追风筝的人英文经典语录
1个回答
展开全部
1.
That was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.
许多年过去了，人们说陈年旧事可以被埋葬，然而我终于明白这是错的，因为往事会自行爬上来。回首前尘，我意识到在过去二十六年里，自己始终在窥视着那荒芜的小径。
2.
"For you, a thousand times over."
"为你，千千万万遍。"
3.
"There is a way to be good again". I looked up at those twin kites. I thought about Hassan. Thought about Baba. Ali. Kabul. I thought of the life I had lived until the winter of 1975 came and changed everything. And made me what I am today.
"那儿有再次成为好人的路。"我抬眼看看那比翼齐飞的风筝。我忆起哈桑。我缅怀爸爸。我想到阿里。我思念喀布尔。我想起曾经的生活，想起1975年那个改变了一切的冬天。那造就了今天的我。
4.
After the movie had started, I heard Hassan next to me, croaking. Tears were sliding down his cheeks. I reached across my seat, slung my arm around him, pulled him close. He rested his head on my shoulder. "He took you for someone else,?I whispered. "He took you for someone else.?
我在黑暗中听到坐在身边的哈桑低声啜泣，看到眼泪从他脸颊掉下来。
我从座位上探过身去，用手臂环住他，把他拉近。他把脸埋在我的肩膀上。
“他认错人了，”我低语，“他认错人了。”
5.
With me as the glaring exception, my father molded the world around him to his liking. The problem, of course, was that Baba saw the world in black and white. And he got to decide what was black and what was white. You can't love a person who lives that way without fearing him too. Maybe even hating him a little.
父亲随心所欲地打造他身边的.世界，除了我这个明显的例外。当然，问题在于，爸爸眼里的世界只有黑和白。
至于什么是黑，什么是白，全然由他说了算。他就是这么一个人，你若爱他，也必定会怕他，甚或对他有些恨意。
6.
"When you kill a man, you steal a life,“Baba said. "You steal his wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. ”
“当你杀害一个人，你偷走一条性命，”爸爸说，“你偷走他妻子身为人妇的权利，夺走他子女的父亲。当你说谎，你偷走别人知道真相的权利。当你诈骗，你偷走公平的权利。”
7.
Rahim Khan laughed. "Children aren't coloring books. You don't get to fill them with your favorite colors.?
拉辛汗笑起来。“孩子又不是图画练习册，你不能光顾着要涂上自己喜欢的色彩。”
8.
I heard the leather of Baba's seat creaking as he shifted on it. I closed my eyes, pressed my ear even harder against the door, wanting to hear, not wanting to hear.
我听到爸爸挪动身子，皮椅吱吱作响。我合上双眼，耳朵更加紧贴着门板，又想听，又不想听。
9.
"So he's not violent,"Rahim Khan said.
"That's not what I mean, Rahim, and you know it,"Baba shot back. "There is something missing in that boy."
"Yes, a mean streak."
"Self-defense has nothing to do with meanness. You know what always happens when the neighborhood boys tease him? Hassan steps in and fends them off. I've seen it with my own eyes. And when they come Home, I say to him, ‘How did Hassan get that scrape on his face?"And he says, ‘He fell down.‘I'm telling you, Rahim, there is something missing in that boy."
"You just need to let him find his way,"Rahim Khan said.
"And where is he headed??"Baba said. "A boy who won't stand up for himself becomes a man who can't stand up to anything.
"As usual you're oversimplifying."
"I don't think so."
“这说明他并不暴戾。”拉辛汗说。
“我不是这个意思，拉辛，你知道的。”爸爸朝他嚷着,“这孩子身上缺了某些东西。”
“是的，缺了卑劣的性格。”
“自我防卫跟卑劣毫不搭边。你知道事情总是怎么样的吗?每当那些邻居的孩子欺负他，总是哈桑挺身而出，将他们挡回去。这是我亲眼见到的。他们回家之后，我问他,‘哈桑脸上的伤痕是怎么回事?’他说:‘他摔了一跤。’我跟你说，拉辛，这孩子身上缺了某些东西。”
“你只消让他找到自己的路。”拉辛汗说。
“可是他要走去哪里呢?”爸爸说，“一个不能保护自己的男孩，长大之后什么东西都保护不了。”
“你总是将问题过度简化了。”
“我认为不是的。”
10.
The curious thing was, I never thought of Hassan and me as friends either. Not in the usual sense, anyhow. Never mind that we taught each other to ride a bicycle with no hands, or to build a fully functional Homemade camera out of a cardboard box. Never mind that we spent entire winters flying kites, running kites. Never mind that to me, the face of Afghanistan is that of a boy with a thin-boned frame, a shaved head, and low-set ears, a boy with a Chinese doll face perpetually lit by a harelipped smile.
Never mind any of those things. Because history isn't easy to overcome. Neither is religion. In the end, I was a Pashtun and he was a Hazara, I was Sunni and he was Shi'a, and nothing was ever going to change that. Nothing.
But we were kids who had learned to crawl together, and no history, ethnicity, society, or religion was going to change that either. I spent most of the first twelve years of my life playing with Hassan. Sometimes, my entire childhood seems like one long lazy summer day with Hassan,
奇怪的是，我也从来没有认为我与哈桑是朋友。无论如何，不是一般意义上的朋友。虽然我们彼此学习如何在骑自行车的时候放开双手，或是用硬纸箱制成功能齐备的相机。虽然我们整个冬天一起放风筝、追风筝。虽然于我而言，阿富汗人的面孔就是那个男孩的容貌：骨架瘦小，理着平头，耳朵长得较低，那中国娃娃似的脸，那永远燃着微笑的兔唇。
无关乎这些事情，因为历史不会轻易改变，宗教也是。最终，我是普什图人，他是哈扎拉人，我是逊尼派，他是什叶派，这些没有什么能改变得了。没有。
但我们是一起蹒跚学步的孩子，这点也没有任何历史、种族、社会或者宗教能改变得了。十二岁以前，我大部分时间都在跟哈桑玩耍。有时候回想起来，我的整个童年，似乎就是和哈桑一起度过的某个懒洋洋的悠长夏日。
11.
But despite his illiteracy, or maybe because of it, Hassan was drawn to the mystery of words, seduced by a secret world forbidden to him.
We sat for hours under that tree, sat there until the sun faded in the west, and still Hassan insisted we had enough daylight for one more story, one more chapter.
但尽管他目不识丁，兴许正因为如此，哈桑对那些谜一样的文字十分入迷，那个他无法接触的世界深深吸引了他。
我们在树下一坐就是几个钟头，直到太阳在西边黯淡下去，哈桑还会说，日光还足
够亮堂，我们可以多念一个故事、多读一章。
12.
I would always feel guilty about it later. So I'd try to make up for it by giving him one of my old shirts or a broken toy. I would tell myself that was amends enough for a harmless prank.
后来我总是对此心怀愧疚。所以我试着弥补，把旧衬衣或者破玩具送给他。我会告诉自己，对于一个无关紧要的玩笑来说，这样的补偿就足够了。
13.
To him, the words on the page were a scramble of codes, indecipherable, mysterious. Words were secret doorways and I held all the keys.
对他而言，书页上的文字无非是一些线条，神秘而不知所云。文字是扇秘密的门，钥匙在我手里。
14.
I probably stood there for under a minute, but, to this day, it was one of the longest minutes of my life. Seconds plodded by, each separated from the next by an eternity. Air grew heavy damp, almost solid. I was breathing bricks. Baba went on staring me down, and didn't offer to read.
也许我在那儿站了不到一分钟，但时至今日，那依旧是我生命中最漫长的一分钟。时间一秒一秒过去，而一秒与一秒之间，似乎隔着永恒。空气变得沉闷，潮湿，甚至凝固，我呼吸艰难。爸爸继续盯着我，丝毫没有要看一看的意思。
15.
"if I may ask, why did the man kill his wife? In fact, why did he ever have to feel sad to shed tears? Couldn't he have just smelled an onion??
I was stunned. That particular point, so obvious it was utterly stupid, hadn't even occurred to me. I moved my lips soundlessly. It appeared that on the same night I had learned about one of writing's objectives, irony, I would also be introduced to one of its pitfalls: the Plot Hole. Taught by Hassan, of all people. Hassan who couldn't read and had never written a single word in his entire life. A voice, cold and dark, suddenly whispered in my ear, _What does he know, that illiterate Hazara? He'll never be anything but a cook. How dare he criticize you?_
"Well,?I began. But I never got to finish that sentence.
Because suddenly Afghanistan changed forever.
“如果让我来问，那男人干吗杀了自己的老婆呢?实际上，为什么他必须感到悲伤才能掉眼泪呢?他不可以只是闻闻洋葱吗?”
我目瞪口呆。这个特别的问题，虽说它显然太蠢了，但我从来没有想到过，我无言地动动嘴唇。就在同一个夜晚，我学到了写作的目标之一：讽刺;我还学到了写作的陷阱之一：情节破绽。芸芸众生中，惟独哈桑教给我。这个目不识丁、不会写字的哈桑。有个冰冷而阴暗的声音在我耳边响起：他懂得什么，这个哈扎拉文盲?他一辈子只配在厨房里打杂。他胆敢批评我?
“很好..”我开口说，却无法说完那句话。
因为突然之间，阿富汗一切都变了。
That was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.
许多年过去了，人们说陈年旧事可以被埋葬，然而我终于明白这是错的，因为往事会自行爬上来。回首前尘，我意识到在过去二十六年里，自己始终在窥视着那荒芜的小径。
2.
"For you, a thousand times over."
"为你，千千万万遍。"
3.
"There is a way to be good again". I looked up at those twin kites. I thought about Hassan. Thought about Baba. Ali. Kabul. I thought of the life I had lived until the winter of 1975 came and changed everything. And made me what I am today.
"那儿有再次成为好人的路。"我抬眼看看那比翼齐飞的风筝。我忆起哈桑。我缅怀爸爸。我想到阿里。我思念喀布尔。我想起曾经的生活，想起1975年那个改变了一切的冬天。那造就了今天的我。
4.
After the movie had started, I heard Hassan next to me, croaking. Tears were sliding down his cheeks. I reached across my seat, slung my arm around him, pulled him close. He rested his head on my shoulder. "He took you for someone else,?I whispered. "He took you for someone else.?
我在黑暗中听到坐在身边的哈桑低声啜泣，看到眼泪从他脸颊掉下来。
我从座位上探过身去，用手臂环住他，把他拉近。他把脸埋在我的肩膀上。
“他认错人了，”我低语，“他认错人了。”
5.
With me as the glaring exception, my father molded the world around him to his liking. The problem, of course, was that Baba saw the world in black and white. And he got to decide what was black and what was white. You can't love a person who lives that way without fearing him too. Maybe even hating him a little.
父亲随心所欲地打造他身边的.世界，除了我这个明显的例外。当然，问题在于，爸爸眼里的世界只有黑和白。
至于什么是黑，什么是白，全然由他说了算。他就是这么一个人，你若爱他，也必定会怕他，甚或对他有些恨意。
6.
"When you kill a man, you steal a life,“Baba said. "You steal his wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. ”
“当你杀害一个人，你偷走一条性命，”爸爸说，“你偷走他妻子身为人妇的权利，夺走他子女的父亲。当你说谎，你偷走别人知道真相的权利。当你诈骗，你偷走公平的权利。”
7.
Rahim Khan laughed. "Children aren't coloring books. You don't get to fill them with your favorite colors.?
拉辛汗笑起来。“孩子又不是图画练习册，你不能光顾着要涂上自己喜欢的色彩。”
8.
I heard the leather of Baba's seat creaking as he shifted on it. I closed my eyes, pressed my ear even harder against the door, wanting to hear, not wanting to hear.
我听到爸爸挪动身子，皮椅吱吱作响。我合上双眼，耳朵更加紧贴着门板，又想听，又不想听。
9.
"So he's not violent,"Rahim Khan said.
"That's not what I mean, Rahim, and you know it,"Baba shot back. "There is something missing in that boy."
"Yes, a mean streak."
"Self-defense has nothing to do with meanness. You know what always happens when the neighborhood boys tease him? Hassan steps in and fends them off. I've seen it with my own eyes. And when they come Home, I say to him, ‘How did Hassan get that scrape on his face?"And he says, ‘He fell down.‘I'm telling you, Rahim, there is something missing in that boy."
"You just need to let him find his way,"Rahim Khan said.
"And where is he headed??"Baba said. "A boy who won't stand up for himself becomes a man who can't stand up to anything.
"As usual you're oversimplifying."
"I don't think so."
“这说明他并不暴戾。”拉辛汗说。
“我不是这个意思，拉辛，你知道的。”爸爸朝他嚷着,“这孩子身上缺了某些东西。”
“是的，缺了卑劣的性格。”
“自我防卫跟卑劣毫不搭边。你知道事情总是怎么样的吗?每当那些邻居的孩子欺负他，总是哈桑挺身而出，将他们挡回去。这是我亲眼见到的。他们回家之后，我问他,‘哈桑脸上的伤痕是怎么回事?’他说:‘他摔了一跤。’我跟你说，拉辛，这孩子身上缺了某些东西。”
“你只消让他找到自己的路。”拉辛汗说。
“可是他要走去哪里呢?”爸爸说，“一个不能保护自己的男孩，长大之后什么东西都保护不了。”
“你总是将问题过度简化了。”
“我认为不是的。”
10.
The curious thing was, I never thought of Hassan and me as friends either. Not in the usual sense, anyhow. Never mind that we taught each other to ride a bicycle with no hands, or to build a fully functional Homemade camera out of a cardboard box. Never mind that we spent entire winters flying kites, running kites. Never mind that to me, the face of Afghanistan is that of a boy with a thin-boned frame, a shaved head, and low-set ears, a boy with a Chinese doll face perpetually lit by a harelipped smile.
Never mind any of those things. Because history isn't easy to overcome. Neither is religion. In the end, I was a Pashtun and he was a Hazara, I was Sunni and he was Shi'a, and nothing was ever going to change that. Nothing.
But we were kids who had learned to crawl together, and no history, ethnicity, society, or religion was going to change that either. I spent most of the first twelve years of my life playing with Hassan. Sometimes, my entire childhood seems like one long lazy summer day with Hassan,
奇怪的是，我也从来没有认为我与哈桑是朋友。无论如何，不是一般意义上的朋友。虽然我们彼此学习如何在骑自行车的时候放开双手，或是用硬纸箱制成功能齐备的相机。虽然我们整个冬天一起放风筝、追风筝。虽然于我而言，阿富汗人的面孔就是那个男孩的容貌：骨架瘦小，理着平头，耳朵长得较低，那中国娃娃似的脸，那永远燃着微笑的兔唇。
无关乎这些事情，因为历史不会轻易改变，宗教也是。最终，我是普什图人，他是哈扎拉人，我是逊尼派，他是什叶派，这些没有什么能改变得了。没有。
但我们是一起蹒跚学步的孩子，这点也没有任何历史、种族、社会或者宗教能改变得了。十二岁以前，我大部分时间都在跟哈桑玩耍。有时候回想起来，我的整个童年，似乎就是和哈桑一起度过的某个懒洋洋的悠长夏日。
11.
But despite his illiteracy, or maybe because of it, Hassan was drawn to the mystery of words, seduced by a secret world forbidden to him.
We sat for hours under that tree, sat there until the sun faded in the west, and still Hassan insisted we had enough daylight for one more story, one more chapter.
但尽管他目不识丁，兴许正因为如此，哈桑对那些谜一样的文字十分入迷，那个他无法接触的世界深深吸引了他。
我们在树下一坐就是几个钟头，直到太阳在西边黯淡下去，哈桑还会说，日光还足
够亮堂，我们可以多念一个故事、多读一章。
12.
I would always feel guilty about it later. So I'd try to make up for it by giving him one of my old shirts or a broken toy. I would tell myself that was amends enough for a harmless prank.
后来我总是对此心怀愧疚。所以我试着弥补，把旧衬衣或者破玩具送给他。我会告诉自己，对于一个无关紧要的玩笑来说，这样的补偿就足够了。
13.
To him, the words on the page were a scramble of codes, indecipherable, mysterious. Words were secret doorways and I held all the keys.
对他而言，书页上的文字无非是一些线条，神秘而不知所云。文字是扇秘密的门，钥匙在我手里。
14.
I probably stood there for under a minute, but, to this day, it was one of the longest minutes of my life. Seconds plodded by, each separated from the next by an eternity. Air grew heavy damp, almost solid. I was breathing bricks. Baba went on staring me down, and didn't offer to read.
也许我在那儿站了不到一分钟，但时至今日，那依旧是我生命中最漫长的一分钟。时间一秒一秒过去，而一秒与一秒之间，似乎隔着永恒。空气变得沉闷，潮湿，甚至凝固，我呼吸艰难。爸爸继续盯着我，丝毫没有要看一看的意思。
15.
"if I may ask, why did the man kill his wife? In fact, why did he ever have to feel sad to shed tears? Couldn't he have just smelled an onion??
I was stunned. That particular point, so obvious it was utterly stupid, hadn't even occurred to me. I moved my lips soundlessly. It appeared that on the same night I had learned about one of writing's objectives, irony, I would also be introduced to one of its pitfalls: the Plot Hole. Taught by Hassan, of all people. Hassan who couldn't read and had never written a single word in his entire life. A voice, cold and dark, suddenly whispered in my ear, _What does he know, that illiterate Hazara? He'll never be anything but a cook. How dare he criticize you?_
"Well,?I began. But I never got to finish that sentence.
Because suddenly Afghanistan changed forever.
“如果让我来问，那男人干吗杀了自己的老婆呢?实际上，为什么他必须感到悲伤才能掉眼泪呢?他不可以只是闻闻洋葱吗?”
我目瞪口呆。这个特别的问题，虽说它显然太蠢了，但我从来没有想到过，我无言地动动嘴唇。就在同一个夜晚，我学到了写作的目标之一：讽刺;我还学到了写作的陷阱之一：情节破绽。芸芸众生中，惟独哈桑教给我。这个目不识丁、不会写字的哈桑。有个冰冷而阴暗的声音在我耳边响起：他懂得什么，这个哈扎拉文盲?他一辈子只配在厨房里打杂。他胆敢批评我?
“很好..”我开口说，却无法说完那句话。
因为突然之间，阿富汗一切都变了。
已赞过
已踩过<
评论
收起
你对这个回答的评价是？
推荐律师服务：
若未解决您的问题，请您详细描述您的问题，通过百度律临进行免费专业咨询
