評論
打印
"Don't you ever think at all?"
“難道你從來就不動腦筋，想想問題嗎？”
No, I didn't think, wasn't thinking, couldn't think—I was simply waiting in anguish for the interview to stop.
沒有，我平時不想，當時也沒想，我根本就不會想——我只是痛苦地等待著訓話的結束。
"Then you'd better learn—hadn't you?"
“那么，你最好學學，好嗎？”
On one occasion the headmaster leaped to his feet, reached up and put Rodin's masterpiece on the desk before me.
有一次，校長一躍而起，伸手取下了羅丹的代表作，放在我前面的桌子上。
"That's what a man looks like when he' really thinking."
“當一個人真正思考的時候，就是這個樣子。”
Clearly there was something missing in me. Nature had endowed the rest of the human race with a sixth sense and left me out. But like someone born deaf, but bitterly determined to find out about sound, I began to watch my teachers to find out about thought.
顯然，我身上缺少了某種東西。大自然賦予了其他人第六感，而唯獨把我漏掉了。于是，像一個天生耳聾但又痛下決心要去探索聲音的人一樣，我開始觀察老師的言行舉止，想從中發現思考的真諦。
There was Mr Houghton. He was always telling me to think. With a modest satisfaction, he would tell me that he had thought a bit himself. Then why did he spend so much time drinking? Or was there more sense in drinking than there appeared to be? But if not, and if drinking were in fact ruinous to health—and Mr Houghton was ruined, there was no doubt about that—why was he always talking about the clean life and the virtues of fresh air?
有一位霍頓先生，他總是教導我要思考。他常會帶著些許的滿足感告訴我他自己就常常思考。我在納悶，那他為什么要耗費那么多的時間喝酒呢？難道喝酒有著從表面上看不到的意義嗎？若不是這樣，如果喝酒的確傷身體——毫無疑問，霍頓的身體健康已經受到了損害——那他為什么還總在高談闊論什么簡潔樸素的生活和新鮮空氣的好處呢？
Sometimes, exalted by his own oratory, he would leap from his desk and hustle us outside into a hideous wind.
有時候，因自己的說教而興奮不已，他會從講臺上跳下來，把我們趕到外面刺骨的寒風里。
