追風箏的人英文經典語錄彙總

導語：小說《追風箏的人》由第一人稱視角,講述了一個身在美國的阿富汗移民男孩童年的往事和他成人後對兒時過錯的心靈救贖過程。下面是本站小編收集整理的經典語錄，歡迎大家閱讀參考!

1.

That was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.

許多年過去了，人們說陳年舊事可以被埋葬，然而我終於明白這是錯的，因爲往事會自行爬上來。回首前塵，我意識到在過去二十六年裏，自己始終在窺視着那荒蕪的小徑。

2.

"For you, a thousand times over."

"爲你，千千萬萬遍。"

3.

"There is a way to be good again". I looked up at those twin kites. I thought about Hassan. Thought about Baba. Ali. Kabul. I thought of the life I had lived until the winter of 1975 came and changed everything. And made me what I am today.

"那兒有再次成爲好人的路。"我擡眼看看那比翼齊飛的風箏。我憶起哈桑。我緬懷爸爸。我想到阿里。我思念喀布爾。我想起曾經的生活，想起1975年那個改變了一切的冬天。那造就了今天的我。

4.

After the movie had started, I heard Hassan next to me, croaking. Tears were sliding down his cheeks. I reached across my seat, slung my arm around him, pulled him close. He rested his head on my shoulder. "He took you for someone else,?I whispered. "He took you for someone else.?

我在黑暗中聽到坐在身邊的哈桑低聲啜泣，看到眼淚從他臉頰掉下來。

我從座位上探過身去，用手臂環住他，把他拉近。他把臉埋在我的肩膀上。

“他認錯人了，”我低語，“他認錯人了。”

5.

With me as the glaring exception, my father molded the world around him to his liking. The problem, of course, was that Baba saw the world in black and white. And he got to decide what was black and what was white. You can't love a person who lives that way without fearing him too. Maybe even hating him a little.

父親隨心所欲地打造他身邊的世界，除了我這個明顯的例外。當然，問題在於，爸爸眼裏的世界只有黑和白。

至於什麼是黑，什麼是白，全然由他說了算。他就是這麼一個人，你若愛他，也必定會怕他，甚或對他有些恨意。

6.

"When you kill a man, you steal a life,“Baba said. "You steal his wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. ”

“當你殺害一個人，你偷走一條性命，”爸爸說，“你偷走他妻子身爲人婦的權利，奪走他子女的父親。當你說謊，你偷走別人知道真相的.權利。當你詐騙，你偷走公平的權利。”

7.

Rahim Khan laughed. "Children aren't coloring books. You don't get to fill them with your favorite colors.?

拉辛汗笑起來。“孩子又不是圖畫練習冊，你不能光顧着要塗上自己喜歡的色彩。”

8.

I heard the leather of Baba's seat creaking as he shifted on it. I closed my eyes, pressed my ear even harder against the door, wanting to hear, not wanting to hear.

我聽到爸爸挪動身子，皮椅吱吱作響。我合上雙眼，耳朵更加緊貼着門板，又想聽，又不想聽。

9.

"So he's not violent,"Rahim Khan said.

"That's not what I mean, Rahim, and you know it,"Baba shot back. "There is something missing in that boy."

"Yes, a mean streak."

"Self-defense has nothing to do with meanness. You know what always happens when the neighborhood boys tease him? Hassan steps in and fends them off. I've seen it with my own eyes. And when they come Home, I say to him, ‘How did Hassan get that scrape on his face?"And he says, ‘He fell down.‘I'm telling you, Rahim, there is something missing in that boy."

"You just need to let him find his way,"Rahim Khan said.

"And where is he headed??"Baba said. "A boy who won't stand up for himself becomes a man who can't stand up to anything.

"As usual you're oversimplifying."

"I don't think so."

“這說明他並不暴戾。”拉辛汗說。

“我不是這個意思，拉辛，你知道的。”爸爸朝他嚷着,“這孩子身上缺了某些東西。”

“是的，缺了卑劣的性格。”

“自我防衛跟卑劣毫不搭邊。你知道事情總是怎麼樣的嗎?每當那些鄰居的孩子欺負他，總是哈桑挺身而出，將他們擋回去。這是我親眼見到的。他們回家之後，我問他,‘哈桑臉上的傷痕是怎麼回事?’他說:‘他摔了一跤。’我跟你說，拉辛，這孩子身上缺了某些東西。”

“你只消讓他找到自己的路。”拉辛汗說。

“可是他要走去哪裏呢?”爸爸說，“一個不能保護自己的男孩，長大之後什麼東西都保護不了。”

“你總是將問題過度簡化了。”

“我認爲不是的。”

10.

The curious thing was, I never thought of Hassan and me as friends either. Not in the usual sense, anyhow. Never mind that we taught each other to ride a bicycle with no hands, or to build a fully functional Homemade camera out of a cardboard box. Never mind that we spent entire winters flying kites, running kites. Never mind that to me, the face of Afghanistan is that of a boy with a thin-boned frame, a shaved head, and low-set ears, a boy with a Chinese doll face perpetually lit by a harelipped smile.

Never mind any of those things. Because history isn't easy to overcome. Neither is religion. In the end, I was a Pashtun and he was a Hazara, I was Sunni and he was Shi'a, and nothing was ever going to change that. Nothing.

But we were kids who had learned to crawl together, and no history, ethnicity, society, or religion was going to change that either. I spent most of the first twelve years of my life playing with Hassan. Sometimes, my entire childhood seems like one long lazy summer day with Hassan,

奇怪的是，我也從來沒有認爲我與哈桑是朋友。無論如何，不是一般意義上的朋友。雖然我們彼此學習如何在騎自行車的時候放開雙手，或是用硬紙箱製成功能齊備的相機。雖然我們整個冬天一起放風箏、追風箏。雖然於我而言，阿富汗人的面孔就是那個男孩的容貌：骨架瘦小，理着平頭，耳朵長得較低，那中國娃娃似的臉，那永遠燃着微笑的兔脣。

無關乎這些事情，因爲歷史不會輕易改變，宗教也是。最終，我是普什圖人，他是哈扎拉人，我是遜尼派，他是什葉派，這些沒有什麼能改變得了。沒有。

但我們是一起蹣跚學步的孩子，這點也沒有任何歷史、種族、社會或者宗教能改變得了。十二歲以前，我大部分時間都在跟哈桑玩耍。有時候回想起來，我的整個童年，似乎就是和哈桑一起度過的某個懶洋洋的悠長夏日。

11.

But despite his illiteracy, or maybe because of it, Hassan was drawn to the mystery of words, seduced by a secret world forbidden to him.

We sat for hours under that tree, sat there until the sun faded in the west, and still Hassan insisted we had enough daylight for one more story, one more chapter.

但儘管他目不識丁，興許正因爲如此，哈桑對那些謎一樣的文字十分入迷，那個他無法接觸的世界深深吸引了他。

我們在樹下一坐就是幾個鐘頭，直到太陽在西邊黯淡下去，哈桑還會說，日光還足

夠亮堂，我們可以多念一個故事、多讀一章。

12.

I would always feel guilty about it later. So I'd try to make up for it by giving him one of my old shirts or a broken toy. I would tell myself that was amends enough for a harmless prank.

後來我總是對此心懷愧疚。所以我試着彌補，把舊襯衣或者破玩具送給他。我會告訴自己，對於一個無關緊要的玩笑來說，這樣的補償就足夠了。

13.

To him, the words on the page were a scramble of codes, indecipherable, mysterious. Words were secret doorways and I held all the keys.

對他而言，書頁上的文字無非是一些線條，神祕而不知所云。文字是扇祕密的門，鑰匙在我手裏。

14.

I probably stood there for under a minute, but, to this day, it was one of the longest minutes of my life. Seconds plodded by, each separated from the next by an eternity. Air grew heavy damp, almost solid. I was breathing bricks. Baba went on staring me down, and didn't offer to read.

也許我在那兒站了不到一分鐘，但時至今日，那依舊是我生命中最漫長的一分鐘。時間一秒一秒過去，而一秒與一秒之間，似乎隔着永恆。空氣變得沉悶，潮溼，甚至凝固，我呼吸艱難。爸爸繼續盯着我，絲毫沒有要看一看的意思。

15.

"if I may ask, why did the man kill his wife? In fact, why did he ever have to feel sad to shed tears? Couldn't he have just smelled an onion??

I was stunned. That particular point, so obvious it was utterly stupid, hadn't even occurred to me. I moved my lips soundlessly. It appeared that on the same night I had learned about one of writing's objectives, irony, I would also be introduced to one of its pitfalls: the Plot Hole. Taught by Hassan, of all people. Hassan who couldn't read and had never written a single word in his entire life. A voice, cold and dark, suddenly whispered in my ear, _What does he know, that illiterate Hazara? He'll never be anything but a cook. How dare he criticize you?_

"Well,?I began. But I never got to finish that sentence.

Because suddenly Afghanistan changed forever.

“如果讓我來問，那男人幹嗎殺了自己的老婆呢?實際上，爲什麼他必須感到悲傷才能掉眼淚呢?他不可以只是聞聞洋蔥嗎?”

我目瞪口呆。這個特別的問題，雖說它顯然太蠢了，但我從來沒有想到過，我無言地動動嘴脣。就在同一個夜晚，我學到了寫作的目標之一：諷刺;我還學到了寫作的陷阱之一：情節破綻。芸芸衆生中，惟獨哈桑教給我。這個目不識丁、不會寫字的哈桑。有個冰冷而陰暗的聲音在我耳邊響起：他懂得什麼，這個哈扎拉文盲?他一輩子只配在廚房裏打雜。他膽敢批評我?

“很好..”我開口說，卻無法說完那句話。

因爲突然之間，阿富汗一切都變了。