All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live. Sometimes it was as long as a year; sometimes as short as twenty-four hours. But always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed man chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak, of course, of free men who have a choice, not condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.
Such stories set us thinking, wondering what we should do under similar circumstances. What events, what experiences, what associations should we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings? What happiness should we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?
Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the Epicurean motto of "Eat, drink, and be merry," but most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.
In stories the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune, but almost always his sense of values is changed. he becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It ahs often been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do.
Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly aware of our listless attitude toward life.
The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not being conscious of health until we are ill.
I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would tech him the joys of sound.
Now and then I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. Recently I was visited by a very good friends who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed.. "Nothing in particular, " she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such reposes, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.
How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In the spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush thought my open finger. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the page ant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my finger tips.
At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. the panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere conveniences rather than as a means of adding fullness to life.
If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory course in "How to Use Your Eyes". The professor would try to show his pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them. He would try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.
Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to see if I were given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I am imagining, suppose you, too, set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see. If with the on-coming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?
I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you into the night that loomed before you.
If, by some miracle, I were granted three seeing days, to be followed by a relapse into darkness, I should divide the period into three parts.
我们大家都读过一些令人激动的故事，这些故事里的主人公仅仅活在有限并且特定的时间内，有时长达一年，有时短到２４小时。但我们总是有兴趣发现，那命中注定要死的是那些有选择自由的人，而不是那些活动范围被严格限定了的判了刑的犯人。
这样的故事让我们思考，在相似的情况下，我们该怎么办，作为终有一死的人，在那最终的几个小时内安排什么事件，什么经历，什么交往？在回顾往事时，我们该找到什么快乐？什么悔恨？
有时我想到，过好每一天是个非常好的习惯，似乎我们明天就会死去。这种态度鲜明地强调了生命的价值。我们应该以优雅、精力充沛、善知乐趣的方式过好每一天。而当岁月推移，在经常瞻观未来之时日、未来之年月中，这些又常常失去。当然，也有人愿按伊壁鸠鲁的信条“吃、喝和欢乐”去生活。（译注：伊壁鸠鲁是古希腊哲学家，他认为生活的主题目的是享乐，而最高的享受唯通过合理的生活，如自我控制才能得到。因为生活享受的目的被过分强调，而达此目的之手段被忽视，所以伊壁鸠鲁的信徒现今变为追求享乐的人。他们的信条是：“让我们吃喝，因为明天我们就死亡”），但绝大多数人还是被即将面临死亡的必然性所折磨。
在故事里，注定要死的主人公往往在最后一刻由某种命运的突变而得救，但几乎总是他的价值观被改变了。他们对生活的意义和它永恒的精神价值变得更具欣赏力了。常常看到那些生活或已生活在死亡的阴影之中的人们都赋予他们所做的每件事以芳醇甜美。
但是，我们大多数人把生活认为是理所当然的。我们知道，某一天我们一定会死，但通常我们把那天想象在遥远的将来。当我们心宽体健时，死亡几乎是不可想象的，我们很少想到它。时日在无穷的展望中延展着，于是我们干着琐碎的事情，几乎意识不到我们对生活的倦怠态度。
恐怕，同倦的懒散也成为利用我们所有的本能和感觉的特点。只有聋子才珍惜听力，唯有瞎子才体会到能看见事物的种种幸福，这种结论特别适合于那些在成年阶段失去视力和听力的人们，而那些从没有遭受视觉或听觉损伤之苦的人却很少充分利用这些天赐的官能。他们模模糊糊地眼观八方，耳听各音，毫无重点，不会鉴赏，还是那相同的老话，对我们所有的官能不知珍惜，直至失去它，对我们的健康意识不到，直至生病时。
我常常想，如果每个人在他成年的早期有一段时间致瞎致聋，那会是一种幸事，黑暗会使他更珍惜视力，寂静会教导他享受声音。
我不时地询问过我的能看见东西的朋友们，以了解他们看到什么。最近，我的一个很好的朋友来看我，她刚从一片森林里散步许久回来，我问她看到了什么，她答道：“没什么特别的。”如果我不是习惯了听到这种回答，我都可能不相信，因为很久以来我已确信这个情况：能看得见的人却看不到什么。
我独自一人，在林子里散步一小时之久而没有看到任何值得注意的东西，那怎么可能呢？我自己，一个不能看见东西的人，仅仅通过触觉，都发现许许多多令我有兴趣的东西。我感触到一片树叶的完美的对称性。我用手喜爱地抚摸过一株白桦那光潮的树皮，或一棵松树的粗糙树皮。春天，我摸着树干的枝条满怀希望地搜索着嫩芽，那是严冬的沉睡后，大自然苏醒的第一个迹象。我抚摸过花朵那令人愉快的天鹅绒般的质地，感觉到它那奇妙的卷绕，一些大自然奇迹向我展现了。有时，如果我很幸运，我把手轻轻地放在一棵小树上，还能感受到一只高声歌唱的小鸟的愉快颤抖，我十分快乐地让小溪涧的凉水穿过我张开的手指流淌过去。对我来说，一片茂密的地毯式的松针叶或松软而富弹性的草地比最豪华的波斯地毯更受欢迎。对我来说四季的壮观而华丽的展示是一部令人激动的、无穷尽的戏剧。这部戏剧的表演，通过我的手指尖端涌淌出来。
有时，由于渴望能看到这一切东西，我的内心在哭泣。如果说仅凭我的触觉我就能感受到这么多的愉快，那么凭视觉该有多少美丽的东西显露出来。然而，那些能看见的人明显地看得很少，充满世间的色彩和动作的景象被当成理所当然，或许，这是人性共有的特点；对我们具有的不怎么欣赏，而对我们不具有的却渴望得到。然而，这是一个极大的遗憾，在光明的世界里，视力的天赋仅仅作为一种方便之用，而没有作为增添生活美满的手段。
如果我是一所大学的校长，我就要开设一门强制的必修课“如何应用你的眼睛”。这门课的教授应该试图给他的学生显示怎样能以看见那些在他们面前一现而过的东西来增添他们生活的乐趣，这位教授应该试图唤醒他们沉睡和懒散的天赋。
或许，如果让我来应用我的眼睛，比方说，仅仅用３天吧，我能以我想象的最喜欢看见的东西来很好地说清楚这个问题。而且，当我想象的时候，设想你也在思考这个问题。如果你也只有３天多点的时间看东西，你该如何应用你自己的眼睛。如果面对即将到来的第三个夜晚的黑暗，你又知道，太阳对你来说，永不再升起了，那么你该怎样度过这插进来的宝贵的３天呢？你最想要注视的东西是什么呢？
当然，我会最想看到我多年的黑暗中对我变得珍贵的事情，你也会想让你们的目光停留在那些对你已经变得珍贵的事情上。这样，你就能随着你进入那逼近在你面前的长夜而永远记住它们。
如果由某种奇迹，我获得了能看见东西的３天，随后又沉陷于一片黑暗之中，我该将这段时间分为３个部分。
好文，喜欢读你选的文章，总是颇受启迪。
你那里已经是晚上了吧？送你一首德彪西的《月光》：
德彪西 月光
http://space.wenxuecity.com/media/1189304504.mp3
祝你晚安好梦，
Rebecca
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Claude Debussy
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Achille-Claude Debussy(August 22, 1862 – March 25, 1918) was a French composer. Along with Maurice Ravel, he is considered one of the most prominent figures working within the field of Impressionist music, though he himself intensely disliked the term when applied to his compositions. Debussy was not only among the most important of all French composers but also was a central figure in all European music at the turn of the twentieth century.
Debussy's music virtually defines the transition from late-Romantic music to twentieth century modernist music. In French literary circles, the style of this period was known as Symbolism, a movement that directly inspired Debussy both as a composer and as an active cultural participant.