through summer meadows, beating their way toward the end of things. The leopard swept over her, again and again and yet again, like a long prairie wind, and rolling beneath him, she rode on that wind like some temple virgin toward the sweet, compliant fires marking the soft curve of oblivion.
And he knew finally the meaning of all the small footprints on all the deserted beaches he had ever walked, of all the secret cargoes carried by ships that had never sailed, of all the curtained faces that had watched him pass down winding streets of twilight cities. And, like a great hunter of old who has traveled distant iles and now sees the light of his home campfires, his loneliness dissolved. At last. At last. He had come so far...so far. And he lay upon her, perfectly formed and unalterably complete in his love for her. At last.
Doubt the existence of love like this in reality. But one should not doubt something he has not seen or experienced, right?
"But please don't make me. Don't make me give this up, my responsibilities. I cannot do that and live with the thought of it. If I did leave now, those thoughts would turn me into something other than the woman you have come to love."
Robert Kincaid was silent. He knew waht she was saying about the road and responsibilities and how the guilt could transform her. He knew she was right, in a way. Looking out the window, he fought within himself, fought to understand her feelings. She began to cry.
Then they held each other for a long time. And he whispered to her, "I have one thing to say, one thing only; I'll never say it another time, to anyone, and I ask you to remember it: In a universe of ambiguity, this kind of certainty comes only once, and never again, no matter how many lifetimes you live."
Sometimes I feel her choice is unfair to him. But her choice is also part of her, whom he loves.
[in F's letter to Carolyn and Michael] If not for your father and the two of you, I would have gone anywhere with him, instantly. He asked me to go, begged me to go. But I wouldn't, and he was too much of a sensitive and caring person to ever interfere in our lives after that.
The paradox is this: If it hadn't been for Robert Kincaid, I'm not sure I could have stayed on the farm all these years. In four days, he gave me a lifetime, a universe, and made the separate parts of me into a whole. I have never stopped thinking of him, not for a moment. Even when he was not in my conscious mind, I could feel him somewhere, always he was there.
'Made the separate parts of me into a whole'. Can understand that somehow.
[the same letter] I'm sure you found my burial request incomprehensible, thinking perhaps it was the product of a confused old woman. After reading the 1982 Seattle attorney's letter and my notebooks, you'll understand why I made that request. I gave my family my life; I gave Robert Kincaid what was left of me.
I think Richard knew there was something in me he could not reach, and I sometimes wonder if he found the manila envelope when I kept it at home in the bureau. Just before he died, I was sitting by him in a Des Moines hospital, and he said this to me: "Francesca, I know you had your own dreams, too. I'm sorry I couldn't give them to you." That was the most touching moment of our lives together.
It made me burst into tears, for F, for Robert, and also Richard. None of them got what they wanted. This is a mad world where people are bound by too many rules and desires. The forever fight between super-ego and id.
Strangely the Chinese version seems more convincing to me. Like the structure that makes the story sound real.
It’s clear to me now that I have been moving toward you and you toward me for a long time. Though neither of us was aware of the other before we met, there was a kind of mindless certainty humming blithely along beneath our ignorance that ensured we would come together. Like two solitary birds flying the great prairies by celestial reckoning, all of these years and lifetimes we have been movin...
It’s clear to me now that I have been moving toward you and you toward me for a long time. Though neither of us was aware of the other before we met, there was a kind of mindless certainty humming blithely along beneath our ignorance that ensured we would come together. Like two solitary birds flying the great prairies by celestial reckoning, all of these years and lifetimes we have been moving toward one another.