白岩松在耶鲁大学演讲阐述他自个的中国梦 本文网址：http://www.backchina.com/news/2009/4/15/37171.html 　3月30日，中央电视台主持人白岩松和央视摄制组赴美国拍摄专题片《岩松看美国》，3月31日白岩松及摄制组从纽约驱车赶往耶鲁大学，白岩松向耶鲁师生发表了题为《我的故事以及背后的中国梦》的演讲，以下为演讲内容。 　　中国梦美国梦 　　过去的二十年，中国一直在跟美国的三任总统打交道，但是今天到了耶鲁我才知道，其实他只跟一所学校打交道。但是透过这三位总统我也明白了，耶鲁大学的毕业生的水准也并不很平均。 　　接下来就进入我们这个主题，或许要起个题目的话应该叫《我的故事以及背后的中国梦》。我要讲五个年份，第一要讲的年份是1968年。那一年我出生了。但是那一年世界非常乱，在法国有它的这个，巨大的街头的骚乱，在美国也有，然后美国的总统肯尼迪遇刺了，但是的确这一切的原因都与我无关。但是那一年我们更应该记住的是马丁路德金先生遇刺，虽然那一年他倒下了，但是“我有一个梦想”的这句话却真正地站了起来，不仅在美国站起来，在全世界站起来。 　　但是当时很遗憾，不仅仅是我，几乎很多的中国人并不知道这个梦想，因为当时中国人，每一个个人很难说拥有自己的梦想。中国与美国的距离非常遥远，不亚于月亮与地球之间的距离。但是我并不关心这一切，我只关系我是否可以吃饱。很显然，我的出生非常不是时候，不仅对于当时的中国来说，对于世界来说，似乎都有些问题。 　　1978年，十年之后。我十岁，我依然生活在我出生的时候，那个只有二十万人的非常非常小的城市里。它离北京的距离有两千公里，它要想了解北京出的报纸的话，要在三天之后才能看见，所以对于我们来说，是不存在新闻这个说法。那一年我的爷爷去世了，而在两年前的时候我的父亲去世了，所以只剩下我母亲一个人要抚养我们哥俩，她一个月的工资不到十美元。因此即使十岁了，梦想这个词对我来说，依然是一个非常陌生的词汇，我从来不会去想它。我看不到这个家庭的希望，只是会感觉，那个时候的每一个冬天都很寒冷，因为我所生活的那个城市离苏联更近。但是就在我看不到希望的1978年的时候，不管是中国这个国家，还有中国与美国这两个国家之间，发生了非常巨大的变化，那是一个我们在座的所有人，今天都该记住的年份。 　　1978年的12月16号，中国与美国正式建交，那是一个大事件。而在中美建交两天之后，12月18号，中国的十一届三中全会召开了，那是中国改革开放三十一年的开始。历史，两个伟大的国家，一个非常可怜的家庭，就如此戏剧性地交织在一起，不管是小的家庭，还是大的国家，其实当时谁都没有把握知道未来是什么样的。” 　　1988年，那一年我二十岁。这个时候我已经从边疆的小城市来到了北京，成为一个大学生。虽然我们今天在中国依然有很多的人在抨击中国的高考的制度，认为它有很多很多的缺陷，但是必须承认正是高考的存在，让我们这样一个又一个非常普通的孩子，拥有了改变命运的机会。当然，这个时候美国已经不再是一个很遥远的国家，它变得很具体，它也不再是那个过去口号当中的“美帝国主义”，而是变成了生活中很多的细节。这个时候我已经第一次地尝试过可口可乐，而且喝完可口可乐之后会觉得中美两个国家真的是如此接近，因为它几乎就跟中国的中药是一样的。 　　那个时候我已经开始非常狂热地去喜欢摇滚乐。那个时候正是迈克尔杰克逊还长得比较漂亮的时候。更重要的是，这个时候的中国，已经开始发生了非常大的变化，因为改革已经进行了十年。那一年中国开始尝试放开很多商品的价格。这在你们觉得是非常不可思议的事情，但是在中国当时是一个很大的迈进，因为过去的价格都是由政府来决定的。但是，就在那一年，因为放开了价格，引起了全国疯狂地抢购，大家都觉得这个时候会有多久，于是要把一辈子都用的食品和用品，买回到家里头。这一年也就标志之着中国离市场经济越来越近了。 　　当然那个时候没有人知道市场经济，也会有次贷危机。当然我知道那一年1988年对于耶鲁大学来说格外的重要，因为你们耶鲁的校友又一次成为美国的总统。 　　1998年，那一年我三十岁。我已经成为中央电视台的一个新闻节目主持人。更重要的是，我已经成为一个一岁孩子的父亲。那一年在中美之间发生了一个非常重要的事件，主角就是克林顿。也许在美国你记住的是性丑闻。但是在中国记住的是他那一年访问了中国。在六月份的时候，他访问中国的时候，在人民大会堂和江泽民主席进行了一个开放的记者招待会，然后又在北京大学进行了一个开放的演讲，这两场活动的直播主持人都是我。 　　在北大的克林顿的演讲当中，由于整个克林顿总统的演讲，用的全是美方所提供的翻译，我猜想有很多的中国观众，是一直知道克林顿的确在说话，但是说的是什么不太清楚。所以我在直播结束的时候，说了这样的一番话，我说看样子美国需要对中国有更多的了解，有的时候要从语言开始，而对于中美这两个国家来说，面对面永远要好过背对背。当然也是在这一年年初，我开上了我人生的第一辆车。这是我在我过去从来不会想到的，中国人有一天也可以开自己的车。个人的喜悦，也会让你印象很久，因为往往第一次才是最难忘的。 　　2008这一年，我四十岁。很多年大家不再谈论的“我有一个梦想”这句话，在这一年我听到太多的美国人在讲。看样子奥巴马的确不想再接受耶鲁占领美国二十年这样的事实了。他用“改变”以及“梦想”这样的词汇，让耶鲁大学的师生在为他当选总统之后，听说你们举行了游行，甚至庆祝。 　　而这一年也是中国梦非常明显的一年。它就像全世界所有的伟大的梦想都要注定要遭受很多的挫折一样显现出来。无论是期待了很久的北京奥运会，还是神舟七号中国人第一次在太空当中行走，那都是很多年前我们期待了很久的一个梦想。但是，突如其来的四川大地震，让这一切都变得没有我们期待中的那么美好。八万个生命的离开，让整个2008年中国人度日如年。我猜得到在耶鲁校园里头，在每一个网页、电视以及报纸的前面，也有很多的来自中国的人，以及世界各地的人们，为这些生命流下眼泪。但是就像四十年前马丁路德金先生倒下，却让“我有一个梦想”这句话站得更高，站得更久，站得更加让人觉得极其有价值一样，更多的中国人也明白了，梦想很重要。但是生命更重要。 　　在北京奥运会期间，我度过了自己的四十岁的生日。那一天我感慨万千，因为时间进入到我的生日那一天的时候，我在直播精彩的比赛。二十四小时之后，当这个时间要走出我生日这一天的时候，我也依然在直播。但是这一天我觉得我非常的幸运。因为正是这样一个特殊的，在北京奥运会期间的四十岁，让我意识到了我的故事背后的中国梦。 　　正是在这样的四十年的时间里头，我从一个根本不可能有梦想的，一个遥远边疆的一个小城市里的孩子，变成了一个可以在全人类欢聚的一个大的节日里头，分享以及传播这种快乐的新闻人，这是一个在中国发生的故事。而在这一年，中国和美国相距并不遥远，你中有我，我中有你，彼此需要。布什总统据说度过了他作为总统以来在国外，一个国家呆的最长的一段时间，就是在北京奥运会期间。菲尔普斯在那儿拿到了八块金牌，而他的家人都陪伴在他的身边，所有的中国人都为这样一个特殊的家庭祝福。当然，任何一个这样的梦想都会转眼过去。在这样的一个年份里头，中美两国历史上几乎是第一次同时发出了“我有一个新的梦想”这样时候，如此的巧合，如此的应该。 　　美国面临了一次非常非常艰难的金融危机，当然不仅仅是美国的事情，也对全世界有重大的影响。昨天我到达纽约，刚下了飞机，我去的第一站就是华尔街，我看到了华盛顿总统的雕像，他的视线是那么永久不变地在盯着证券交易所上那面巨大的美国国旗。而非常奇妙的是，在这个雕像后面的展览馆里正在举行，“林肯总统在纽约”这样的一个展览，因此林肯总统的大幅的画像也挂在那上面，他也在看那面国旗。我读出了一种非常悲壮的一种历史感。在离开那个地方的时候，我对我的同事说了这样一句话。我说，很多很多年前如果美国发生了这样状况的时候，也许中国人会感到很开心，因为你看，美国又糟糕了。但是今天中国人会格外地希望美国尽早地好起来，因为我们有几千亿的钱在美国。我们还有大量的产品等待着装上货船，送到美国来，如果美国的经济进一步好的话，在这些货品的背后，就是一个又一个中国人增长的工资，是他重新拥有的就业岗位，以及家庭的幸福。” 　　在过去的三十年里头，你们是否注意到了，与一个又一个普通的中国人紧密相关的中国梦。我不知道世界上还有哪个国家，在过去这三十年的时间里头，让个人的命运发生了这么大的变化。一个边远小城市里的孩子，一个绝望中的孩子，今天有机会在耶鲁跟各位同学交流。或许该换一个视角。去看十三亿个非常普通的中国人。他们并不宏大的梦想。改变命运的那种冲动，依然善良的性格，和勤奋的那种品质。今天的中国是由刚才的这些词汇构成。 　　在过去的很多年里头，中国人看美国，似乎在用望远镜看。美国所有的美好的东西，都被这个望远镜放大。经常有人说美国怎么怎么样，美国怎么怎么样，你看我们这儿什么时候能这样。在过去的好多年里头，美国人似乎也在用望远镜在看中国，但是我猜测可能拿反了。因为他们看到的是一个缩小了的、错误不断的、有众多问题的一个中国。他们忽视了十三亿非常普通的中国人，改变命运的这种冲动和欲望，使这个国家发生了如此巨大的变化。但是我也一直有一个梦想。为什么要用望远镜来看彼此？ 　　当然我也希望非常多的美国人，有机会去看看中国。而不是在媒体当中去看到中国。你知道我并不太信任我的所有的同行。开一个玩笑。其实美国的同行是我非常尊敬的同行。我只是希望越来越多的美国朋友去看一个真实的中国。因为我起码敢确定一件事情。即使在美国你吃到的被公认为最好的中国菜。在中国都很难卖出好价钱。就像很多很多年之前，在中国所有的城市里流行着一种叫加州牛肉面，加利福尼亚牛肉面。相当多的中国人都认为，美国来的东西一定非常非常好吃。所以他们都去吃了。即使没那么好吃的话，由于觉得这是美国来的，也没有批评。这个连锁的快餐店在中国存在了很多年，直到有越来越多的中国人来到美国，在加州四处寻找加州牛肉面，但是一家都没有找到的时候，越来越多的中国人知道，加州是没有这种牛肉面的。于是这个连锁店在中国，现在处于陆续消失的过程当中。这就是一种差异。但是当人来人往之后，这样的一种误读就会越来越少。 　　所以最后我只想再说一句。四十年前，当马丁路德金先生倒下的时候，他的那句话“我有一个梦想”传遍了全世界。但是，一定要知道，不仅仅有一个英文版的“我有一个梦想”。在遥远的东方，在一个几千年延续下来的中国，也有一个梦想。它不是宏大的口号，并不是在政府那里存在，它是属于每一个非常普通的中国人。而它用中文写成“我有一个梦想”。 　　《岩松美国观察》采访手记之——《岩松耶鲁演讲：我的中国梦》 　　(《新闻周刊》记者 彭裔然) 　　白岩松的耶鲁演讲，是在3月底的最后一天，也就是他抵达美国的第二天下午。在当天上午进行了对NBA总裁大卫·斯特恩的专访之后，几乎来不及倒时差，他就和《岩松看美国》摄制组一起从纽约驱车赶往位于纽黑文小镇的耶鲁大学。 　　虽然原本并不在节目拍摄计划之内，但耶鲁演讲显然是岩松最看重的美国日程之一。以新闻人的身份和民间交流的形式去当地的大学演讲，与青年人面对面交流，几乎已经成为岩松在国外采访时的一种习惯。他曾在日本名古屋大学发表题为《中国社会的变迁》的演讲，而2006年德国世界杯期间，他去了海德堡大学和大学生一起用餐，一起看球。这次他给自己的耶鲁演讲起的题目是《我的故事以及背后的中国梦》。 　　而被誉为“总统摇篮”的耶鲁大学显然是真正的卧虎藏龙之地，甚至说它影响美国历史进程也不为过。仅仅在过去20年，连续三任美国总统老布什、克林顿与小布什，都是耶鲁毕业生(而美国新任国务卿希拉里当年在耶鲁校园图书馆与克林顿相识相恋的故事也为很多人熟知)，这在美国历史上也创下了纪录。直到高举change大旗的哈佛毕业生奥巴马成为新任美国总统，才让哈佛生们扬眉吐气了一把。因为在美国，向来有“先有哈佛后有美国”的说法，而创办于1701年的耶鲁大学则“屈居”美国第二所最古老的高等学府。 　　在学风开放的耶鲁，几乎每天都有来自全世界各地学者、政要以及各界精英的演讲。但耶鲁校方显然对这次演讲给予了“精心”的安排，把演讲的地点定在以耶鲁毕业生亨利·卢斯(Henry Luce)名字命名的卢斯礼堂(Luce Hall)。亨利·卢斯是《时代》周刊创始人，美国20世纪最著名的新闻人之一，而卢斯礼堂也第一次迎来了中国的新闻人。演讲现场的火爆超乎摄制组的想象，不仅过道上挤满了师生，还有一些人因为晚到而被校园主办方婉拒在门外。因为耶鲁学生向来以个性和尖锐著称，甚至有时还会有些“傲慢”，岩松显然事先就做好了“挨砖”的准备，他还和学生们开了一个小小的玩笑，“欢迎大家扔鞋，但最好是两只，请记得我的鞋号是43号”。 　　岩松的幽默，显然赢得了年轻人们的喜欢，外国学生们一定想不到，这位来自中国主持人在屏幕上大多数时候给人的印象是不苟言笑。而岩松演讲时的开场白也立即获得了全场师生的笑声和掌声，他说“过去的二十年，中国一直在跟美国的三任总统打交道，但是今天到了耶鲁我才知道，其实他只跟一所学校打交道。但是透过这三位总统我也明白了，耶鲁大学的毕业生的水准也并不很平均。” 　　演讲的部分大约持续了四十分钟，而之后，是岩松与在场学生大约半小时的提问互动。岩松以自己出生的年份1968年作为开始，讲述了1968年、1978年、1988年、1998年、2008年五个年份的故事，他是如何从一个边远小城的绝望孩子，成长为见证无数重要时刻的新闻人，并以个人命运为线索折射了四十年中美关系发生的深刻变化。他说“不知道世界上还有哪个国家，在过去这三十年的时间里头，让个人的命运发生了这么大的变化”，而除他之外，还有一个又一个普通的中国人和他们的家庭，在用自己的故事诠释着这样的中国梦。 　　这是一场有很多“梦想、改变”字眼的演讲，既有个人命运，也有国家命运，关于中国，也关于美国。在演讲的最后，白岩松用了一个望远镜的比喻，形容中国和美国在过去的很多年里头缺乏相互的了解和沟通，他说这是两个都曾经用望远镜看彼此的国度，只不过中国看到的是放大的美国，而美国则把望远镜拿反了，他们更多看到了一个缩小的错误不断的中国。“我也一直有一个梦想。为什么要用望远镜来看彼此？”“希望非常多的美国人，有机会去看看中国。” 　　在耶鲁大学，也许这是一次真正的沟通和传递，耶鲁接收到了来自中国的讯息，而我们也亲身感受了美国这所最负盛名大学的魅力。我们也很好奇，演讲现场除了中国留学生，为什么有这么外国人对一位来自中国的新闻人感兴趣？后来在采访中得知，即使在文化极为多元、种族背景众多的耶鲁大学，中文和中国文化也是相当的流行。中文已经从耶鲁大学的第四大外语跃居为第二大外语，仅次于西班牙语。而耶鲁大学也会提供一个奖学金，每年资助七八十个学生到中国学习中文。我们甚至在演讲现场遇到了金发碧眼的岩松粉丝——美国女孩戴恩·米勒，她说以前就经常看中央电视台节目，认为白岩松的演讲很有意思，特别是“普通话非常标准，非常好听”。而在岩松演讲过程中，她也一直在自己的小本上埋头苦记。 　　而在耶鲁的另一个收获是，我们在演讲现场见到了去年美国总统奖获得者本和朱莉，他们在去年夏天曾作为美国高中生代表受邀来到中国，并参加了中央电视台二套《我们》节目的录制，谈他们眼中的中国。而现在他们已在耶鲁大学度过了大半年时光。本谈起去年的中国之行依然很兴奋，他说中国之行让他消除了很多误解，而中美之间的沟通还有很大潜力可挖。他知道北京进行的新的建筑规划，他也很关注生活在中国的人们。而让我惊讶的是，他最近在读的一本书，就是关于中国软实力的。而这位奥巴马的支持者，说他们下午的课堂上才刚刚讨论了中国到底是敌手还是伙伴的话题，而本这个大学一年级新生也对我们用了一个小小的“外交辞令”，他说“从战略上讲，中美两国应该相互依赖”。p>

a)
J'lem Prize awarded to author Haruki Murakami (http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1064160.html)
The 24th Jerusalem International Book Fair opens tonight, bringing together 1,200 publishers, agents, editors and authors from 40 countries with book lovers from around the country. The bienniel event kicks off with an award ceremony led by President Shimon Peres and Jerusalem Mayor Nir Barkat to present Japanese author Haruki Murakami with this year's Jerusalem Prize.

The judging panel for the prize includes Haaretz Editor-in-Chief Dov Alfon as chair, Hebrew Professor Dwora Gilula of Hebrew University and author Etgar Keret. The judges hailed Murakami as "the best-known and best-loved Japanese author in the West, due in no small part to the unique mixture in his works of Japanese culture and modern Western culture."

"It is easy to read Murakami, but it is not easy to understand him. His literary language is minimalist and lucid, turning him into a highly accessible writer, but the full complexity of his literary world is revealed right at the outset," they said.

b)
 Always on the side of the egg (http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1064909.html)
By Haruki Murakami

I have come to Jerusalem today as a novelist, which is to say as a professional spinner of lies.

Of course, novelists are not the only ones who tell lies. Politicians do it, too, as we all know. Diplomats and military men tell their own kinds of lies on occasion, as do used car salesmen, butchers and builders. The lies of novelists differ from others, however, in that no one criticizes the novelist as immoral for telling them. Indeed, the bigger and better his lies and the more ingeniously he creates them, the more he is likely to be praised by the public and the critics. Why should that be?

My answer would be this: Namely, that by telling skillful lies - which is to say, by making up fictions that appear to be true - the novelist can bring a truth out to a new location and shine a new light on it. In most cases, it is virtually impossible to grasp a truth in its original form and depict it accurately. This is why we try to grab its tail by luring the truth from its hiding place, transferring it to a fictional location, and replacing it with a fictional form. In order to accomplish this, however, we first have to clarify where the truth lies within us. This is an important qualification for making up good lies.
I have come to Jerusalem today as a novelist, which is to say as a professional spinner of lies.

 Today, however, I have no intention of lying. I will try to be as honest as I can. There are a few days in the year when I do not engage in telling lies, and today happens to be one of them

So let me tell you the truth. A fair number of people advised me not to come here to accept the Jerusalem Prize. Some even warned me they would instigate a boycott of my books if I came.

The reason for this, of course, was the fierce battle that was raging in Gaza. The UN reported that more than a thousand people had lost their lives in the blockaded Gaza City, many of them unarmed citizens - children and old people.

Any number of times after receiving notice of the award, I asked myself whether traveling to Israel at a time like this and accepting a literary prize was the proper thing to do, whether this would create the impression that I supported one side in the conflict, that I endorsed the policies of a nation that chose to unleash its overwhelming military power. This is an impression, of course, that I would not wish to give. I do not approve of any war, and I do not support any nation. Neither, of course, do I wish to see my books subjected to a boycott.

Finally, however, after careful consideration, I made up my mind to come here. One reason for my decision was that all too many people advised me not to do it. Perhaps, like many other novelists, I tend to do the exact opposite of what I am told. If people are telling me - and especially if they are warning me - "don't go there," "don't do that," I tend to want to "go there" and "do that." It's in my nature, you might say, as a novelist. Novelists are a special breed. They cannot genuinely trust anything they have not seen with their own eyes or touched with their own hands.

And that is why I am here. I chose to come here rather than stay away. I chose to see for myself rather than not to see. I chose to speak to you rather than to say nothing.

This is not to say that I am here to deliver a political message. To make judgments about right and wrong is one of the novelist's most important duties, of course.

It is left to each writer, however, to decide upon the form in which he or she will convey those judgments to others. I myself prefer to transform them into stories - stories that tend toward the surreal. Which is why I do not intend to stand before you today delivering a direct political message.

Please do, however, allow me to deliver one very personal message. It is something that I always keep in mind while I am writing fiction. I have never gone so far as to write it on a piece of paper and paste it to the wall: Rather, it is carved into the wall of my mind, and it goes something like this:

"Between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the side of the egg."

Yes, no matter how right the wall may be and how wrong the egg, I will stand with the egg. Someone else will have to decide what is right and what is wrong; perhaps time or history will decide. If there were a novelist who, for whatever reason, wrote works standing with the wall, of what value would such works be?

What is the meaning of this metaphor? In some cases, it is all too simple and clear. Bombers and tanks and rockets and white phosphorus shells are that high, solid wall. The eggs are the unarmed civilians who are crushed and burned and shot by them. This is one meaning of the metaphor.

This is not all, though. It carries a deeper meaning. Think of it this way. Each of us is, more or less, an egg. Each of us is a unique, irreplaceable soul enclosed in a fragile shell. This is true of me, and it is true of each of you. And each of us, to a greater or lesser degree, is confronting a high, solid wall. The wall has a name: It is The System. The System is supposed to protect us, but sometimes it takes on a life of its own, and then it begins to kill us and cause us to kill others - coldly, efficiently, systematically.

I have only one reason to write novels, and that is to bring the dignity of the individual soul to the surface and shine a light upon it. The purpose of a story is to sound an alarm, to keep a light trained on The System in order to prevent it from tangling our souls in its web and demeaning them. I fully believe it is the novelist's job to keep trying to clarify the uniqueness of each individual soul by writing stories - stories of life and death, stories of love, stories that make people cry and quake with fear and shake with laughter. This is why we go on, day after day, concocting fictions with utter seriousness.

My father died last year at the age of 90. He was a retired teacher and a part-time Buddhist priest. When he was in graduate school, he was drafted into the army and sent to fight in China. As a child born after the war, I used to see him every morning before breakfast offering up long, deeply-felt prayers at the Buddhist altar in our house. One time I asked him why he did this, and he told me he was praying for the people who had died in the war.

He was praying for all the people who died, he said, both ally and enemy alike. Staring at his back as he knelt at the altar, I seemed to feel the shadow of death hovering around him.

My father died, and with him he took his memories, memories that I can never know. But the presence of death that lurked about him remains in my own memory. It is one of the few things I carry on from him, and one of the most important.

I have only one thing I hope to convey to you today. We are all human beings, individuals transcending nationality and race and religion, fragile eggs faced with a solid wall called The System. To all appearances, we have no hope of winning. The wall is too high, too strong - and too cold. If we have any hope of victory at all, it will have to come from our believing in the utter uniqueness and irreplaceability of our own and others' souls and from the warmth we gain by joining souls together.

Take a moment to think about this. Each of us possesses a tangible, living soul. The System has no such thing. We must not allow The System to exploit us. We must not allow The System to take on a life of its own. The System did not make us: We made The System.

That is all I have to say to you.

I am grateful to have been awarded the Jerusalem Prize. I am grateful that my books are being read by people in many parts of the world. And I am glad to have had the opportunity to speak to you here today.

c) 中文翻译链接
http://www.hecaitou.net/?p=4807


 

帮帮高耀洁 2008年12月31日《南方都市报》A46版 高耀洁：面朝南方，向南都鞠躬 编者按： 　　十余年来，高耀洁医生一直致力于揭示艾滋病在中国肆虐的内幕、救助艾滋病人和孤儿，赢得了国内外的广泛尊敬，被誉为“中国民间防艾第一人”。上月，81岁高龄的高医生当选南都主办的“改革开放30周年风云人物”，来广州参加颁奖盛典期间，高医生表示正在募集旧杂志（时政类）送往农村。日前，本报募集的第一批110公斤旧杂志已运抵郑州。在此特刊发高医生的来信，有读者愿意参与的，可直接将旧杂志寄至河南省文史馆（河南省郑州市金水路14号，邮编450003）高耀洁收，或与本报热线（020-87388888）联系。 　　2008年12月28日，我收到《南方都市报》无偿为艾滋孤儿们和贫困儿童们捐赠的100多公斤各种杂志。我将马上发下去，并代表他们致以谢意！ 　　我为他们募捐读物是有原因的。我记得在2000年3月18日，我到了一个贫困村庄，见到了一个因卖血感染艾滋病的重病人，我给他买一点药，他拿着药问我：“大夫，是不是毛主席叫你来的？”一连问了我三遍，我无言可对。我最后只能说：“你去吃药吧，多喝点水。” 　　这件事使我开始悟出，他们的知识太缺乏了，信息太闭塞了。从此，我每逢去农村，都带上几本杂志，多半带的是《妇女生活》、《现代家长》等。不管带多少本，都会一下被抢光。等我再次去这个村子的时候，我送的杂志被传阅得面目全非，只看出来是一堆废纸，但他们还在阅读。由此我意识到，他们缺少的不仅仅是食物和衣服，更缺少精神食粮。特别是那些不通汽车和不通电的村庄，那里的村民好像是与世隔绝。 　　近几年来，我虽然自费发出几万册我编印的防艾书籍，但还是杯水车薪，我觉得我是一个失败者。治贫先治愚，因此，我四处募集各种旧杂志。其中河南《妇女生活》杂志社捐献的杂志最多，至少在200公斤以上，我早应该对他们表示感谢，但由于我在河南的处境而无法公开表达，向他们深表歉意！ 　　今天我向贵社写这封感谢信，我是代表这些弱势群体致谢的——面朝南方，向南都深深地鞠躬，感谢南都多年来对我防艾工作的一贯支持！南都是敢说真话的报纸！ 高耀洁　鞠躬 2008年12月29日 建议网友们帮老太太募集一下

與 我 常 在  陳 奕 迅

曲：林 健 華 of Black Box         詞：林 夕

在 一 起 看 每 齣 戲    在 一 起 嘆 每 口 氣
再 細 嘗    同 偕 到 老 的 況 味
每 分 鐘 也 抱 緊 你    沒 有 一 秒 共 你 別 離
還 攜 手 看 著 生 與 死

坐 著 臥 著 都 分 享    日 日 也 為 彼 此 設 想
站 著 望 著 都 分 享    就 在 夢 內 發 掘 這 真 相

除 非 你 是 我    才 可 與 我 常 在
一 個 人    從 鏡 內 發 展 恩 愛
除 非 你 是 我    才 可 畫 夜 同 在
戀 不 來    從 厭 倦 裡 面 偷 取 恨 愛
在 一 起 與 你 工 作    在 一 起 與 你 摸 索
兩 個 人    同 時 佔 有 的 快 樂
每 分 鐘 與 你 揮 霍    沒 有 一 秒 沒 我 在 旁
還 攜 手 看 著 天 空 黑 與 光

在 一 起    會 有 多 美    在 一 起    也 會 不 美
一 個 人    同 偕 到 老 不 靠 運 氣


http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=SixzlV2xj3Q

http://www.ftchinese.com/story.php?storyid=001023770

http://www.danwei.org/foreign_affairs/5_american_ambassadadors_to_ch.php

收到远方朋友的邮件，一如既往简洁准确的表述，
“我明白你一直活的很用力，但并不吃力”，
忽然我便感动得哭了。
谢谢你。

自入秋以来，开始骑自行车清晨上山， 最开始几周推行上坡，慢慢推一段骑一程，再到允许自己中途下车2-3次站立原地休息数十秒。每次到达山顶时整个人都湿透。接着 尽量会让自己再慢慢伸展四肢游泳，然后冲浴。早餐。开始一天。每次骑上山，心中都要不断重复“我坚决不下车休息走路’ ‘再坚持到那个前面的路牌’ ‘好的，现在什么都不想就看着前轮之前的那段路，1-2，1-2，1-2。。’ 心里不断想着，就这么天天早上挑战自己的极限，我会越来越勇敢， 空气里还有山间独有的清醒，于是便很快乐。
下山也极其有意思，坡度很大，全神贯注平衡着速度。有时候夜深，只有我和自行车，会忍不住瞟望成片的田园和唯有才高处独有的风景。风冷时候，带手套的手失去知觉，却还有控制力。偶尔下山时还早，天空浅浅泛金黄，忍不住开始微笑。

近来周围发生了很多奇妙的事情。 美好的事物和人接连出现。似乎自己所爱的人们，周边的朋友们，都很快乐。过去2年，开始懂得一件事情，生活其实从来都没有忽然变好或糟，心境及态度在改变，所看所感，便不同。

还记得年少时的梦吗,象朵永远不凋零的花
陪我经过那风吹雨打,看世事无常,看沧桑变化
那些为爱所付出的代价,是永远都难忘的啊
所有真心的痴心的话,永在我心中,虽然已没有她

走吧,走吧,人总要学着自己长大
走吧,走吧,人生难免经历苦痛挣扎
走吧,走吧,为自己的心找一个家
也曾伤心流泪,也曾黯然心碎,这是爱的代价

也许我偶尔还是会想他,偶尔难免会惦记着他
就当他是个老朋友啊,也让我心疼,也让我牵挂
只是我心中不再有火花,让往事都随风去吧
所有真心的痴心的话,都在我心中,虽然已没有他

走吧,走吧,人总要学着自己长大
走吧,走吧,人生难免经历苦痛挣扎
走吧,走吧,为自己的心找一个家
也曾伤心流泪,也曾黯然心碎,这是爱的代价
http://v.youku.com/v_playlist/f2114267o1p12.html

http://www.ythouse.com/news/ytnews/gcfc/dcsl/18185.htm

http://www.bullog.cn/blogs/lianyue/

Harry Potter author and billionaire J.K. Rowling addressed the graduates of Harvard University June 5.

President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates:

The first thing I would like to say is thank you. Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honor, but the weeks of fear and nausea I've experienced at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and fool myself into believing I am at the world's best-educated Harry Potter convention.

Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can't remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.

You see? If all you remember in years to come is the "gay wizard" joke, I've still come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step toward personal improvement.

Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that has expired between that day and this.

I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called "real life," I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.

These might seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but please bear with me.

Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.

I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that could never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension.

They had hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents' car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.

I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.

I would like to make it clear, in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticize my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticized only by fools.

What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure.

At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations, and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers.

I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment.

However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person's idea of success, so high have you already flown academically.

Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realized, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all--in which case, you fail by default.

Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above rubies.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more to me than any qualification I ever earned.

Given a time machine or a Time Turner, I would tell my 21-year-old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check-list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone's total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.

You might think that I chose my second theme, the importance of imagination, because of the part it played in rebuilding my life, but that is not wholly so. Though I will defend the value of bedtime stories to my last gasp, I have learned to value imagination in a much broader sense. Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathize with humans whose experiences we have never shared.

One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working in the research department at Amnesty International's headquarters in London.

There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.

Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to think independently of their government. Visitors to our office included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had been forced to leave behind.

I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him to the Underground Station afterward, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.

And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just given him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country's regime, his mother had been seized and executed.

Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.

Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard and read.

And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.

Amnesty mobilizes thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.

Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people's minds, imagine themselves into other people's places.

Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathize.

And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.

I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces can lead to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors.

I think the willfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.

What is more, those who choose not to empathize may enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.

One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.

That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people's lives simply by existing.

But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people's lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world's only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.

If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped transform for the better. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.

I am nearly finished. I have one last hope for you, which is something that I already had at 21. The friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children's godparents, the people to whom I've been able to turn in times of trouble, friends who have been kind enough not to sue me when I've used their names for Death Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by the knowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would be exceptionally valuable if any of us ran for prime minister.

So today, I can wish you nothing better than similar friendships. And tomorrow, I hope that even if you remember not a single word of mine, you remember those of Seneca, another of those old Romans I met when I fled down the Classics corridor, in retreat from career ladders, in search of ancient wisdom:

As is a tale, so is life: Not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.

I wish you all very good lives.

Thank you very much.

http://www.forbes.com/opinions/2008/06/13/harvard-failure-speech-oped-cx_jkr_0613rowling.html

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