創(chuàng)新大學(xué)英語4課文翻譯
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創(chuàng)新大學(xué)英語4課文原文1
Annie Dillard tells of her visit to the Napo River in the heart of the Ecuadorian jungle, one of nature's most unspoiled places. She describes the beauty of the forest and her admiration for the people who live there.
In the Jungle
Annie Dillard
Like any out-of-the-way place, the Napo River in the Ecuadorian jungle seems real enough when you are there, even central. Out of the way of what? I was sitting on a stump at the edge of a bankside palm-thatch village, in the middle of the night, on the headwaters of the Amazon. Out of the way of human life, tenderness, or the glance of heaven?
A nightjar in deep-leaved shadow called three long notes, and hushed. The men with me talked softly: three North Americans, four Ecuadorians who were showing us the jungle. We were holding cool drinks and idly watching a hand-sized tarantula seize moths that came to the lone bulb on the generator shed beside us.
It was February, the middle of summer. Green fireflies spattered lights across the air and illumined for seconds, now here, now there, the pale trunks of enormous, solitary trees. Beneath us the brown Napo River was rising, in all silence; it coiled up the sandy bank and tangled its foam in vines that trailed from the forest and roots that looped the shore.
Each breath of night smelled sweet. Each star in Orion seemed to tremble and stir with my breath. All at once, in the thatch house across the clearing behind us came the sound of a recorder, playing a tune that twined over the village clearing, muted our talk on the bankside, and wandered over the river, dissolving downstream.
This will do, I thought. This will do, for a weekend, or a season, or a home.
Later that night I loosed my hair from its braids and combed it smooth -- not for myself, but so the village girls could play with it in the morning.
We had disembarked at the village that afternoon, and I had slumped on some shaded steps, wishing I knew some Spanish or some Quechua so I could speak with the ring of little girls who were alternately staring at me and smiling at their toes. I spoke anyway, and fooled with my hair, which they were obviously dying to get their hands on, and laughed, and soon they were all braiding my hair, all five of them, all fifty fingers, all my hair, even my bangs. And then they took it apart and did it again, laughing, and teaching me Spanish nouns, and meeting my eyes and each other's with open delight, while their small brothers in blue jeans climbed down from the trees and began kicking a volleyball around with one of the North American men.
Now, as I combed my hair in the little tent, another of the men, a free-lance writer from Manhattan, was talking quietly. He was telling us the tale of his life, describing his work in Hollywood, his apartment in Manhattan, his house in Paris.... "It makes me wonder," he said, "what I'm doing in a tent under a tree in the village of Pompeya, on the Napo River, in the jungle of Ecuador." After a pause he added, "It makes me wonder why I'm going back."
The point of going somewhere like the Napo River in Ecuador is not to see the most spectacular anything. It is simply to see what is there. We are here on the planet only once, and might as well get a feel for the place. We might as well get a feel for the fringes and hollows in which life is lived, for the Amazon basin, which covers half a continent, and for the life that -- there, like anywhere else -- is always and necessarily lived in detail: on the tributaries, in the riverside villages, sucking this particular white-fleshed guava in this particular pattern of shade.
What is there is interesting. The Napo River itself is wide and brown, opaque, and smeared with floating foam and logs and branches from the jungle. Parrots in flocks dart in and out of the light. Under the water in the river, unseen, are anacondas -- which are reputed to take a few village toddlers every year -- and water boas, crocodiles, and sweet-meated fish.
Low water bares gray strips of sandbar on which the natives build tiny palm-thatch shelters for overnight fishing trips. You see these extraordinarily clean people (who bathe twice a day in the river, and whose straight black hair is always freshly washed) paddling down the river in dugout canoes, hugging the banks.
Some of the Indians of this region, earlier in the century, used to sleep naked in hammocks. The nights are cold. Gordon MacCreach, an American explorer in these Amazon tributaries, reported that he was startled to hear the Indians get up at three in the morning. He was even more startled, night after night, to hear them walk down to the river slowly, half asleep, and bathe in the water. Only later did he learn what they were doing: they were getting warm. The cold woke them; they warmed their skins in the river, which was always ninety degrees; then they returned to their hammocks and slept through the rest of the night.
When you are inside the jungle, away from the river, the trees vault out of sight. Butterflies, bright blue, striped, or clear-winged, thread the jungle paths at eye level. And at your feet is a swath of ants bearing triangular bits of green leaf. The ants with their leaves look like a wide fleet of sailing dinghies -- but they don't quit. In either direction they wobble over the jungle floor as far as the eye can see.
Long lakes shine in the jungle. We traveled one of these in dugout canoes, canoes paddled with machete-hewn oars, or poled in the shallows with bamboo. Our part-Indian guide had cleared the path to the lake the day before; when we walked the path we saw where he had impaled the lopped head of a boa, open-mouthed, on a pointed stick by the canoes, for decoration.
This lake was wonderful. Herons plodded the shores, kingfishers and cuckoos clattered from sunlight to shade, great turkeylike birds fussed in dead branches, and hawks hung overhead. There was all the time in the world. A turtle slid into the water. The boy in the bow of my canoe slapped stones at birds with a simple sling, a rubber thong and leather pad. He aimed brilliantly at moving targets, always, and always missed; the birds were out of range. He stuffed his sling back in his shirt. I looked around.
The lake and river waters are as opaque as rainforest leaves; they are veils, blinds, painted screens. You see things only by their effects. I saw the shoreline water heave above a thrashing paichi, an enormous black fish of these waters; one had been caught the previous week weighing 430 pounds. Piranha fish live in the lakes, and electric eels. I dangled my fingers in the water, figuring it would be worth it.
We would eat chicken that night in the village, together with rice, onions and heaps of fruit. The sun would ring down, pulling darkness after it like a curtain. Twilight is short, and the unseen birds of twilight wistful, catching the heart. The two nuns in their dazzling white habits -- the beautiful-boned young nun and the warm-faced old -- would glide to the open cane-and-thatch schoolroom in darkness, and start the children singing. The children would sing in piping Spanish, high-pitched and pure; they would sing "Nearer My God to Thee" in Quechua, very fast. As the children became excited by their own singing, they left their log benches and swarmed around the nuns, hopping, smiling at us, everyone smiling, the nuns' faces bursting in their cowls, and the clear-voiced children still singing, and the palm-leafed roofing stirred.
The Napo River: it is not out of the way. It is in the way, catching sunlight the way a cup catches poured water; it is a bowl of sweet air, a basin of greenness, and of grace, and, it would seem, of peace.
創(chuàng)新大學(xué)英語4課文翻譯
安妮·迪拉德講述了自己游覽厄瓜多爾叢林深處的納波河的經(jīng)歷。那是大自然遭受人為破壞最少的地區(qū)之一。她描述了森林之美以及對生活在那里的土著人的歆慕之情。
在叢林中
安妮·迪拉德
如同所有僻遠(yuǎn)之地，當(dāng)你身臨其境時(shí)，厄瓜多爾叢林深處的納波河就顯得那么真實(shí)，甚至有中心要地的感覺。那么僻遠(yuǎn)之地遠(yuǎn)離什么呢?夜半時(shí)分，在亞馬遜河的源頭，我坐在一個(gè)樹墩上，身后是傍水的棕櫚葉作屋頂?shù)男〈迓�。遠(yuǎn)離人類活動(dòng)，遠(yuǎn)離脈脈溫情�；蛘哒f遠(yuǎn)離天堂的掃視?
一只歐夜鷹在密密的樹葉間發(fā)出三聲長啼，旋即靜默無聲。和我一起的那些男人輕聲交談著：3個(gè)北美人，4個(gè)為我們在叢林中帶路的厄瓜多爾人。我們手里拿著清涼的飲料，悠閑地看著一只有手那么大小的狼蛛捕捉紛紛撲向我們身旁發(fā)電機(jī)棚屋上一個(gè)燈泡的飛蟲。
時(shí)值2月，正當(dāng)仲夏。綠瑩瑩的螢火蟲在空中閃出光亮，一會(huì)兒這里照亮一下，一會(huì)兒那里照亮一下幽木巨樹的暗淡的樹干。在我們下方，褐黃色的納波河水正在漲潮。萬籟俱寂：惟見河水沿著沙岸蜿蜒流過，水沫裹挾在蔓生在森林里的藤蔓間以及盤繞岸邊的樹根上。
夜晚吸入的每口氣都沁人心脾。獵戶星座里的每一顆星星似乎都因了我的呼吸而顫動(dòng)。突然，我們身后空地旁的茅屋里，傳出了錄音機(jī)的聲音，一首樂曲在村子空地之上繚繞，減弱了我們在河畔談話的聲音，然后又傳至河面，隨流飄去。
人生遇此情景足矣，我暗想。在此度過周末足以，在此小住數(shù)月足以，在此安家足以。
夜半時(shí)分，我散開辮子，把頭發(fā)梳理得平平整整--不是為我自己，而是為了村里那些姑娘早上可以玩我的頭發(fā)。
我們是那天下午在這個(gè)小村上岸的，我垂著頭坐在樹陰下的踏級上，真希望自己會(huì)說幾句西班牙語或蓋丘亞語，好跟圍成一圈的小女孩說說話，她們一會(huì)兒看看我，一會(huì)兒又低頭看著自己的腳趾竊笑。我還是開口了，笑著撫弄自己的頭發(fā)，她們顯然也都非常想碰碰我的頭發(fā)。沒過一會(huì)兒，她們就給我編辮子了，她們5個(gè)人，50個(gè)手指，我是一頭辮子，連留海也編成了辮子。她們拆了編，編了拆，一邊笑一邊教我西班牙語單詞，望望我，又相互對望，個(gè)個(gè)喜形于色，她們那些穿著牛仔服的小弟弟們則紛紛下得樹來，跟一個(gè)北美人踢排球玩耍。
此刻，我在低矮的帳篷里梳理著頭發(fā)，另一個(gè)北美人，一位來自曼哈頓的自由作家，正在輕聲說話。他在向我們講述他人生的故事，講述他在好萊塢的工作、在曼哈頓的公寓、在巴黎的家…… “我不由納悶，”他說，“在厄瓜多爾的叢林里，在納波河上，在蓬帕雅小村，在樹下的帳篷里，自己在干什么�！彼D了頓，接著說：“我不由尋思，自己為什么要回去。”
去厄瓜多爾納波河這種地方不是為了觀賞什么世界奇觀，而只是去看一看那里有些什么。人生在世，惟有一次，我們不妨去感受一下那個(gè)地方。我們不妨去感受一下有生命生活其間的遠(yuǎn)方水鄉(xiāng)山谷，去感受覆蓋了半個(gè)大陸的亞馬遜河流域，去感受那樣一種生活――在那里，一如在別的地方――那種必定總是瑣碎的生活：在各條支流上，在臨水的村落里，在有著獨(dú)特形狀的陰涼處吮吸著有白色漿果的獨(dú)特的番石榴。
那里的一切都趣味盎然。納波河河面寬闊，河水混濁，呈褐黃色，浮沫以及叢林里來的木段和樹枝翻浮其上。成群的鸚鵡忽而飛進(jìn)樹蔭里，忽而飛入陽光里。水下潛伏著南美蟒蛇――據(jù)說每年都要吞吃幾名村童――還有水蟒、鱷魚，以及肉質(zhì)鮮美的魚類。
水淺的地方露出灰茫茫的狹長沙洲，土著人在沙洲上為過夜的漁夫搭建了小小的棕櫚茅舍。你能見到這些清潔得出奇的人(他們在河里一天沐浴兩次，滿頭直挺的黑發(fā)更是剛剛洗過)在獨(dú)木舟里緊貼著河岸蕩槳。
在本世紀(jì)早期，這一地區(qū)的一些印第安人常常赤身睡在吊床里。夜晚頗涼�？睖y亞馬遜河支流的美國探險(xiǎn)家戈登·麥克里奇曾記述說，他凌晨點(diǎn)就聽見印第安人起身，深感愕然。更令他驚奇的是，夜復(fù)一夜，他都聽見他們半睡半醒地緩步走向河邊，趟到河里洗起澡來。后來他才弄明白他們是在干什么：他們在取暖。涼意把他們凍醒，他們便到河里暖暖身子，因?yàn)楹铀３?0(華氏)度不變;隨后他們再回到吊床上，睡到天亮。
當(dāng)你離開大河，深入?yún)擦�，滿眼樹木高聳入云。一眼望去，成群的蝴蝶穿過叢林小徑，有寶藍(lán)的，有條紋的，有純色翅膀的。在腳下，則有一長列螞蟻背負(fù)著三角形的綠葉碎片。負(fù)葉爬行的螞蟻就像一支規(guī)模龐大、揚(yáng)帆行駛的船隊(duì)――只是它們不會(huì)停歇。無論什么方向，都能看到它們在叢林的地面上搖搖擺擺地爬行。
叢林中狹長的湖泊上波光閃閃。我們蕩舟其上，劃著用大砍刀砍削而成的木槳，在淺水處則以竹當(dāng)篙。有著一半印第安血統(tǒng)的向?qū)耙惶煲呀?jīng)辟出了通往湖泊的小路;我們在小路上行走時(shí)，看見他砍下作為裝飾的蟒蛇頭，張開大口，釘在獨(dú)木舟邊尖頭枝條上。
湖泊奇妙無比。蒼鷺在岸邊緩緩地邁著步子，翠鳥和杜鵑歡叫著從陽光里飛入樹蔭，火雞模樣的大鳥在枯枝間忙碌，鷹在頭上盤旋。我們毋庸為時(shí)間擔(dān)憂，可以從容地欣賞周圍的一切。一只烏龜滑入水中。我乘坐的獨(dú)木舟船頭坐著個(gè)男孩，他用簡陋的彈弓――橡皮彈架和皮索――發(fā)射石彈擊打飛鳥。他擺出漂亮的架勢瞄準(zhǔn)飛鳥，卻一次又一次地偏離目標(biāo);鳥總是飛出他的射程。他把彈弓塞回進(jìn)襯衣內(nèi)。我移開目光。
湖水與河水都如熱帶雨林中的樹葉那樣乳濁;那水是面紗，是窗簾，是畫屏。你只能從表象看事物。我看到近岸的河水在起伏，上面翻騰著一條巨滑舌魚，那是這一帶水域出產(chǎn)的一種奇大的黑魚;上一個(gè)星期捕獲一條，重達(dá)430磅。湖里有水虎魚，還有電鰻。我用手指在水里劃著，心想即使被魚咬一口也值得。
那天夜晚在小村里，我們將吃雞肉，還有米飯、洋蔥和一大堆水果。夕陽會(huì)西下，像落幕似地把夜暮降下。黃昏短暫，暮色中，看不見的鳥兒在傷感似地啼鳴，聲聲動(dòng)人。兩位修女，身穿耀眼的白色道服――年輕的修女身材姣好，年長的那位慈眉善目――會(huì)在夜色中悄然來到開著門的用藤條茅草搭建的教室里，讓孩子們唱歌。孩子們會(huì)用西班牙語放聲歌唱，歌聲又高又純;他們會(huì)用蓋丘亞語唱“上帝離你更近”，唱得非�？臁：⒆觽兂d奮起來，紛紛從木凳上站起，簇?fù)碓趦晌恍夼砼�，又是跳，又是沖著我們笑。人人都在歡笑，穿戴頭巾的修女滿臉歡笑，聲音清脆的孩子們還在歌唱，棕櫚葉鋪的屋頂也在顫動(dòng)。
納波河：那不是荒僻的地方。那是個(gè)有人煙的地域，像杯子盛載往里倒的水那樣，納波河接住照射下來的陽光;那是個(gè)充滿清新空氣的低洼地區(qū)，一片翠綠的盆地，環(huán)境優(yōu)美的盆地，看來還是個(gè)平靜的盆地。
創(chuàng)新大學(xué)英語4課文原文2
Come on, admit it -- you like living at breakneckspeed.
Life in the Fast Lane
James Gleick
We are in a rush. We are making haste. Acompression of time characterizes many of ourlives. As time-use researchers look around, they seea rushing and scurrying everywhere. Sometimesculture resembles "one big stomped anthill," sayJohn P. Robinson and Geoffrey Godbey in their bookTime for Life.
Instantaneity rules. Pollsters use electronic devices during political speeches to measureopinions on the wing, before they have been fully formed; fast-food restaurants add expresslanes. Even reading to children is under pressure. The volume One-Minute Bedtime Storiesconsists of traditional stories that can be read by a busy parent in only one minute.
There are places and objects that signify impatience. The door-close button in elevators, sooften a placebo used to distract riders to whom ten seconds seems an eternity. Speed-dialbuttons on telephones. Remote controls, which have caused an acceleration in the pace offilms and television commercials.
Time is a gentle deity, said Sophocles. Perhaps it was, for him. These days it cracks the whip.() We humans have chosen speed, and we thrive on it -- more than we generally admit. Ourability to work and play fast gives us power. It thrills us.
And if haste is the accelerator pedal, multitasking is overdrive. These days it is possible todrive, eat, listen to a book and talk on the phone -- all at once, if you dare. David Feldman, inNew York, schedules his tooth flossing to coincide with his regular browsing of onlinediscussion groups. He has learned to hit PageDown with his pinkie. Mike Holderness, in London, watches TV with captioning so that he can keep the sound off and listen to the unrelated musicof his choice. An entire class of technologies is dedicated to the furtherance of multitasking. Car phones. Bookstands on exercise machines. Waterproof shower radios.
Not so long ago, for most people, listening to the radio was a single task activity. Now it is rarefor a person to listen to the radio and do nothing else.
Even TV has lost its command of our foreground. In so many households the TV just stays on, like a noisy light bulb, while the life of the family passes back and forth in its shimmering glow.
A sense of well-being comes with this saturation of parallel pathways in the brain. We choosemania over boredom every time. "Humans have never, ever opted for slower," points out thehistorian Stephen Kern.
We catch the fever -- and the fever feels good. We live in the buzz. "It has gotten to the pointwhere my days, crammed with all sorts of activities, feel like an Olympic endurance event: theeverydayathon," confesses Jay Walljasper in the Utne Reader.
All humanity has not succumbed equally, of course. If you make haste, you probably make itin the technology-driven world. Sociologists have also found that increasing wealth andincreasing education bring a sense of tension about time. We believe that we possess too littleof it. No wonder Ivan Seidenberg, an American telecommunications executive, jokes about themythical DayDoubler program his customers seem to want: "Using sophisticated time-mapping and compression techniques, DayDoubler gives you access to hours each and everyday. At the higher numbers DayDoubler becomes less stable, and you run the risk of atemporal crash in which everything from the beginning of time to the present could crashdown around you, sucking you into a suspended time zone."
Our culture views time as a thing to hoard and protect. Timesaving is the subject to scores ofbooks with titles like Streamlining Your Life; Take Your Time; More Hours in My Day. Marketersanticipate our desire to save time, and respond with fast ovens, quick playback, quickfreezing and fast credit.
We have all these ways to "save time," but what does that concept really mean? Doestimesaving mean getting more done? If so, does talking on a cellular phone at the beach savetime or waste it? If you can choose between a 30-minute train ride, during which you can read, and a 20-minute drive, during which you cannot, does the drive save ten minutes? Does itmake sense to say that driving saves ten minutes from your travel budget while removing tenminutes from your reading budget?
These questions have no answer. They depend on a concept that is ill formed: the very idea oftimesaving. Some of us say we want to save time when really we just want to do more -- andfaster. It might be simplest to recognise that there is time and we make choices about how tospend it, how to spare it, how to use it and how to fill it.
Time is not a thing we have lost. It is not a thing we ever had. It is what we live in.
創(chuàng)新大學(xué)英語4課文翻譯
好了，承認(rèn)吧――你就喜歡忙得團(tuán)團(tuán)轉(zhuǎn)。
人在快車道
詹姆斯·格利克
我們東奔西忙。我們急急匆匆。時(shí)間緊迫是我們許多人的生活特點(diǎn)。時(shí)間利用研究者環(huán)顧四周，只見人人忙亂，處處步履匆匆。有時(shí)文明就像是“一個(gè)被踩癟的大蟻冢”，約翰·P·魯賓遜和杰弗里·戈德比在《生活時(shí)間》一書中寫道。
即時(shí)行為主宰著一切。人們發(fā)表政治演說時(shí)，聽眾尚未形成看法，民意調(diào)查人員就利用電子裝置進(jìn)行當(dāng)場測定;快餐店增設(shè)了快速通道。甚至給孩子念故事也得趕時(shí)間�！兑环昼娕R睡前的故事》一書收的都是讓忙碌的家長僅用一分鐘就能講完的老故事。
許多場所和物件都表明人們有急躁情緒。電梯里的關(guān)門按鈕常常起心理安慰作用，好讓那些連秒鐘都覺得漫長難捱的乘梯人分散注意力。還有電話機(jī)的快撥鍵。還有可使影片和電視廣告快速播放的遙控器。
時(shí)間之神溫雅從容，索�？死账谷缡钦f。他那時(shí)或許如此。當(dāng)今社會(huì)時(shí)間揚(yáng)鞭催人。我們?nèi)祟愡x擇了速度，憑借著速度而繁榮興旺――其程度超過人們所普遍承認(rèn)的那樣。我們快節(jié)奏工作、娛樂的本領(lǐng)賦予我們力量。我們?yōu)榇伺d奮不已。
如果匆忙是加速器的踏板，一心多用就是超速檔。如今，完全可能做到邊開車邊吃東西邊聽錄音書籍邊打電話--要是你敢這么做。紐約的大衛(wèi)·費(fèi)爾德曼把用潔牙線清潔牙縫安排在日常瀏覽網(wǎng)上討論之時(shí)。他已經(jīng)學(xué)會(huì)用小手指敲擊下行鍵。倫敦的邁克·霍爾德內(nèi)斯看帶字幕的'電視節(jié)目，這樣他就能把音量調(diào)低到聽不見，好欣賞自己喜歡的與電視節(jié)目無關(guān)的音樂。有一整套的技術(shù)專門用來促進(jìn)一心多用。如汽車電話。如健身器材上的擱書架。如防水的淋浴間收音機(jī)。
不久以前，對大多數(shù)人而言，聽收音機(jī)是一項(xiàng)單一的活動(dòng)。如今極少有人在聽收音機(jī)時(shí)，別的什么也不干。
就連我們生活中占據(jù)重要地位的電視機(jī)也失去了控制力。在許多家庭里，電視機(jī)就一直開著，如同一個(gè)發(fā)出噪聲的燈泡，人們在其微弱的閃光里日復(fù)一日地過著他們的家庭生活。
腦海中充斥的這種種并行不悖的情況帶來的是一種幸福感。每次我們都寧可大干一番而不愿厭倦懈怠。“人類從未，也永遠(yuǎn)不會(huì)選擇放慢速度，”歷史學(xué)家斯蒂芬·克恩說。
我們?nèi)旧狭丝駸屺D―感覺竟然還不錯(cuò)。我們生活在忙亂中。“程度已經(jīng)如此嚴(yán)重，我的生活排滿了各種各樣的活動(dòng)，感覺就像是在進(jìn)行奧運(yùn)會(huì)耐力項(xiàng)目比賽：每日馬拉松賽，”杰伊·沃加斯?jié)娫凇蹲x者》上坦言。
當(dāng)然，并非人人同染此病。如果你奔忙不停，很可能你是奔忙在由技術(shù)所驅(qū)動(dòng)的社會(huì)中。社會(huì)學(xué)家也發(fā)現(xiàn)，富裕程度和教育程度的提高帶來時(shí)間的緊迫感。我們認(rèn)為自己時(shí)間太少。難怪美國一位電信公司經(jīng)理伊凡·塞登伯格拿子虛烏有、用戶們卻似乎頗為心儀的"一天變兩天"程序開玩笑：“‘一天變兩天’運(yùn)用先進(jìn)的時(shí)間安排、壓縮技術(shù)，使你天天擁有48小時(shí)。時(shí)間比較多了，該程序就不很穩(wěn)定，你會(huì)面臨時(shí)間崩潰的危險(xiǎn)，從有時(shí)間起到當(dāng)前所有的一切都會(huì)傾倒在你身旁，把你吞入一個(gè)暫時(shí)不起作用的時(shí)區(qū)。”
我們的文化把時(shí)間看做可囤積、保護(hù)之物。省時(shí)是眾多書籍的主題，如《提高生活效率》、《悠著點(diǎn)》、《我的一天不止24小時(shí)》。商人預(yù)見到我們一心省時(shí)的欲望，于是推出快速烤爐、快速回放裝置、快速解凍以及快速貸款作為應(yīng)對。
我們有那么多“節(jié)省時(shí)間”的方法，可省時(shí)這個(gè)概念真正意味著什么呢?省時(shí)是否意味著做得更多?如果是這樣，那么在海灘用手機(jī)通話是節(jié)省還是浪費(fèi)時(shí)間?如果你有兩個(gè)選擇：乘坐30分鐘火車，其間你可以看書;開車20分鐘，其間你不能看書。那開車是否算是省下10分鐘?
這些問題并沒有答案。它們?nèi)Q于一個(gè)很不明確的概念，即省時(shí)這一觀念本身。有些人說想節(jié)約時(shí)間，其實(shí)是想多做些事，而且要做得更快。也許，最簡單的是要認(rèn)識到，時(shí)間就在這兒，我們可以選擇如何花時(shí)間，如何節(jié)約時(shí)間，如何利用時(shí)間，如何填補(bǔ)時(shí)間。
時(shí)間不是我們遺失的東西。時(shí)間不是我們曾擁有的東西。我們生活在時(shí)間之中。
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