Qian Zhongshu's "Siege"
The stars in the sky are dense and busy, they are silent, and it seems that the sky is only lively. A comb of the moon is like a description of a girl who has not yet grown up, but who is not shy to see people, and whose brightness and outline are fresh and exposed, and who can gradually set off the night scene. The small insects in the grassy area of the garden are talking trivially at night. I don't know where the frogs are working in unison, like a wave of sound boiled by the fire. A few stars of fireflies swimming to and fro, not like flying, like floating in the thick air; the moonlight is not in the dark, a little fireflies suddenly bright, like a summer night of a small green eyes.
Two
Shen Congwen, "Border Town"
The fish in the water come and go as if floating in the air. On both sides of the mountains, many high mountains, the mountains can make paper bamboo, long years for the deep green color, forcing people's eyes. People near the water in the peach and apricot blossoms, spring, just pay attention to, where there are peach blossoms must be homes, where there are homes must be able to sell wine. In summer, the purple flower cloth clothes and pants drying in the sunlight can be used as a flag where the family is located. In the fall and winter, the houses on the cliffs, the waterfront, all of them are clear to see. The yellow mud wall, black tile, the position is always so appropriate, and with the surroundings of the environment is extremely harmonious, so that people get the impression of the face, really very pleasant. -Border City
Three
Zhu Ziqing, "Moonlight in a Lotus Pond"
Moonlight, like running water, quietly cascades over the leaves and flowers. Thin green mist floats up in the lotus pond. The leaves and flowers seemed as if they had been washed in buttermilk; and like a dream enveloped in a light veil. Although it was a full moon, there was a light layer of clouds in the sky, so that it did not shine aloud; but I thought that this was just the right thing to do - a sound sleep was indispensable, but a nap also had a special flavor. The moonlight was shining through the trees, and the bushes on the heights were covered with mottled black shadows, as ghostly as the cliffs; and the sparse shadows of the curved willows looked like they had been painted on the lotus leaves. The color of the moon in the pond is not uniform; but light and shadow have a harmonious melody, such as the famous song played on the Van Shui Ling.
Four
Ernest Hemingway, "The Old Man and the Sea"
1The clouds over the land towered at this time like hillocks, and the coast was only a long green line, backed by grayish-blue hills. The sea was a deep blue at the moment, so deep that it was almost purple. As he looked down at the water, he saw red plankton flickering in and out of the deep blue water, and the sunlight was changing the color of the water to a strange glow. He watched the ropes and saw that they were facing down into the water out of sight, and he was glad to see so much plankton, for it meant that there were fish.
2The sun was rising higher at the moment, and the sunlight was changing its strange splendor in the water, indicating that the weather was clear, and the shape of the clouds over the land indicated this. But the bird was almost invisible by this time, and there was little on the water but a few streaks of yellow sargassum, whitened by the sun, and a monkshood jellyfish floating close to the side of the boat, its gelatinous floater-sac purple in color, with a certain shape that shone with iridescent hues. It fell to one side, then straightened up again. It floated high and happy like a big bubble, those awesome long purple tentacles trailing behind it in the water for a yard.
3 He rubbed the cramped hand on his pants, trying to loosen his fingers to loosen them. But the hand wouldn't open. Maybe with the sun coming up it could open, he thought. Maybe it will open when all that nourishing raw tuna meat is digested. If I have to rely on this hand, I'll do whatever it takes to open it. But I'm not willing to open it hard at the moment. Let it open on its own and come back on its own. I had, after all, overused it last night, when I had to untie the various fishing ropes and tie them together.
4He looked out over the sea and realized how alone he was at the moment. But he could see the seven colors of the rainbow in the depths of the dark waters, the fishing ropes stretched out in front of him, and the subtle swells of that calm sea. Clouds were building up at this point due to the trade winds, and as he looked forward, he saw a flock of mallards flying over the water, their figures etched against the sky, then blurred, then clearly etched again, and so he realized that one can never feel alone at sea.
5Just before the break of darkness, the old man and the boat passed a great mass of sargassum, which was stirring in a sea of very little wind or wave, as if the ocean were making love to something under a yellow blanket, when his thin fishing wire gave way to a dorado. He first saw it when it leaped out of the water, and in the last rays of the sun it did look like gold, bending up in the air and fluttering wildly. It leapt out of the water again and again in a panic, like an acrobatic show, and he, slowly moving back to the top of the boat, crouched down, clutched the thick fishing line with his right hand and right arm, and pulled the dorado back with his left hand, stepping on it with his bare left foot as he retrieved each piece of wire. When the golden, purple-speckled fish had been pulled to the top of the boat and was flopping from side to side in despair, the old man leaned out and lifted it to the top of the boat. Its mouth was hanging by the hook, and it moved convulsively, biting the hook sharply and repeatedly, and slapping the bottom of the boat with its long, flat body, tail, and head, until he struck its gleaming golden head with a stick, and it shuddered and did not move.
6The old man pulled the hook out of the fish's mouth, re-established a sardine as bait, and flung it into the sea. Then he moved to slowly return to the bow of the boat. He washed his left hand and dried it on his pants leg. Then he moved the thick fishing line from his right hand to his left and washed his right hand in the sea while looking at the sun sinking into the sea, and also at the thick fishing line angled into the water.
7 Sometimes it lost that scent. But it always sniffs it again, or just that little bit, and it darts and makes to keep up. He was a very large mackerel shark, built to swim as fast as the fastest fish in the sea, and everything about him was beautiful, except his upper and lower jaws. Its back was as blue as a swordfish's, its belly silver, and its skin smooth and beautiful. It was as long as a swordfish, except for its large mouth, which was being tightly closed, and which was swimming swiftly just under the surface of the water at the moment, its high ridged fins cutting through the water like knives, without shaking at all. Inside these tightly closed lips, all eight rows of teeth were angled inward. They are different from those of most sharks, not the usual pyramidal ones. They were like clawed, curled-up human fingers. They are almost as long as the old man's fingers, with razor-sharp, fast-mouthed mouths on either side. Born to feed on every fish in the sea, this fish swims so fast, so strong, so well armed that it is invincible. It smelled the fresh blood and was now picking up speed, its blue ridged fins slicing through the water.
8 He dreamed no more of storms, no more of women, no more of great events, no more of great fish, no more of fights, no more of jousting, no more of his wife. He dreamed now only of lions in places and on beaches. They play like kittens in the twilight, and he loves them as he loves the boy. He never dreamed of the boy. He just woke up, looked at the moon outside the open door, spread out his pants and put them on. He peed outside the shack and then walked down the main road to wake the child. He was shivering from the early morning chill. But he knew he would feel warm after shivering for a while, and it wouldn't be long before he had to go paddling.
9The old man felt the morning coming on in the darkness, and as he rowed he heard the shivering of the flying fish as they came out of the water, and the sizzling of their wings as they flew straight up through the darkness. He loved the flying fish and considered them his main friends on the ocean. He grieved for the birds, especially the tender little black terns, which were always flying and looking for food, but almost never found it, and thought that the life of the birds was harder than ours, except for the raptors and the great powerful birds. If the ocean is so cruel, why are birds like these petrels born so soft and delicate? The ocean is kind and beautiful. Yet she can become so cruel and come so suddenly, while these flying birds, which fall from the air to feed, and make a little wailing cry, are born too weak to live on the sea.
10As he watched, the bird dashed downward again, swept its wings backward for the purpose of swooping, and then spread them out violently, and tracked the flying fish, but without success. And the old man saw the great dorado following the fish that had escaped, and making the surface of the sea rise slightly. The dorado broke the water beneath the flying fish, only to dart into the water as soon as the fish dropped off. This is a big school of dorado, he thought. They were spread out so widely that the flying fish had very little chance of getting away. The bird had no chance of success. The flying fish were too big for it and were flying too fast.
V
The Little Prince
I ask the children to forgive me for dedicating this book to an adult. I have one very important reason: this adult is my best friend in the world. I have another reason: this grown-up he understands everything, even books written for children. My third reason: this adult lives in France, where he is starving and freezing. He is in great need of comfort. If these reasons are not enough, then I would like to dedicate this book to this adult as a child. All grown-ups were once children. --The Preface
The grown-ups advised me to put aside these drawings of boa constrictors with open bellies, or closed bellies, and still devote my interest to geography, history, arithmetic, and grammar. Thus, at the age of six, I gave up the wonderful profession of being a painter. The lack of success in my first and second numbers discouraged me. These grown-ups, who can't figure anything out on their own, have to keep explaining things to them all the time. It's so tiresome for kids.
--"Chapter One"
When I met an adult whose mind seemed a little clearer, I took out my number one piece that I had been saving to test him. I want to know if he really has comprehension. But the answer is always, "It's a hat." I wouldn't talk to him about things like pythons, or primeval forests, or stars. I had to accommodate them to their level and talk about bridge, golf, politics, neckties, and so on. So the adults were very happy to know me as a reasonable person.