0919 2015 六

「一個中國」概念深入人心，「台灣民眾應當有這方面的思想準備」。《環球時報》社評還強調，台灣在國際上不被承認，「正經國家同它都沒有外交關係」。台灣參加國際賽事，既不能稱為「台灣」，也不能稱為「中華民國」。台灣駐世界各國的辦事機構不能稱為使館或領館，只能叫「代表處」。

這篇社評處處可見對台灣的奚落嘲弄，例如：「如果台灣人視台灣為『國家』，並要到世界上感受做『中華民國公民』或『台灣公民』的驕傲，那麼他一定會飽嘗挫折感，有生不完的氣。」

「過去大 ‪#‎中國孱弱‬，台灣有錢也有影響，國際法有時對它睜一隻眼閉一隻眼。那樣的時代業已結束，台灣要想保持自己奇怪的政治地位，付出相應的代價在所難免。」


《環球時報》社評最後呼籲台灣當局與大陸方面開展實質性政治談判，否則台灣的「維持現狀」必然意味著維持「台灣民眾面對國際社會的複雜感受」。

《環球時報》〈聯合國不認台灣「護照」，這就是現實〉


《環球時報》胡說。我1985年在美國水牛城辦加拿大簽證，國籍寫台灣，辦事人員很佩服....



今晨牙痛，第一次未服藥。當時正在看西城故事---很好。
11點又痛起來。
整理英文人行道，值得嗎？






今晚臺大椰林大道有"迎新音樂會"。音量之大，以1.0公里外聽取比較恰當。她說，很難過，必須唱最後一曲：.....戀....
我繞一大圈，到一處大廈廣場前，見兩位中年男子告別，大有"故人久不至，相見一開顏"之姿，很羨慕。     戴久永約了，太晚，未見。


回去64號查讀摘譯；讀例外理論。

From James Boswell’s Life of Samuel Johnson. Johnson was born on September 18, 1709; Boswell wrote this passage in 1777, on the occasion of Johnson’s sixty-eighth birthday.

Thursday, September 18. Last night Dr. Johnson had proposed that the crystal lustre, or chandelier, in Dr. Taylor’s large room, should be lighted up some time or other. Taylor said, it should be lighted up next night. ‘That will do very well, (said I,) for it is Dr. Johnson’s birth-day.’ When we were in the Isle of Sky, Johnson had desired me not to mention his birth-day. He did not seem pleased at this time that I mentioned it, and said (somewhat sternly,) ‘he would not have the lustre lighted the next day.’

Some ladies, who had been present yesterday when I mentioned his birth-day, came to dinner to-day, and plagued him unintentionally, by wishing him joy. I know not why he disliked having his birth-day mentioned, unless it were that it reminded him of his approaching nearer to death, of which he had a constant dread.

I mentioned to him a friend of mine who was formerly gloomy from low spirits, and much distressed by the fear of death, but was now uniformly placid, and contemplated his dissolution without any perturbation. ‘Sir, (said Johnson,) this is only a disordered imagination taking a different turn.’

He observed, that a gentleman of eminence in literature had got into a bad style of poetry of late. ‘He puts (said he,) a very common thing in a strange dress till he does not know it himself, and thinks other people do not know it.’ BOSWELL. ‘That is owing to his being so much versant in old English poetry.’ JOHNSON. ‘What is that to the purpose, Sir? If I say a man is drunk, and you tell me it is owing to his taking much drink, the matter is not mended. No, Sir, ——— has taken to an odd mode. For example, he’d write thus:

“Hermit hoar, in solemn cell,
Wearing out life’s evening gray.”

Gray evening is common enough; but evening gray he’d think fine.—Stay;—we’ll make out the stanza:

“Hermit hoar, in solemn cell,
Wearing out life’s evening gray;
Smite thy bosom, sage, and tell,
What is bliss? and which the way?”

BOSWELL. ‘But why smite his bosom, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, to shew he was in earnest,’ (smiling.)—He at an after period added the following stanza:

‘Thus I spoke; and speaking sigh’d;
—Scarce repress’d the starting tear;—
When the smiling sage reply’d—
—Come, my lad, and drink some beer.’

I cannot help thinking the first stanza very good solemn poetry, as also the three first lines of the second. Its last line is an excellent burlesque surprise on gloomy sentimental enquirers. And, perhaps, the advice is as good as can be given to a low-spirited dissatisfied being:—‘Don’t trouble your head with sickly thinking: take a cup, and be merry.’

2015 戴明博士生日；東海大學學報第一期

日期：10月14日(周三)，10：00~ 13：00

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電話：（02） 2365012

行程：

談戴明博士與杜拉克博士與紐約大學 (NYU)       鍾漢清
                                                                           
對話：談東海大學學報第一期  (時代、作者、學術、人事.)      曹永洋、鍾漢清

Time Wasted

September 18, 2015 | by Sadie Stein

From The Little Prince.

When we got married, my husband and I knew we didn’t want to do anything elaborate: we had neither the money nor the inclination and, in any case, we wanted to get the wedding over with and begin the marriage. (Proper weddings, as any bridal magazine will tell you, take months of preparation.) So: we agreed on a date, got our license, I bought a suit, and we went to City Hall with our siblings and our two dearest friends.

After the ceremony, we took the subway uptown and met our families for lunch. I’d booked the upstairs dining room of a venerable French restaurant because I knew the food would be good, and everyone would feel comfortable. Like everything else about the wedding, I must admit I didn’t give it too much thought; I knew the day would be nice no matter what and, for my life’s sake, very much hoped it would not be the most important. 

But when people asked me where we were planning to have the lunch, and I told them, their eyes would light up. “But you know The Little Prince was written there!” they would say in delight. “How romantic! How perfect!” It was true: Saint-Exupery had written the iconic book while staying in what was then an artist friend’s atelier during the war—in the very space that is now the restaurant’s upstairs dining room. 

And we would smile and say, yes, what luck, we weren’t even thinking of that! 

Because the secret truth is, we have both always hated The Little Prince. Its whimsy and passion-play significance had always left my fiancé cold; I found the isolation of the book’s landscape deeply scary. Besides, I’ve never liked anything set in space. I’d read it as a child, of course, and later in French class, and I had watched the creepy cartoon version with a sort of horrified fervor. But my feeling had always been one of active aversion—the last theme I’d ever have chosen for a wedding. It’s not the sort of thing one takes pleasure in disliking; the love people feel for that book is pure and real, and if I could love it, I would. I think we both feel that way; we certainly laughed ruefully together about the coincidence. (To the extent that people laugh ruefully in real life, that is.) 

At a certain point before the wedding, I found myself in a bookstore, and I thought, I’d better get a copy of The Little Prince. I thought it would be funny to produce it amid the toasts and read a quote aloud—the sort of cheesy quote people put on their yearbook pages or on tote bags—and we’d tell everyone about our shared aversion to the book, and it would be charming and irreverent and show how well matched we were, or something. It wouldn’t be a real reading—that would be something of great significance, and very personal and surprising, and maybe unsentimental. I bought it, and I stuck it in my bag, and I forgot about it until the day before the wedding. I read it through that night.

I had it in my bag—the bag with my makeup and my bouquet and my ID—and when I stood up, my hands were shaking. Here is the part I read:

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

“You are not at all like my rose,” he said. “As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”

And the roses were very much embarrassed.

“You are beautiful, but you are empty,” he went on. “One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you—the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose. 

And he went back to meet the fox.

“Goodbye,” he said.

“Goodbye,” said the fox. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

“What is essential is invisible to the eye,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”

“It is the time I have wasted for my rose—” said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.

“Men have forgotten this truth,” said the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose …”

“I am responsible for my rose,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

And by the end, of course, I was crying.

Sadie Stein is contributing editor of The Paris Review, and the Daily’s correspondent.

繆詠華 「永別了，」狐狸說。「喏，這就是我的秘密。很簡單：只有用心看才看得清楚。最重要的東西，眼睛是看不見的。」

「最重要的東西，眼睛是看不見的，」小王子重複了一遍，好牢記在心。

「你花在你玫瑰身上的時間，才讓你的玫瑰變得這麼重要。」

「我花在我玫瑰身上的時間⋯⋯」小王子又重複了一遍，好牢記在心。

「大人都忘了這條真理，」狐狸說。「可是你不該忘記。你現在永遠都得對你馴服過的一切負責。你要對你的玫瑰負責⋯⋯」

「我要對我的玫瑰負責⋯⋯」小王子又重複了一遍，好牢記在心。