Thử dịch những mẩu chuyện nhỏ các bạn ơi!!! Mục lục trang 1

bài lược dịch của Babyboom ngày 14/07/2003
Tình yêu
Ngày xưa, các vị thần Hạnh Phúc, Khổ Đau, Tình Yêu, Giàu Sang và nhiều vị khác nữa cùng sống chung trên một hoang đảo.Một hôm, cơn đại hồng thủy tràn đến và hòn đảo xinh đẹp sắp chìm trong biển nước. Tất cả các vị thần đều chuẩn bị thuyền để vượt biển vào đất liền lánh nạn. Riêng thần Tình yêu vì quá nghèo nên không có nổi một chiếc xuồng con để ra đi. Thần đành ngồi lặng im và chờ đợi đến giây phút cuối mới quyết định quá giang các vị thần khác.
Khi thần Giàu Sang đi qua, thần Tình Yêu liền nói:
- Anh mang tôi đi cùng nhé?- Không được đâu - thần Giàu Sang đáp
- Tôi có bao nhiêu là vàng bạc phải mang theo, sao còn chỗ nào cho bạn.
Rồi thần Phù Hoa đến trên một chiếc thuyền lộng lẫy?
- Chị Phù Hoa ơi, xin hãy? - thần Tình Yêu chưa dứt lời thì thần Phù Hoa đã nhăn mặt:
- Trông anh ướt sũng thế kia làm sao tôi có thể cho anh lên thuyền được. Anh sẽ làm bẩn thuyền tôi mất.
Cùng lúc đó thần Khổ Đau đến gần.
- Anh cho tôi đi với anh nhé.- Tôi bất hạnh và buồn chán quá! Tôi chỉ muốn ở một mình thôi.
Thần Hạnh Phúc đi ngang qua cũng thế. Ông ta hạnh phúc đến nỗi không nghe được tiếng kêu cứu của thần Tình Yêu.
Bỗng có giọng nói của một cụ già:
- Này Tình Yêu, tôi sẽ đưa anh vào đất liền .Thần Tình Yêu nghe thế liền chạy nhanh đến thuyền của cụ già.
Quá vui mừng vì thoát nạn, thần Tình Yêu quên hỏi tên cụ già tốt bụng. Khi tất cả các vị thần đến được đất liền, cụ già lẳng lặng bỏ đi mất. Khi đó, thần Tình Yêu mới sực nhớ đã quên cảm ơn người đã giúp mình thoát khỏI hiểm nguy, bèn quay sang hỏi thần Kiến Thức:
- Thưa ông, cụ già vừa giúp tôi khi nãy tên gì?
- Đó là thần Thời Gian.- Thần Thời Gian ư? Nhưng sao ông ta lại giúp tôi?
Thần Kiến thức mỉm cười đáp:
- Vì chỉ có Thời Gian mới hiểu được Tình Yêu vĩ đại như thế nào
babyboom chuyển vào 14:50 ngày 14/07/2003
MK3-A2

Kindnes and The sandpiper are wonderful stories. They''re good lessons and '' xuc do^ng '' ( do u know what''s that word in Eng) ! I hope that wil have many stories that so that I can try to translate and improve my English. I''''ll wait for your next story. But please give short stories. I''''m not a patient person [/font=VNI-Times]
Được sakuralovely sửa chữa / chuyển vào 19:16 ngày 07/08/2003

Kindnes and The sandpiper are wonderful stories. They''re good lessons and '' xuc do^ng '' ( do u know what''s that word in Eng) ! I hope that wil have many stories that so that I can try to translate and improve my English. I''''ll wait for your next story. But please give short stories. I''''m not a patient person [/font=VNI-Times]
Được sakuralovely sửa chữa / chuyển vào 19:16 ngày 07/08/2003

I can''t believe that I just ate a scorpion.
My name is Dan and I have been a vegetarian for five months now. I quit eating meat in December of last year (just after turkey day; I love turkey) and have not eaten meat since then. I would like to say that I enjoyed the experience of eating a poisonous, deadly insect and that it was life changing, but no. I did not enjoy it and I will never do it again.
It all started when Jeff, a co-worker, and I were going out to lunch and saw a candy store on our way. Jeff said, "Hey, that is where you can get candy coated bugs." "Do you want to eat bugs for lunch?" I asked. "We''ll see." said he.
As we were walking back to the office, we decided to go for it. I chose an amber candy-covered scorpion and Jeff picked a couple of chocolate-covered crickets and larvaes. I was already thinking that I couldn''t do this. We arrived at the office and began to eat our "normal" lunches. Upon finishing, we looked at each other with terror and said simultaneously: "Well???"
As we were setting up, the next question arose: Who will go first? The butterflies in my belly began to flutter so hard you could see them. I was terrified. All I could think about was that I should have chosen crickets too. What was I thinking? Why did I buy a scorpion? I could have picked a mealworm, or a cricket. Why oh why did I choose a scorpion? I just wanted to get it over with. "I''ll go first" I said and sat down in front of my enemy. I played with scorpion for a while. I just couldn''t bring myself to put him in my mouth. I broke him in half thinking that this would make things easier. It didn''t end up helping.
I could taste nothing except the toffee but boy oh boy, I could feel him. He swooshed around in my mouth and I thought I was going to throw up. After a minute of crunching, mashing, and chewing, I offered to trade my other half of scorpio for a cricket and a larva. No deal was the word from Jeff and so down the other half went. This one was bigger and I could really feel him. I began to picture him running around my mouth and I almost barfed. A leg or maybe a pincer got stuck between my teeth. With some water and a lot of guts, it disapeared from my mouth and so far, I am alive. I will surely update you with more information if my health begins to decline. My conclusions are simple. Learn from others mistakes. Do not go and waste money on a bug just to get sick like I feel right now. If you need to experience something first hand, then go hard or go home. Buy a scorpion, not a cricket. Prove to yourself that you aren''t afraid and swallow that bug!
Final thoughts: What is the last thing that goes through a bugs mind before he/she hits your windshield? Their butts.
Hey everyone, Jeff here, the crickets weren''t any better.
-------------
Tôi không ngờ là mình đã ăn một con bọ cạp.
Tôi tên Dan, năm tháng nay tôi ăn chay. Tôi bỏ thịt từ tháng 12 năm ngoái (ngay sau ngày Gà Tây, tôi thích gà tây) và sau đó tôi không ăn thịt nữa. Tôi muốn nói được nói là tôi hứng thú trong việc ăn một con côn trùng độc, chết người, đời tôi đã thay đổi hòan tòan. Nhưng không, tôi không thích và sẽ không bao giờ làm chuyện đó nữa.
Sự việc xảy ra khi Jeff, bạn đồng nghiệp, và tôi đi ăn trưa đi ngang 1 tiệm kẹo. Jeff bảo,"đấy là nơi bán sâu bọc kẹo." "Anh muốn ăn trưa bằng sâu hả?" tôi hỏi. "Để xem" Jeff trả lời.
Khi chúng tôi qua về, chúng tôi quyết định vào đấy. Tôi chọn 1 con bọ cạp bọc kẹo màu hổ phách, Jeff nhặt vài con dế và nhộng bọc chocolat. Tôi đã tự nhủ là mình không thể "ăn cái ấy". Chúng tôi về văn phòng và ăn bữa trưa "thường". Ăn xong, chúng tôi kinh hãi nhìn nhau, đồng thanh "làm sao?"
Khi chúng tôi chuẩn bị, câu hỏi mới nẩy ra là ai bắt đầu ăn trước. **** trong bụng tôi bắt đầu vẫy cánh mạnh đến nỗi bạn cũng có thể thấy chúng. Tôi hỏang hốt. Tôi chỉ có thể nghĩ rằng đáng lẽ mình cũng nên chọn dế mới đúng. Chẳng biết tôi đã nghĩ cái gì là mua con bọ cạp. Tôi có thể chọn giun hoặc dế. "Tôi ăn trước" và tôi ngồi xuống trước kẻ thù của mình. Tôi nghịch nó một chốc, tôi không thể nào cho nó vào mồm. Tôi bẻ nó ra làm đôi, nghĩ rằng mọi việc sẽ dễ dàng hơn. Tôi đã lầm.
Tôi chỉ thấy vị kẹo nhưng ôi giờ ôi tôi cảm thấy nó. Nó đảo lộn trong miệng tôi và tôi cảm thấy buồn nôn.
Sau 1 phút giòn tan, nghiền nát và nhai, tôi đề nghị đổi nửa còn lại lấy 1 con dế và con nhộng. Không chơi thế, Jeff bảo, và nửa kia phải vào mồm. Phần này to hơn và tôi cảm thấy thật sự con vật ấy. Tôi hình dung nó đang chạy trong miệng tôi và tôi muốn mửa. Một cái chân hoặc cái càng mắc vào răng tôi. Tí nước và nhờ sự dũng cảm của tôi, nó biến mất và nãy giờ tôi vẫn chưa chết. Tôi sẽ bào cho quí vị biết nếu tình hình sức khoẻ tôi sút kém đi. Kết luận đơn giản. Lỗi lầm làm mình khôn hơn. Đừng phí tiền mua con bọ để nó làm mình phát ốm như tôi bây giờ. Nếu muốn thử cái gì đó lần đầu, đi tới chốn hoặc đi về nhà. Mua con bọ cạp, không phải con dế. Chứng tỏ mình không sợ và nuốt con bọ đó!
Ý nghĩ cuối: Con bọ nó nghĩ gì lúc cuối khi nó va vào kính chắn gió xe bạn? Cái mông của nó.
Ê mọi người ơi. Jeff đây này, dế cũng chẳng ngon hơn tí nào.

I can''t believe that I just ate a scorpion.
My name is Dan and I have been a vegetarian for five months now. I quit eating meat in December of last year (just after turkey day; I love turkey) and have not eaten meat since then. I would like to say that I enjoyed the experience of eating a poisonous, deadly insect and that it was life changing, but no. I did not enjoy it and I will never do it again.
It all started when Jeff, a co-worker, and I were going out to lunch and saw a candy store on our way. Jeff said, "Hey, that is where you can get candy coated bugs." "Do you want to eat bugs for lunch?" I asked. "We''ll see." said he.
As we were walking back to the office, we decided to go for it. I chose an amber candy-covered scorpion and Jeff picked a couple of chocolate-covered crickets and larvaes. I was already thinking that I couldn''t do this. We arrived at the office and began to eat our "normal" lunches. Upon finishing, we looked at each other with terror and said simultaneously: "Well???"
As we were setting up, the next question arose: Who will go first? The butterflies in my belly began to flutter so hard you could see them. I was terrified. All I could think about was that I should have chosen crickets too. What was I thinking? Why did I buy a scorpion? I could have picked a mealworm, or a cricket. Why oh why did I choose a scorpion? I just wanted to get it over with. "I''ll go first" I said and sat down in front of my enemy. I played with scorpion for a while. I just couldn''t bring myself to put him in my mouth. I broke him in half thinking that this would make things easier. It didn''t end up helping.
I could taste nothing except the toffee but boy oh boy, I could feel him. He swooshed around in my mouth and I thought I was going to throw up. After a minute of crunching, mashing, and chewing, I offered to trade my other half of scorpio for a cricket and a larva. No deal was the word from Jeff and so down the other half went. This one was bigger and I could really feel him. I began to picture him running around my mouth and I almost barfed. A leg or maybe a pincer got stuck between my teeth. With some water and a lot of guts, it disapeared from my mouth and so far, I am alive. I will surely update you with more information if my health begins to decline. My conclusions are simple. Learn from others mistakes. Do not go and waste money on a bug just to get sick like I feel right now. If you need to experience something first hand, then go hard or go home. Buy a scorpion, not a cricket. Prove to yourself that you aren''t afraid and swallow that bug!
Final thoughts: What is the last thing that goes through a bugs mind before he/she hits your windshield? Their butts.
Hey everyone, Jeff here, the crickets weren''t any better.
-------------
Tôi không ngờ là mình đã ăn một con bọ cạp.
Tôi tên Dan, năm tháng nay tôi ăn chay. Tôi bỏ thịt từ tháng 12 năm ngoái (ngay sau ngày Gà Tây, tôi thích gà tây) và sau đó tôi không ăn thịt nữa. Tôi muốn nói được nói là tôi hứng thú trong việc ăn một con côn trùng độc, chết người, đời tôi đã thay đổi hòan tòan. Nhưng không, tôi không thích và sẽ không bao giờ làm chuyện đó nữa.
Sự việc xảy ra khi Jeff, bạn đồng nghiệp, và tôi đi ăn trưa đi ngang 1 tiệm kẹo. Jeff bảo,"đấy là nơi bán sâu bọc kẹo." "Anh muốn ăn trưa bằng sâu hả?" tôi hỏi. "Để xem" Jeff trả lời.
Khi chúng tôi qua về, chúng tôi quyết định vào đấy. Tôi chọn 1 con bọ cạp bọc kẹo màu hổ phách, Jeff nhặt vài con dế và nhộng bọc chocolat. Tôi đã tự nhủ là mình không thể "ăn cái ấy". Chúng tôi về văn phòng và ăn bữa trưa "thường". Ăn xong, chúng tôi kinh hãi nhìn nhau, đồng thanh "làm sao?"
Khi chúng tôi chuẩn bị, câu hỏi mới nẩy ra là ai bắt đầu ăn trước. **** trong bụng tôi bắt đầu vẫy cánh mạnh đến nỗi bạn cũng có thể thấy chúng. Tôi hỏang hốt. Tôi chỉ có thể nghĩ rằng đáng lẽ mình cũng nên chọn dế mới đúng. Chẳng biết tôi đã nghĩ cái gì là mua con bọ cạp. Tôi có thể chọn giun hoặc dế. "Tôi ăn trước" và tôi ngồi xuống trước kẻ thù của mình. Tôi nghịch nó một chốc, tôi không thể nào cho nó vào mồm. Tôi bẻ nó ra làm đôi, nghĩ rằng mọi việc sẽ dễ dàng hơn. Tôi đã lầm.
Tôi chỉ thấy vị kẹo nhưng ôi giờ ôi tôi cảm thấy nó. Nó đảo lộn trong miệng tôi và tôi cảm thấy buồn nôn.
Sau 1 phút giòn tan, nghiền nát và nhai, tôi đề nghị đổi nửa còn lại lấy 1 con dế và con nhộng. Không chơi thế, Jeff bảo, và nửa kia phải vào mồm. Phần này to hơn và tôi cảm thấy thật sự con vật ấy. Tôi hình dung nó đang chạy trong miệng tôi và tôi muốn mửa. Một cái chân hoặc cái càng mắc vào răng tôi. Tí nước và nhờ sự dũng cảm của tôi, nó biến mất và nãy giờ tôi vẫn chưa chết. Tôi sẽ bào cho quí vị biết nếu tình hình sức khoẻ tôi sút kém đi. Kết luận đơn giản. Lỗi lầm làm mình khôn hơn. Đừng phí tiền mua con bọ để nó làm mình phát ốm như tôi bây giờ. Nếu muốn thử cái gì đó lần đầu, đi tới chốn hoặc đi về nhà. Mua con bọ cạp, không phải con dế. Chứng tỏ mình không sợ và nuốt con bọ đó!
Ý nghĩ cuối: Con bọ nó nghĩ gì lúc cuối khi nó va vào kính chắn gió xe bạn? Cái mông của nó.
Ê mọi người ơi. Jeff đây này, dế cũng chẳng ngon hơn tí nào.

Có cái này hay hay, các bạn dịch nhé,
Springtime a la Carte
O?T Henry
It was a day in March
Never, never begin a story this way when you write one. No opening could possible be worse. It is unimaginative, flat, dry and likely to consist of mere wind. But in this instance it is allowable. For the following paragraph, which should have inaugurated the narrative, is too wildly extravagant and preposterous to be flaunted in the face of the reader without preparation.
Sarah was crying over her bill of fare.
Think of a New York girl shedding tears on the menu card.
To account for this, you will be allowed to guess that the lobsters were all out, or that she had sworn ice cream off during Lent, or that she had ordered onions, or that she had just come from a Hackett matinee. And then, all these theories being wrong, you will please let the story proceed.
The gentleman who announced that the world was an oyster which he with his sword would open made a larger hit than he deserved. It is not difficult to open an oyster with a sword. But did you ever notice any one try to open the terrestrial bivalve with a typewriter? Like to wait for a dozen raw open that way?
Sarah had managed to pry apart the shells with her unhandy weapon far enough to nibble a wee bit at the cold and clammy world within. She knew no more short hand than if she had been a graduate in stenography just let slip upon the world by a business college. So, not being able to stenog, she could not enter that bright galaxy of office talent. She was a free- lance typist and canvassed for odd jobs of copying.
The most brilliant and crowning feat of Sarah?Ts battle with the world was the deal she made with Schulenberg?Ts Home Restaurant. The restaurant was next door to the old red brick in with she hall-roomed. One evening after dining at Schulenberg?Ts 40 cents, five course table d?Thote (serve as fast as you throw the five baseballs at the colored gentleman?Ts head), Sarah took away with her the bill of fare. It was written in an almost unreadable script neither English nor German, and so arranged that if you were not careful you began with a toothpick and rice pudding and ended with soup and the next day of the week.
The next day Sarah showed Schulenberg a neat card on which the menu was beautifully typewritten with the viands temptingly marshalled under their right and proper heads from ?ohors d?Tceuvre? to ?onot responsible for over coats and umbrellas.?
Schulenberg became a naturalized citizen on the spot. Before Sarah left him she had him willingly committed to an agreement. She was to furnish typewritten bill of fare for the twenty-one tables in the restaurant ?" a new bill for each day?Ts dinner, and the new ones for breakfast and lunch as often as changes occurred in the good or at neatness required.
In return for this, Schulenberg was to send three meals per diem to Sarah?Ts hall room by a waiter- an obsequious on if possible- and furnish her each afternoon with a pencil draft of what Fate had in store for Schulenberg ?~s customers on the morrow.
Mutual satisfaction resulted from the agreement. Schulenberg?Ts patron now knew what the food they ate was called even if its nature sometimes puzzled them. And Sarah had food during a cold, dull winter, which was the main thing with her.
And then the almanac lied, and said that spring had come. Spring comes when it comes. The frozen snows of January still lay like adamant in the cross-town streets. The hand-organs still played ?oIn the Good Old Summertime,? with their December vivacity and _expression. Men began to make thirty-day notes to buy Easter dresses. Janitors shut off steam. And when these things happen one may know that the city is still in the clutches of winter.
One afternoon Sarah shivered in her elegant hall bedroom; ?ohouse heated; scrupulously clean; conveniences; seen to be appreciated.? She had no work to do except Schulenberg?Ts menu cards. Sarah sat in her squeaky willow rocker, and looked out the window. The calendar on the wall kept crying to her: ?o Springtime is here, Sarah- springtime is here, I tell you. Look at me Sarah, my figures show it. You?Tve got a near figure yourself, Sarah ?"a- nice springtime figure- why do you look out the window so sadly??
Sarah?Ts room was at the back of the house. Looking out the window she could see the windowless rear brick wall of the box factory on the next street. But the wall was clearest crystal and Sarah was looking down a grassy lane shaded with cherry trees and elms and bordered with raspberry bushes and Cherokee roses.
Spring?Ts real harbingers are too subtle for the eye and ear. Some must have the flowering crocus, the wood-starring dogwood, the voice of bluebird- even so gross a reminder as the farewell handshake of the retiring buckwheat and oyster before they can welcome the Lady in Green to their dull bosoms. But to old earth?Ts choicest kind there come straight, sweet messages from his newest bride, telling them they shall be no stepchildren unless they choose to be.
On the previous summer, Sarah had gone into the country and loved a farmer.
(In writing your story never hark back thus. It is bad art, and cripples interest. Let it march, march.)
Sarah stayed two weeks at Sunnybrook Farm. There she learned to love old Farmer Franklin?Ts son Walter. Farmers have been loved and wedded and turn out to grass in less time. But young Walter Franklin was a modern agriculturist. He had telephone in his cow house, and he could figure up exactly what effect next year?Ts Canada wheat crop would have on potatoes planted in the dark of the moon.
It was in this shaded and rasperried lane that Walter had wooed and won her. And together they had sat and woven a crown of dandelions for her hair. He had immoderately praised the effect of the yellow blossoms against her brown tresses; and she had left the chaplet there, and walked back to the house swinging her straw sailor in her hands.
They were to marry in spring- at the very first signs of spring, Walter said. And Sarah came back to the city to pound her typewriter.
A knock at the door dispelled Sarah?Ts visions of that happy day. A waiter had brought the rough pencil draft of the Home Restaurant?Ts next day fare in old Schulenberg?Ts angular hand.
Sarah sat down to her typewriter and slipped a card between the rollers. She was a nimble worker. Generally in an hour and a half the twenty-one menu cards were written and ready.
Today there were more changes on the bill of fare than usual. The soups were lighter; pork was eliminated from the entrees, figuring only with Russian turnips among the roasts. The gracious spirit of spring pervaded the entire menu. Lamp, that lately capered on the greening hillsides, was diminuendo con amore. The frying-pan seemed to be held, inactive, behind the beneficent bars of the broiler. The pie list swelled; the richer puddings had vanished; the sausage, with his drapery wrapped about him, barely lingered in a pleasant thanatopsis with the buckwheats and the seat but doomed maple.
Sarah?Ts fingers danced like midgets above a summer stream. Down through the courses she worked, giving each item its position according to its length with an accurate eye.
Just above the desserts came the list of vegetable. Carrots and peas, asparagus on toast, the perennial tomatoes and corn and succotash, lima beans, cabbage ?"and then?"
Sarah was crying over her bill of fare. Tears from the depth of some divine despair rose in her heart and gathered to her eyes. Down went her head on the little typewriter stand; and the keyboard rattled a dry accompaniment to her moist sobs.
For she had received no letter from Walter in two weeks, and the next item on the bill of fare was dandelions- dandelions with some kind of egg- but bother the egg!- dandelions, with whose golden blooms Walter had crowned her his queen of love and future bride- dandelions, the harbingers of spring, her sorrow?Ts crown of sorrow- reminder of her happiest days.
Madam, I dare you to smile until you suffer this test: Let the Marechal Niel roses that Percy bought you on the night you gave him your heart be served as a salad with French dressing before your eyes at a Schulenverg?Ts table d?Thote. Had Juliet so seen her love tokens dishonored the sooner would she have sought the lethean herbs of the good apothecary.
But with witch is Spring! Into the great cold city of stone and iron a message had to be sent. There was none to convey it but the little hardy courier of the fields in his rough green coat and modest air. He is a true soldier of fortune, this dent-de-lion- this lion?Ts tooth, as the French chief call him. Flowered, he will assist at love- making, wreathed in my lady?Ts nut-brown hair; young and callow and unblossomed, he goes into the boiling pot and delivers the world of his sovereign mistress.
By and by Sarah forced back her tears. The cards must be written. But, still in a faint, golden glow from her dandelion dream, she figured the typewriter keys absently for a little while, with her mind and heart in the meadow lane with her young farmer. But soon she cam swiftly back to the round-bound lanes of Manhattan, and the typewriter began to rattle and jump like a strike-breaker?Ts motor car.
At 6 o?Tclock the waiter bought her dinner and carried away the typewritten bill of fare. When Sarah ate she set aside, with a sign, the dish of dandelion with its crowning ovarious accompaniment. As this dark mass had been transformed from a bright a love- indorsed flower to be an ignominious vegetable, so had her summer hopes wilted and perished. Love may, as Shakespeare said, feed on itself: but Sarah could not bring herself to eat the dandelions that had graced, as ornaments, the first spiritual banquet of her heart?Ts true affection.
At 7:30 the couple in the next room began to quarrel; the man in the room above sought for A on his flute; the gas went a little lower; three coal wagons started to unload- the only sound of which the phonograph is jealous; cats on the back fences slowly retreated toward Mukden. By these signs Sarah knew that it was the time for her to read. She got out ?oThe Cloister and the Heart,? the best non- selling book of the month. Settle her feet on her trunk, and began to wander with Gerard.
The front door bell rang. The landlady answered it. Sarah left Gerard and Denys tree by a bear and listen. Oh, yes; you would, just as she did.
And then a strong voice was heard in the hall below, and Sarah jumped for her door, leaving the book on the floor and the first round easily the bear?Ts.
You have guessed it. She reached the top of the stairs just as her farmer came up, three at a jump, and reaped and garnered her, with nothing left for the gleaner.
?o Why haven?Tt you written- oh, why??T- cried Sarah.
?oNew York is a pretty large town,? said Walter Franklin. ?o I came in a week ago to your old address. I found that you went away on a Thursday. That consoled some; it eliminated the possible Friday bad luck. But it didn?Tt prevent my hunting for you with police and otherwise ever since.?
?o I wrote!? said Sarah, vehemently.
?o Never got it!?
?o Then how did you find me??
The young farmer smiled a springtime smile.
?o I dropped into that Home Restaurant next door this evening,? said he. ?o I don?Tt care who knows it; I like a dish of some kind of greens at this time of the year. I ran my eyes down that nice typewritten bill of fare looking for something in that line. When I got below cabbage I turned my chair over and hollered for the proprietor. He told me where you lived.?
?o I remember,? signed Sarah, happily. ?oThat was dandelion below cabbage.?
?o I?Td know that cranky capital W?T way above the line at your typewritten makes anywhere in the world,? said Franklin.
?o Why, there is no W in dandelion,? said Sarah in surprise.
The young man drew the bill of fare from his pocket and pointed to a line.
Sarah recognized the first card she had typewritten that afternoon. There was still the rayed splotch in the upper right-hand corner where a tear had fallen. But over the spot where one should have read the name of the meadow plant, the clinging memory of the golden blossoms had allowed her fingers to strike strange keys.
Between the red cabbage and the stuffed green peppers was the item:
?o DEAREST WALTER, WITH HANDED-BOILED EGG.?

Có cái này hay hay, các bạn dịch nhé,
Springtime a la Carte
O?T Henry
It was a day in March
Never, never begin a story this way when you write one. No opening could possible be worse. It is unimaginative, flat, dry and likely to consist of mere wind. But in this instance it is allowable. For the following paragraph, which should have inaugurated the narrative, is too wildly extravagant and preposterous to be flaunted in the face of the reader without preparation.
Sarah was crying over her bill of fare.
Think of a New York girl shedding tears on the menu card.
To account for this, you will be allowed to guess that the lobsters were all out, or that she had sworn ice cream off during Lent, or that she had ordered onions, or that she had just come from a Hackett matinee. And then, all these theories being wrong, you will please let the story proceed.
The gentleman who announced that the world was an oyster which he with his sword would open made a larger hit than he deserved. It is not difficult to open an oyster with a sword. But did you ever notice any one try to open the terrestrial bivalve with a typewriter? Like to wait for a dozen raw open that way?
Sarah had managed to pry apart the shells with her unhandy weapon far enough to nibble a wee bit at the cold and clammy world within. She knew no more short hand than if she had been a graduate in stenography just let slip upon the world by a business college. So, not being able to stenog, she could not enter that bright galaxy of office talent. She was a free- lance typist and canvassed for odd jobs of copying.
The most brilliant and crowning feat of Sarah?Ts battle with the world was the deal she made with Schulenberg?Ts Home Restaurant. The restaurant was next door to the old red brick in with she hall-roomed. One evening after dining at Schulenberg?Ts 40 cents, five course table d?Thote (serve as fast as you throw the five baseballs at the colored gentleman?Ts head), Sarah took away with her the bill of fare. It was written in an almost unreadable script neither English nor German, and so arranged that if you were not careful you began with a toothpick and rice pudding and ended with soup and the next day of the week.
The next day Sarah showed Schulenberg a neat card on which the menu was beautifully typewritten with the viands temptingly marshalled under their right and proper heads from ?ohors d?Tceuvre? to ?onot responsible for over coats and umbrellas.?
Schulenberg became a naturalized citizen on the spot. Before Sarah left him she had him willingly committed to an agreement. She was to furnish typewritten bill of fare for the twenty-one tables in the restaurant ?" a new bill for each day?Ts dinner, and the new ones for breakfast and lunch as often as changes occurred in the good or at neatness required.
In return for this, Schulenberg was to send three meals per diem to Sarah?Ts hall room by a waiter- an obsequious on if possible- and furnish her each afternoon with a pencil draft of what Fate had in store for Schulenberg ?~s customers on the morrow.
Mutual satisfaction resulted from the agreement. Schulenberg?Ts patron now knew what the food they ate was called even if its nature sometimes puzzled them. And Sarah had food during a cold, dull winter, which was the main thing with her.
And then the almanac lied, and said that spring had come. Spring comes when it comes. The frozen snows of January still lay like adamant in the cross-town streets. The hand-organs still played ?oIn the Good Old Summertime,? with their December vivacity and _expression. Men began to make thirty-day notes to buy Easter dresses. Janitors shut off steam. And when these things happen one may know that the city is still in the clutches of winter.
One afternoon Sarah shivered in her elegant hall bedroom; ?ohouse heated; scrupulously clean; conveniences; seen to be appreciated.? She had no work to do except Schulenberg?Ts menu cards. Sarah sat in her squeaky willow rocker, and looked out the window. The calendar on the wall kept crying to her: ?o Springtime is here, Sarah- springtime is here, I tell you. Look at me Sarah, my figures show it. You?Tve got a near figure yourself, Sarah ?"a- nice springtime figure- why do you look out the window so sadly??
Sarah?Ts room was at the back of the house. Looking out the window she could see the windowless rear brick wall of the box factory on the next street. But the wall was clearest crystal and Sarah was looking down a grassy lane shaded with cherry trees and elms and bordered with raspberry bushes and Cherokee roses.
Spring?Ts real harbingers are too subtle for the eye and ear. Some must have the flowering crocus, the wood-starring dogwood, the voice of bluebird- even so gross a reminder as the farewell handshake of the retiring buckwheat and oyster before they can welcome the Lady in Green to their dull bosoms. But to old earth?Ts choicest kind there come straight, sweet messages from his newest bride, telling them they shall be no stepchildren unless they choose to be.
On the previous summer, Sarah had gone into the country and loved a farmer.
(In writing your story never hark back thus. It is bad art, and cripples interest. Let it march, march.)
Sarah stayed two weeks at Sunnybrook Farm. There she learned to love old Farmer Franklin?Ts son Walter. Farmers have been loved and wedded and turn out to grass in less time. But young Walter Franklin was a modern agriculturist. He had telephone in his cow house, and he could figure up exactly what effect next year?Ts Canada wheat crop would have on potatoes planted in the dark of the moon.
It was in this shaded and rasperried lane that Walter had wooed and won her. And together they had sat and woven a crown of dandelions for her hair. He had immoderately praised the effect of the yellow blossoms against her brown tresses; and she had left the chaplet there, and walked back to the house swinging her straw sailor in her hands.
They were to marry in spring- at the very first signs of spring, Walter said. And Sarah came back to the city to pound her typewriter.
A knock at the door dispelled Sarah?Ts visions of that happy day. A waiter had brought the rough pencil draft of the Home Restaurant?Ts next day fare in old Schulenberg?Ts angular hand.
Sarah sat down to her typewriter and slipped a card between the rollers. She was a nimble worker. Generally in an hour and a half the twenty-one menu cards were written and ready.
Today there were more changes on the bill of fare than usual. The soups were lighter; pork was eliminated from the entrees, figuring only with Russian turnips among the roasts. The gracious spirit of spring pervaded the entire menu. Lamp, that lately capered on the greening hillsides, was diminuendo con amore. The frying-pan seemed to be held, inactive, behind the beneficent bars of the broiler. The pie list swelled; the richer puddings had vanished; the sausage, with his drapery wrapped about him, barely lingered in a pleasant thanatopsis with the buckwheats and the seat but doomed maple.
Sarah?Ts fingers danced like midgets above a summer stream. Down through the courses she worked, giving each item its position according to its length with an accurate eye.
Just above the desserts came the list of vegetable. Carrots and peas, asparagus on toast, the perennial tomatoes and corn and succotash, lima beans, cabbage ?"and then?"
Sarah was crying over her bill of fare. Tears from the depth of some divine despair rose in her heart and gathered to her eyes. Down went her head on the little typewriter stand; and the keyboard rattled a dry accompaniment to her moist sobs.
For she had received no letter from Walter in two weeks, and the next item on the bill of fare was dandelions- dandelions with some kind of egg- but bother the egg!- dandelions, with whose golden blooms Walter had crowned her his queen of love and future bride- dandelions, the harbingers of spring, her sorrow?Ts crown of sorrow- reminder of her happiest days.
Madam, I dare you to smile until you suffer this test: Let the Marechal Niel roses that Percy bought you on the night you gave him your heart be served as a salad with French dressing before your eyes at a Schulenverg?Ts table d?Thote. Had Juliet so seen her love tokens dishonored the sooner would she have sought the lethean herbs of the good apothecary.
But with witch is Spring! Into the great cold city of stone and iron a message had to be sent. There was none to convey it but the little hardy courier of the fields in his rough green coat and modest air. He is a true soldier of fortune, this dent-de-lion- this lion?Ts tooth, as the French chief call him. Flowered, he will assist at love- making, wreathed in my lady?Ts nut-brown hair; young and callow and unblossomed, he goes into the boiling pot and delivers the world of his sovereign mistress.
By and by Sarah forced back her tears. The cards must be written. But, still in a faint, golden glow from her dandelion dream, she figured the typewriter keys absently for a little while, with her mind and heart in the meadow lane with her young farmer. But soon she cam swiftly back to the round-bound lanes of Manhattan, and the typewriter began to rattle and jump like a strike-breaker?Ts motor car.
At 6 o?Tclock the waiter bought her dinner and carried away the typewritten bill of fare. When Sarah ate she set aside, with a sign, the dish of dandelion with its crowning ovarious accompaniment. As this dark mass had been transformed from a bright a love- indorsed flower to be an ignominious vegetable, so had her summer hopes wilted and perished. Love may, as Shakespeare said, feed on itself: but Sarah could not bring herself to eat the dandelions that had graced, as ornaments, the first spiritual banquet of her heart?Ts true affection.
At 7:30 the couple in the next room began to quarrel; the man in the room above sought for A on his flute; the gas went a little lower; three coal wagons started to unload- the only sound of which the phonograph is jealous; cats on the back fences slowly retreated toward Mukden. By these signs Sarah knew that it was the time for her to read. She got out ?oThe Cloister and the Heart,? the best non- selling book of the month. Settle her feet on her trunk, and began to wander with Gerard.
The front door bell rang. The landlady answered it. Sarah left Gerard and Denys tree by a bear and listen. Oh, yes; you would, just as she did.
And then a strong voice was heard in the hall below, and Sarah jumped for her door, leaving the book on the floor and the first round easily the bear?Ts.
You have guessed it. She reached the top of the stairs just as her farmer came up, three at a jump, and reaped and garnered her, with nothing left for the gleaner.
?o Why haven?Tt you written- oh, why??T- cried Sarah.
?oNew York is a pretty large town,? said Walter Franklin. ?o I came in a week ago to your old address. I found that you went away on a Thursday. That consoled some; it eliminated the possible Friday bad luck. But it didn?Tt prevent my hunting for you with police and otherwise ever since.?
?o I wrote!? said Sarah, vehemently.
?o Never got it!?
?o Then how did you find me??
The young farmer smiled a springtime smile.
?o I dropped into that Home Restaurant next door this evening,? said he. ?o I don?Tt care who knows it; I like a dish of some kind of greens at this time of the year. I ran my eyes down that nice typewritten bill of fare looking for something in that line. When I got below cabbage I turned my chair over and hollered for the proprietor. He told me where you lived.?
?o I remember,? signed Sarah, happily. ?oThat was dandelion below cabbage.?
?o I?Td know that cranky capital W?T way above the line at your typewritten makes anywhere in the world,? said Franklin.
?o Why, there is no W in dandelion,? said Sarah in surprise.
The young man drew the bill of fare from his pocket and pointed to a line.
Sarah recognized the first card she had typewritten that afternoon. There was still the rayed splotch in the upper right-hand corner where a tear had fallen. But over the spot where one should have read the name of the meadow plant, the clinging memory of the golden blossoms had allowed her fingers to strike strange keys.
Between the red cabbage and the stuffed green peppers was the item:
?o DEAREST WALTER, WITH HANDED-BOILED EGG.?

bạn nào biết nguyên bản truyện Love Story by Erich Segal ko thì post lên hộ tớ nhé, tớ cảm ơn nhiều!!!
some forever not for better

bạn nào biết nguyên bản truyện Love Story by Erich Segal ko thì post lên hộ tớ nhé, tớ cảm ơn nhiều!!!
some forever not for better

Các pác ơi ! Cần lắm rồi ạ ! Pác nào dịch hộ em cái ! Em hứa sẽ trả công xứng đáng ( nhiều nhiều sao ) hehhe ! Không dịch được thì chết cha em mất :
[Her] Nights spent succumbing to the brilliance of Blackeyes, feeling the
warm embrace of your hand, memories like salt on a wound, dominate my new
found spirit land.
Seeking wisdom in the darkness hovering helplessly around our pain crying
with absence of real tears, like a child born in vein.
I can no longer bear to watch you cradling my form. Wrenching out bloody
drops of desperation''s futile storm. Welcome to the Willothewisp my love.
Deaths arduous game. Mocking times insanity foreshadowing years of reign.
[Male] Oh my perfect princess, hard and cold as stone. I shall trace your
lips with crimson. I''ll protect you; they can''t have you to bury, to leave
me. Slay all who dare touch my pretty doll, it will be bloody paradise, a
misanthropes ball.
[Female] I hear you and beseech you, find a way to understand. Kill them
for my body and be left with grains of sand. Do not waste your life in
vain, protecting that which feels happiness nor pain.
Willothewisp my love, is forever now what be. Willothewisp my darkened
darling can not be taken away from thee.
[Male] I feel your essence all around me, and see you dead on our floor.
Realize it would kill me to see you dragged out like a rotting whore. The
dead are not theirs to take, **** their reality. I seek revenge. **** their
stupi***y, your death will be avenged.
My princess is not their dead slave, to tear apart and fit inside a holy
lonesome grave.
[Female] Ahh! You torment me with endless worry. A doll is what is left of
me, to kill it, insanity! Wake up live your life. Do not waste it in my
name.
[Male]
No! Why? Your body comforts me. Please understand. It is a Willothewisp my
love, but at least I would have command.
Help! Help! Ahh! I can not take this, my heart was black to all but you,
and now you''re dead. I need you in any form. I want you. Separation is what
permeates the fear of death. Ahh! Ahh! Come back!
[Female] My essence is always with you. Hovering over you and what was I of
my love and perfect self, I never meant to die. It''s all right, do as you
wish. I want my body to be with you.
[Male] I see them coming, my pulse quickens, my long blade smiles. Get away
from her! Bastards, pawns! Die, you are worth nothing, Die!!
They are dead as well, now bags of worthless flesh. How dare they try and
take you, Ha! Ha! Ha! We are free together.
[Female] You shiver like a broken child before me, clutching my cold hand
wet with tears, you kiss my hand and lips, and I feel nothing.
[Male] A presence looms about me, whispering like morning dew. My perfect
death doll princess, I stay here forever with you.
[Female] He has won my body, but now he is insane. I reach out to dry his
tears, only to find I am like wind to rain.
[Both] Willothewisp is torture, deaths arguous game.
Willothewisp is hidden boundaries, foreshadowing years of pain.
        Can I Buy A StairWay To Heaven ????