本来就没有什么地方可去，一下雨便更觉得闷在窑洞里的日子太长。要是有更大的风雨也好，要是有更汹涌的河水也好，可是仿佛要来一阵骇人的风雨似的那么一块肮脏的云成天盖在头上，水声也是那么不断地哗啦哗啦在耳旁响，微微地下着一点看不见的细雨，打湿了地面，那轻柔的柳絮和蒲公英都飘舞不起而沾在泥土上了。这会使人有遐想，想到随风而倒的桃李，在风雨中更迅速迸出的苞芽。即使是很小的风雨或浪潮，都更能显出百物的凋谢和生长，丑陋或美丽。
“一到战场上，我们便只有一个信心，几十个人的精神注在他一个人身上，谁也不敢乱动；就是刚上火线的，也因为有了他的存在而不懂得害怕。只要他一声命令‘去死！’我们就找不到一个人不高兴去迎着看不见的死而勇猛地冲上去！我们是怕他的，但我们更爱他！”这是一个二十四岁的青年政治委员告诉我的。当他述说这一段话的时候，发红的脸上隐藏不住他的兴奋。他说的是谁呢？就是现在我所要粗粗画几笔的彭德怀同志，他现在正在前方担任红军的前敌副总指挥。
是一个都市的夜，一个殖民地的夜，一个五月的夜。 恬静的微风，从海上吹来，踏过荡荡的水面；在江边的大厦上，飘拂着那些旗帜：那些三色旗，那些星条旗，那些太阳旗，还有那些大英帝国的旗帜。 这些风，这些淡淡的含着咸性的风，也飘拂在那些酒醉的异国水手的大裤脚上，他们正从酒吧间、舞厅里出来，在静的柏油路上蹒跚着大步，倘徉归去。
“妇女”这两个字，将在什么时代才不被重视，不需要特别的被提出呢？ 年年都有这一天。每年在这一天的时候，几乎是全世界的地方都开着会，检阅着她们的队伍。延安虽说这两年不如前年热闹，但似乎总有几个人在那里忙着。而且一定有大会，有演说的，有通电，有文章发表。延安的妇女是比中国其它地方的妇女幸福的。甚至有很多人都在嫉羡的说：“为什么小米把女同志吃得那么红胖？”
They look so dull and dowdy in the spring weather, when the snow drops and the crocuses are putting on their dainty frocks of white and mauve and yellow, and the baby-buds from every branch are peeping with bright eyes out on the world, and stretching forth soft little leaves toward the coming gladness of their lives. They stand apart, so cold and hard amid the stirring hope and joy that are throbbing all around them.
The most extraordinary dream I ever had was one in which I fancied that, as I was going into a theater, the cloak-room attendant stopped me in the lobby and insisted on my leaving my legs behind me. I was not surprised; indeed, my acquaintanceship with theater harpies would prevent my feeling any surprise at such a demand, even in my waking moments; but I was, I must honestly confess, considerably annoyed.
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."
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。