The Death of the Moth, and other essays-飞蛾之死及其他（英文版）:      
      The Death of the Moth
　　飞蛾之死
　　
　　Virginia Woolf
　　
　　弗吉尼亚，伍尔芙
　　…
　　
　　Yet, because he was so small, and so simple a form of the energy that was rolling in at the open window and driving its way through so many narrow and intricate corridors in my own brain and in those of other human beings, there was something marvelous as well as pathetic about him. It was as if someone had taken a tiny bead of pure life and decking it as lightly as possible with down and feathers, had set it dancing and zigzagging to show us the true nature of life. Thus displayed one could not get over the strangeness of it. One is apt to forget all about life, seeing it humped and bossed and garnished and cumbered so that it has to move with the greatest circumspection and dignity. Again, the thought of all that life might have been had he been born in any other shape caused one to view his simple activities with a kind of pity.
　　…
　　
　　还是怪它个头如此微小，力量如此微末啊。它在窗口那里来回扑飞，在我和他人的脑海里，穿过迷宫中众多细窄长廊，不断寻路，让人为之兴叹流泪。此番景象好似有人取来一滴生命精粹，用绒毛轻羽轻轻将它打扮起来，然后让它迂回往复足之蹈之，展现生命本色。有人可能觉得这般场景实在少见，以至于半天回不过神。当人活得疲于奔命，身不由己，沦为陪衬，缚手缚脚而不得不行事万分缜密慎重时，往往会忘记关于生命的所有定义 又一次，？？？？将这小虫化成任何模样，让人怀着怜悯之心看着它的笨拙。


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