Ｄ强烧媸侨嵌钡囊淮笫⑹隆Ｅυ汲悄谟�50万爱尔兰人，要知道想让他们走上街头是相当困难的一件事。
纽约城把它的居民和日常事件分离开来的特点，或许对他们只有伤害。想象一下，如果他们生活在其他地方，当门楣倒下来时，你就会听到声音；有州长路过时，不管怎么样都可看到他的帽子，那他们将更加健康快乐。
我倒不是在这一点上为纽约辩护。很大一部分人来这里或许只是为了躲避现实，而不是直面现实。但无论怎么说，纽约所赋予人们的是一种罕见的礼物。我相信这种东西会积极地促进纽约人的创造力——之所以称为创造，从某种角度上来说，只不过是把大大小小让人分心的事扔在一边。
虽然纽约常给人一种被遗弃的感觉，但它很少饱经沧桑或面如死灰。你仅仅需要把家挪动10个街区或花掉5美元，就会有一种恢复活力的感觉。许多情绪低落、精神恍惚的人都把这个城市的巨大活力当成自己的精神支柱和发展动力。在这个国家，只有天气的变化，或者邮箱里新到的信件，会让人精神为之一振，其他的事物都引不起人们的兴趣。但纽约却魅力四射。我认为，虽然很多人到这儿来是由于精力旺盛（这使他们与家乡的小镇截然不同），可还有一些人是因为精神贫乏才来的，他们在纽约找到了一种保护，一种精神上的替代。
我认为纽约可以分为三种类型。第一个纽约是那些土生土长的人们眼里的纽约。这些人认可并自然地正视纽约的所有事物，包括它的辽阔和吵闹。第二个纽约是手拿月票、反复奔波的上班族眼里的纽约。这些人把纽约看成是一台日出工作、日落休息的机器。第三个纽约是那些来此怀揣梦想的异乡客眼里的纽约。在上述三个鲜明的城市形象中，最后一个最伟大，因为它拥有一个目标，堪称终极之城。恰恰是这第三种形象，酝酿了纽约缤纷绚烂的气质、高贵的风度、艺术的璀璨及其独一无二的成就。匆忙的上班族使这个城市高速发展，本地的人们在这里哺育后代，但那些外来的异乡客却给予它激情。无论是为了逃离左邻右舍的侮辱而到密西西比河畔耕种建村的意大利农民，还是箱底放着一份手稿、胸中却暗藏痛苦的来自玉米地带的男孩，这都没有什么区别，他们每一个人都以冒险家新鲜的目光关注纽约，所发出的光和热甚至使联合爱迪生公司都相形见绌。
匆忙的上班族是最独特的一个群体。他们所居住的郊区根本谈不上有活力，不过是下班后回来休息的地方。一个住在马莫内克或小内克或提内克的人，却在纽约上班。在他眼中，他熟悉的只有火车和公共汽车的出发、到达时间和吃便餐途经的那条小路；而对于这个城市的其他事物，他差不多是一概不知。他整日埋头工作，几乎没有一次在夕阳下漫游，偶尔站在公园的瞭望塔旁，看防御用的堡垒在池塘边高高耸立，注视男孩们在岸边钓鱼，看女孩们在岩石旁随心所欲地躺着。他与悠闲一派根本沾不上边，在这座城市，一次也没有注意到真正的惊喜，因为他心中只有工作。他在曼哈顿金钱遍地的河里垂钓过，收获过钱币，却一次也没有聆听过它的呼吸，没有在它的清晨醒来、在它的夜晚睡下。每个工作日的早晨，大概有40万男男女女，从地铁和隧道里挤出来，来到这片岛屿。他们中很少有人曾在公共图书馆安静的阅览室里，享受过一个悠闲的下午。图书馆运书的电梯（如同一部水车）不断地上上下下，把书运送到流动架上。他们在包厘街上帮人看管火炉，炉膛里的火苗在温度只有零度的冬夜里噼里啪啦地响。他们也可能在金融区中心工作，却从未见过洛克菲勒中心富丽堂皇的花卉树木。在那儿，一到风景优美的春天清晨，黄水仙、麝香兰属植物和白桦树都整理得整整齐齐的，还有各色旗帜迎风飘扬。他们也可能在市中心的办公室里工作，一年又一年，却从未见过防波堤外面的总督岛。这样的上班族只要离开人世，人生的日程表上会留有一串长长的印记，可他却不是一个流浪者。即便和那些饲养草原犬鼠的村民们相比，他的登场和谢幕离开要多几分曲折。他最终埋葬在东河河底的污泥里，变成一朵浪花静静地拍打着大桥。仅仅长岛铁路一家公司去年就运送了四千万这样的上班族，但其中很多是反复往来的人。书 包 网 txt小说上传分享
这里是纽约（3）
纽约的奇妙之处还在于，有时候城里的居民反而比匆忙的上班族走得更远。欧文·柏林当年从郊区东部的雪莉街来到市中心的一幢公寓，走的是一条普通的小路，两者间的距离不过三四英里，但他却如同绕地球走了三圈。
Here Is New York
Elwyn Brooks White
On any person who desires such queer1 prizes； New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy。 It is this largess that accounts for the presence within the city’s walls of a considerable section of the population； for the residents of Manhattan are to a large extent strangers who have pulled up stakes somewhere and e to town； seeking sanctuary or fulfillment or some greater or lesser grail。 The capacity to make such dubious gifts is a mysterious quality of New York。 It can destroy an individual； or it can fulfill him； depending a good deal on luck。 No one should e to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky。
New York is the concentrate2 of art and merce and sport and religion and entertainment and finance； bringing to a single pact arena the gladiator； the evangelist； the promoter； the actor； the trader； and the merchant。 It carries on its lapel the unexpungeable odor of the long past； so that no matter where you sit in New York you feel the vibrations of great times and tall deeds； of queer people and events and undertakings。 I am sitting at the moment in a stifling hotel room in 90…degree heat； halfway down an air shaft； in midtown。 No air moves in or out of the room； yet I am curiously affected by emanations from the immediate surroundings。 I am twenty…two blocks from where Rudolph Valentino lay in state； eight blocks from where Nathan Hale was executed； five blocks from the publisher’s office where Ernest Hemingway hit Max Eastman on the nose； four miles from where Walt Whitman sat sweating out editorials for the Brooklyn Eagle； thirty…four blocks from the street Willa Cather lived in when she came to New York to write books about Nebraska； one block from where Marceline used to clown on the boards of the Hippodrome； thirty…six blocks from the spot where the historian Joe Gould kicked a radio to pieces in full view of the public； thirteen blocks from where Harry Thaw shot Stanford Whites； five blocks from where I used to usher at the Metropolitan Opera and only 112 blocks from the spot where Clarence Day the elder was washed of his sins in the Church of the Epiphany （ I could continue this list indefinitely）； and for that matter I am probably occupying the very room that any number of exalted and somewise memorable characters sat in； some of them on hot； breathless afternoons； lonely and private and full of their own sense of emanations3 from without。
When I went down to lunch a few minutes ago I noticed that the man sitting next to me （about eighteen inches away along the wall） was Fred Stone。 The eighteen inches were both the connection and the separation that New York provides for its inhabitants。 My only connection with Fred Stone was that I saw him in The Wizard of Oz around the beginning of the century。 But our waiter felt the same stimulus from being close to a man from Oz； and after Mr。 Stone left the room the waiter told me that when he （the waiter） was a young man just arrived in this country and before he could understand a word of English； he had taken his girl for their first theater date to The Wizard of Oz。 It was a wonderful show； the waiter recalled—a man of straw； a man of tin。 Wonderful！（And still only eighteen inches away。 ） “Mr。 Stone is a very hearty eater。” said the waiter thoughtfully； content with this fragile participation in destiny； this link with Oz。。 最好的txt下载网
这里是纽约（4）
New York blends the gift of privacy with the excitement of participation； and better than most dense munities it succeeds in insulating the individual （if he wants it； and almost everybody wants or needs it） against all enormous4 and violent and wonderful events that are taking place every minute。 Since I have been sitting in this miasmic air shaft； a good many rather splashy events have occurred in town。 A man shot and killed his wife in a fit of jealousy。 It caused no stir outside his block and got only small mention in the papers。 I did not attend。 Since my arrival； the greatest air show ever staged in all the world took place in town。 I didn’t attend and neither did most of the eight million other inhabitants； although they say there was quite a crowd。 I didn’t even hear any planes except a couple of westbound mercial airliners that habitually use this air shaft to fly over。 The biggest oceangoing ships on the North Atlantic arrived and departed。 I didn’t notice them and neither did most other New Yorkers。 I am told this is the greatest seaport in the world； with 650 miles of waterfront； and ships calling here from many exotic lands； but the only boat I’ve happened to notice since my arrival was a small sloop tacking out of the East River night before last on the ebb tie when I was walking across the Brooklyn B