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最后一片叶子：欧?亨利短篇小说选
上海译文出版社
出版日期：
(美)欧?亨利著
读者对象：
一般读者。
￥16.80&&&
立刻节省：￥7.20
所属分类：
苍穹一粟-银河帝国-15..
无声告白：就是她！征..
钢铁是怎样炼成的
布鲁克林有棵树
天使与魔鬼
华盛顿广场西面，有一个小区，街道像发了疯似的，分割成小小的长条，成为“小巷”。这些“小巷”相互构成奇特的角度和曲线。
作者很认真，但有些解读我不认同 阿困 | 懒小孩&&&&&日
从作者的选材过称可以看出来，黄源深读了原版欧亨利全集1300多页284篇所有欧亨利的作品，然后按不同的类型选出了30篇组成了这本精选集，的确，选材的用心良苦，而且角度也不同以往人云亦云的精选集。
从短文分类中的“探案推理小说”及“哲理象征小说”可看出作者对欧亨利的作品有独到的见解；从对《The Adventures of Shamrock Jolnes》一文的分析可看出作者对于欧亨利所处的历史文化环境有一定的了解；从对《The Gift of the Magi》一文的中文译法可以看出作者对英美语言及文化亦了...希望与奇迹 青依&&&&&日
很喜欢刘若英的一句话，因为相信所以可能。
树叶终会落，就如生命会终凋零一样。在命运的面前人真的如蝼蚁，只有婉从而已了！然后我们学会了将命运的选择寄于外物，从古代《上邪》中都有：“上邪，我欲与君相知，长命无绝衰。山无陵，江水为竭，冬雷震震，夏雨雪，天地合，乃敢与君绝！”这是一个坚强女子的选择，我们只能敬畏，而一个重病.对生命开始绝望的人，她选择将生命寄托在一片飘零的落叶，因为她知道，这片落叶将很快飘零，随之而去的还有她绝望而安然的灵魂，她似乎留恋的东...最後一片~子 sunshine ukain&&&&&日多年前偶然在一本超微型小fx集中,看^一篇美唐≌f作家W亨利(O. Henry)所的《最後一片~子》,深刻又感印Ｄ潜具x集所x的篇章的_出色,如日本作家星新一的《人造美人》,就是幽科技l展θ伺c人之g贤ǖ挠绊一大默,很有看^,看得^a。今次看@本W亨利短篇小fx,三十篇之中最深刻的是《最後一片~子》(The Last Leaf)。
《最後一片~子》是W亨利小f作品中的典之作,也是^有名獾,得很出色,看後o不感印３嗣@和著墨不拖泥水的L格外,人X得有中...没有一种谎言不令令人悲伤 不会游泳的猪&&&&&日
在小小说《最后一片叶子》中，一个画家为了不让身患绝症的女病人因树叶掉光而失去生命的希望，用自己的画来伪装树上最后一片叶子，最后给病人活下去的理由，使她战胜了病魔，而画家自己因为在外面画叶子偶感风寒死去了。这种故事适合录入《心灵鸡汤》这样的书籍之中，扶助旧困，奔走呼援确是人之常心，于危难中施以援手更是一种美德。这个故事之所以成为辩论会的主题，并能引人思考，无非两点：1.画家是通过谎言欺骗病人相信希望的存在 2.画家以自己生命的代价来证明女病人生命的价值。这...最后一片叶子 樱桃小玩子&&&&&日当生病的老人看到窗外那棵叶子日益凋零的大树，绝望的认为自己会和秋天的最后一片叶子离开人间，知情的画家用精心勾画的一片绿叶去装饰生命之树时，谁能说这不是世界上最有爱心的一片绿叶。。。有时，有很多故事，其实是就是谎言，但却美丽，是善良，是拯救。。。。。。以命换命 down_ing&&&&&日世人都为琼西的重生感到欢欣鼓舞，但是他们有没有注意到，这些可都是老贝尔门用自己的生命换会来的，这究竟是值得还是不值得？
以物易物，是交易中最为公平合理的，可是以命换命，却又另当别论了。
以牙还牙、以眼还眼，早已随着，埋葬在历史的尘土中，留给我们的只是对往事的追忆而已。
活下来的无论是年轻的琼西，还是苍老的贝尔门，都有其存在的价值与意义。善良的人们啊，请你在祝福琼西的新生的同时，为可怜的老贝尔门献上一束美丽的天堂鸟吧！经典小说 金和声&&&&&日20年前就曾拜读过欧亨利的这篇小说，印象颇佳，文笔不多，人物栩栩如生，富有人性与爱心。只记得当时书中对欧亨利小说的评价是囿于世界观的局限性，往往结局多借上帝之手使故事的结局得到圆满。现在读来，只有心底一丝暖暖在荡漾。文字是用来表达思想的，华丽辞藻的堆砌是不可能打动人心的，只有闪烁在其中的思想才是精华。...
呜拉巴哈.&&&&&日有z人用自己z利益兑换别人的痛苦.. 虚伪
这本书很有意义.
学好做人什么都可以去挣.
做人都不合格的.
还有什么资格去谈论利用.我的最后一片叶子 augustkun&&&&&日记得在初中的时候第一次读这本小说，印象十分之深刻，看完之后给我的感觉就是，生活的百态虽然是残酷的，但是人们在生活中的斗志依然没有丧失，以小生活，小市民的描写，勾画出了整个大世界的百态！善意的谎言~！ !聪~聪&&&&&日美国著名作家欧.亨利在《最后一片叶子》里讲述了一个善意的谎言的故事。当生病的老人望着凋零衰落的树叶而凄凉绝望的时候，充满爱心的画家用精心勾画出的一片绿叶去装饰那棵干枯的生命之树，从而维持一段即将熄灭的生命之光，这难道不是谎言的极致吗？
说谎本是不对的，尤其在大是大非面前，是对诚信的人格的亵渎。但是，善意的谎言有时候是必须的。
如果开诚公布直截了当是一种错误，我选择谎言。
如果真情告白坦率无忌是一种伤害，我选择谎言。
如果为了自己或他人不再痛苦不再忧伤，多一点善...
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&&&&&&&&&&&&最后一片叶子（套装上下册）
最后一片叶子（套装上下册）
京&东&价：
作　　者：
外文书名：The Last Leaf
出 版 社：
出版时间：
所属分类：
ＩＳＢＮ：7
字　　数：145354
正文语种：中英对照
版　　次：1
文件大小：0.45M
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&&　　 1. 欧?亨利总能让你体验到一种不容亵渎的绝对：爱、纯真、高贵、尊严、自由。
　　 2. 只有一种经典还不够：读英文，体会经典最完美的魅力。
　　 《最后一片叶子（上下册）》精选世界三大短篇小说家之一的欧?亨利各个时期、各种题材及反映各色人生境遇的二十余篇代表作，包括他享誉世界的成名之作，如《麦琪的礼物》《最后一片叶子》等。其作品构思新颖，语言诙谐，然而结尾常常出人意料，美国文学界称之为“欧?亨利式的结尾”。
　　 欧?亨利（），原名威廉?西德尼?波特（William Sydney Porter），美国小说家。
　　 石向骞（1965―），唐山师范学院中文系副教授。1998年主持翻译了国内首部《欧?亨利全集》。
“双璧文丛”编辑前言
最后一片叶子（上）
口哨狄克的圣诞袜
麦琪的礼物
巡捕与圣歌
黄狗回忆录
菜单上的春光
未完结的故事
配供家具的客房
心与十字架
索利托的健康女神
餐桌上的爱神
勉强的圣诞节
公主与美洲狮
女巫的面包
红酋长的赎金
最后一片叶子
失忆症患者逍遥记
普绪刻与摩天大楼
幽默家的自白
麦迪逊广场上的麻雀
精确的婚姻学
最后一片叶子（下）
Whistling Dick’s Christmas Stocking
The Gift Of The Magi
The Skylight Room
Man About Town
The Cop And The Anthem
An Adjustment Of Nature
Memoirs Of A Yellow Dog
The Love-Philtre Of Ikey Schoenstein
Springtime àLa Carte
An Unfinished Story
After Twenty Years
The Furnished Room
The Brief Début Of Tildy
Hearts And Crosses
Hygeia At The Solito
Cupid àLa Carte
The Caballero’s Way
Christmas By Injunction
The Princess And The Puma
A Retrieved Reformation
Witches’Loaves
The Ransom Of Red Chief
The Voice Of The City
The Last Leaf
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正在加载中，请稍候...美国作家欧·亨利在他的小说《最后一片叶子》里讲了个故事病房里,一个生命垂危的病..
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美国作家欧·亨利在他的小说《最后一片叶子》里讲了个故事病房里,一个生命垂危的病人从房间里看见窗外的一棵树,在秋风中一片片地掉落下来。
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3秒自动关闭窗口最后一片叶子英文原文
In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from M the other from California. They had met at the table d'h&te of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But J and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow."She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?""She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue."Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?""A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, there is nothing of the kind.""Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward."Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks."What is it, dear?" asked Sue."Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now.""Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie.""Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?""Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self.""You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too.""Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down.""Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly."I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves.""Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.""Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back."Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings."Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in the world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy.""She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet.""You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade."P I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.Wearily Sue obeyed.But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground."It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time.""Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.The ivy leaf was still there.Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove."I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."And hour later she said:"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left."Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. Ther but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all."And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all."I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."
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