“八·一三战事”爆发的一礼拜后，我接到我的弟弟从广州中央军校的来信，里面提到吴履逊因为老婆是日本人的关系，把军队里的职务丢了，而且和他的季子夫人离了婚。这个消息使我吃惊不小，——这是怎么一回事呢？假如说，吴履逊突然为了什么事给人枪毙了，这倒干脆得多，吴履逊是一个壮健，有毅力的男子，他耐得苦，当得起大事，能够打破一切的困难，我曾经为他这独特人品立下了一个确定的公式：广东人＋男子汉＋军人＝吴履逊
叶挺，革命者，天才的军事家。我知道他的名字是在一九二七年。那时候，我们乡下的人们都很喜欢提起他，一提起，总是低声附耳，仿佛一走漏就要给人抓去杀头的样子，情形是满秘密的。去年夏天，我在香港偶然碰到了×××先生，他和我谈了关于上海文化界的一些情形，忽然低了声，把嘴巴挨紧了我的耳朵说：“叶挺在香港，你知道吗？”秘密得很。不晓得怎样，我一听到这名字就立即感到一阵兴奋，——我好久没有听到这名字了。原来叶挺是在香港！我秘密着，没有告诉别人，这比×××先生把叶挺的消息告诉我的时候的情形还要秘密。
我一向是对于年纪大一点的人感到亲切，对于和自己差不多岁数的人稍微有点看不起，对于小孩则是尊重与恐惧，完全敬而远之。倒不是因为“后生可畏”。多半他们长大成人之后也都是很平凡的，还不如我们这一代也说不定。小孩是从生命的泉源里分出来的一点新的力量，所以可敬，可怖。
多事的东风，又冉冉地来到人间，桃花支不住红艳的酡颜而醉倚在封姨的臂弯里，柳丝趁着风力，俯了腰肢，搔着行人的头发，成团的柳絮，好像春神足下坠下来的一朵朵轻云，结了队儿，模仿着二月间漫天六出轻清的雪，飞入了处处帘栊。细草芊芊的绿茵上，沾濡了清明的酒气，遗下了游人的屐痕车迹。
我与香港之间已经隔了相当的距离了——几千里路，两年，新的事，新的人。战时香港所见所闻，唯其因为它对于我有切身的、剧烈的影响，当时我是无从说起的。现在呢，定下心来了，至少提到的时候不至于语无伦次。然而香港之战予我的印象几乎完全限于一些不相干的事。
The Color of Friendship（友谊的颜色） 立即阅读
Once upon a time the colors of the world started to quarrel. All claimed that they were the best. The most important.The most useful.The most beautiful.The favorite. green said: "Clearly I am the most important. I am the sign of life and of hope. I was chosen for grass, trees and leaves. Without me, all the animals would die. Look over the countryside and you will see that I am in the majority."
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 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.
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.