读书之乐趣卢伯克爵士/文颜林海/译
Books are to mankind what memory is to the individual. They contain the history of our race , the discoveries we have made, the accumulated knowledge and experience of ages; they picture for us the marvels and beauties of nature; help us in our difficulties, comfort us in sorrow and in suffering, change hours of weariness into moments of delight, store our minds with ideas, fill them with good and happy thoughts, and liftus out of and above ourselves.
There is an Oriental story of two men: one was a king, who every night dreamt he was a beggar; the other was a beggar, who every night dreamt he was aprince and lived in a palace. I am not sure that the king had very much the best of it. Imagination is sometimes more vivid than reality. But, however this may be, when we read we may not only (if we wish it) be kings and live in palaces, but, what is far better, we may transport ourselves to the mountains or the seashore, and visit the most beautiful parts of the earth, without fatigue, inconvenience, or expense.
Many of those who have had, as we say, all that this world can give, have yet told us they owed much of their purest happiness to books. Ascham , in "The Schoolmaster", tells a touching story of his last visit to Lady Jane Grey . He found her sitting in an oriel window reading Plato's beautiful account of the death of Socrates . Her father and mother we
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