There are two kinds of clocks. There is the clock that is always wrong, and that knows it is wrong, and glories in it; and there is the clock that is always right—except when you rely upon it, and then it is more wrong than you would think a clock could be in a civilized country. I remember a clock of this latter type, that we had in the house when I was a boy, routing us all up at three o'clock one winter's morning.
The Cost of Kindness（善良的代价） 立即阅读
"Kindness," argued little Mrs. Pennycoop, "costs nothing." "And, speaking generally, my dear, is valued precisely at cost price," retorted Mr. Pennycoop, who, as an auctioneer of twenty years' experience, had enjoyed much opportunity of testing the attitude of the public towards sentiment. "I don't care what you say, George," persisted his wife; "he may be a disagreeable, cantankerous old brute—I don't say he isn't. All the same, the man is going away, and we may never see him again."
The Philosopher's Joke（哲学家的笑话） 立即阅读
Myself, I do not believe this story. Six persons are persuaded of its truth; and the hope of these six is to convince themselves it was an hallucination. Their difficulty is there are six of them. Each one alone perceives clearly that it never could have been. Unfortunately, they are close friends, and cannot get away from one another; and when they meet and look into each other's eyes the thing takes shape again.
The Gift of the Magi（麦琪的礼物） 立即阅读
ONE dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
春风轻轻地吹过南国大地，树儿长出绿叶，花儿竞相绽放，湖水泛起波纹，天空蓝蓝，白云飘飘，阳光明媚，洒向人间，整个世界和暖而明亮。冬日的南国，不时落下潇潇冷雨，冬风吹过，一阵寒冷迎面扑来。那些行色匆匆的女子，也不禁裹紧外套。冬日不是不好，景色也很美，冰条挂满枝头，全世界耀眼的白。雨，随风潜入夜，润物细无声。而我觉得，春风是有生命的，一滴、两滴，轻轻地落在叶子上，让叶子散发出翠绿的光泽。
乡愁是一份沉重的爱。离开故土的游子，默默将爱收藏在心底。在异乡打拼，心里异常孤独，对着城市的钢筋水泥，对着那些永远都不可能与之说心里话的人，心中充满惆怅。在寂寞的时候，对着荷塘月色，想起故乡的袅袅炊烟，想起脸上堆满皱纹的阿爸阿妈，想起故乡的那条清澈的小河，想起儿时的玩伴，心中不由泛起甜蜜而酸涩的涟漪。
阿咪者，小白猫也。十五年前我曾为大白猫“白象”写文。白象死后又曾养一黄猫，并未为它写文。最近来了这阿咪，似觉非写不可了。盖在黄猫时代我早有所感，想再度替猫写照。但念此种文章，无益于世道人心，不写也罢。黄猎短命而死之后，写文之念遂消。直至最近，友人送了我这阿咪，此念复萌，不可遏止。率尔命笔，也顾不得世道人心了。 阿咪之父是中国猫，之母是外国猫。故阿咪毛甚长，有似兔子。想是秉承母教...
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前天晚上，我九点钟就寝后，好像有什么求之不得似的只管辗转反侧，不能入睡。到了十二点钟模样，我假定已经睡过一夜，现在天亮了，正式地披衣下床，到案头来续写一篇将了未了的文稿。写到二点半钟，文稿居然写完了，但觉非常疲劳。 就再假定已经度过一天，现在天夜了，再卸衣就寝。躺下身子就酣睡。 次日早晨还在酣睡的时候，听得耳边有人对我说话：“ Z先生来了！ Z先生来了！”是我...