An old gentleman was very unhappy
about modern education, and thought that young people nowadays were not being
taught the importance of knowing the difference between right and
wrong. One day he was taking a walk in the park near his home when he saw some young boys standing around a small cat. The old gentleman went up to the boys and asked them what was happening. One of the boys said to him: "We’re having a contest. We’re telling lies and the one who tells the biggest one gets to keep the cat." The old gentleman thought that this was a good opportunity to teach the boys a useful lesson, so he said to them, "I’ve never told a lie in my life." All at once there was a great shout from all the boys, and they said, "You’ve won! You can take the cat!" |
Theodore Dreiser is old-he is very, very old. I do not know how many years he has lived, perhaps forty, perhaps fifty, but he is very old. Something gray and bleak and hurtful, that has been in the world perhaps forever, is personified in him.
When Dreiser is gone men shall write books, many of them, and in the books they shall write there will be so many of the qualities Dreiser lacks. The new, the younger men shall have a sense of humor, and everyone knows Dreiser has no sense of humor. More than that, American prose writers shall have grace, lightness of touch, a dream of beauty breaking through the husks of life.
Those who follow him shall have many things that Dreiser does not have. That is a part of the wonder and beauty of Theodore Dreiser, the things that others shall have because of him.
Long ago, when he was editor of the Delineator, Dreiser went one day, with a woman friend, to visit an orphan asylum. The woman once told me the story of that aft
A. He burst into tears.
B. He felt pity for the children there.
C. He shook his head.
D. All of the abov
我来回答: