仿寫兩段The Great Gatsby，逗大家一樂

 

In my earlier and more feisty cyber days my teacher gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.

‘Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone’s writing’, he told me, ‘just remember that you haven’t had the advantage of reading 300 detective novels yet’.

He did say more afterwards but with my unusually short memory, and preoccupation with work and family, I forgot a great deal of other suggestions he has made in the forum. In consequence I am inclined to reserve all the books that I can get hold of, a habit that has opened up many curious tomes to me and also made me the victim of clutter at home. The credit card company is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a disorganized person, and so it came about that in August I was unjustly charged of a late fee of 25 dollars, because the bill was hidden under a thick, unknown book. Most of the late fees were unpaid—frequently I have called the customer service, feigned incompetence at speaking English, misunderstanding of the bill, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that the representative was strong-minded and wouldn’t refund me the charge—at which I could only request to talk to her/his supervisor and it turned out to be a usually short conversation marred by a mutual understanding what this was all about.

Reserving books is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing some bills if I forget them, as my teacher snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat， a sense of timeliness, organization and discipline is parcelled out unequally at birth.

原文：

 

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.

‘Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,’ he told me, ‘just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.’

He didn’t say any more but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions.

Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat， a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth。