JOY by Anton Chekhov

JOY

by Anton Chekhov

IT was twelve o'clock at night.

Mitya Kuldarov, with excited face and ruffled hair, flew into his parents' flat, and hurriedly ran through all the rooms. His parents had already gone to bed. His sister was in bed, finishing the last page of a novel. His schoolboy brothers were asleep.

"Where have you come from?" cried his parents in amazement. "What is the matter with you?

ادامه نوشته

A LIVING CHATTEL by Anton Chekhov - Part II

A LIVING CHATTEL

by Anton Chekhov

Misha!" she murmured, "Misha! Are you really here, Misha? The darling! And how he loves Vanya!" Heavens!" 

And Liza went off into a giggle when Mishutka stirred his father's tea with a spoon. "And how Vanya loves Misha! My darlings!"

Liza's heart throbbed, and her head went round with joy and happiness. She sank into an armchair and went on observing them, sitting down.

ادامه نوشته

A LIVING CHATTEL by Anton Chekhov - Part I

A LIVING CHATTEL

by Anton Chekhov

GROHOLSKY embraced Liza, kept kissing one after another all her little fingers with their bitten pink nails, and laid her on the couch covered with cheap velvet. Liza crossed one foot over the other, clasped her hands behind her head, and lay down.

Groholsky sat down in a chair beside her and bent over. He was entirely absorbed in contemplation of her.

How pretty she seemed to him, lighted up by the rays of the setting sun 

ادامه نوشته

Misery by Anton Chekhov

Title: Misery
Author: Anton Chekhov

THE twilight of evening. Big flakes of wet snow are whirling lazily about the street lamps, which have just been lighted, and lying in a thin soft layer on roofs, horses' backs, shoulders, caps. Iona Potapov, the sledge-driver, is all white like a ghost. He sits on the box without stirring, bent as double as the living body can be bent. If a regular snowdrift fell on him it seems as though even then he would not think it necessary to shake it off. . . . His little mare is white and motionless too. Her stillness, the angularity of her lines, and the stick-like straightness of her legs make her look like a halfpenny gingerbread horse. She is probably lost in thought. Anyone who has been torn away from the plough, from the familiar gray landscapes, and cast into this slough, full of monstrous lights, of unceasing uproar and hurrying people, is bound to think

ادامه نوشته

ترجمه to build a fire by John London

روز ، سرد و ابری آغاز شده بود ، بسیار سرد وابری . مرد از باریک راه اصلی رودخانه " یوکن " فاصله گرفت و از کناره خاکی و بلند رود بالا رفت . در بالای کناره ، یک باریکه راه ناپیدا و کم رفت و آمد از میان جنگل زار به سمت شرق می رفت . کناره پر شیبی بود  ، و او در بالای آن با این بهانه که ساعت را نگاه کند ، برای تازه کردن نفسش لحظه ای ایستاد .ساعت نه صبح بود.خورشید یا حتی نشانه ای ازآن به چشم نمی خورد ، اما ابری هم در آسمان دیده نمی شد . آسمان صاف بود ، ولی تیرگی نامحسوسی روز را تاریک کرده بود ، و این به خاطر عدم حضور خورشید بود . این امر مرد را نگران نمی کرد . او به نبود خورشید عادت داشت . روزها از آخرین دیدارش با خورشید می گذشت و این را می دانست که چند روز دیگر طول می کشد تا ستاره  امید بخش ، از سمت جنوب خط افق بیرون بیاید و بلافاصله از دیدها محو شود.مرد یک نگاه به راهی که آمده بود انداخت .

ادامه نوشته

ترجمه داستان araby by James Joice

آرابی »
جیمز جویس
ترجمه : پرتو اعتصامی

جیمز جویس» نویسنده ی نامدار ایرلندی در سال 1882 در «دوبلین» در خانواده بزرگی که به»
قول پدرش « دارای شانزده یا هفده فرزند» بود به دنیا آمد . تحصیلات خود را در کالج « وود »
در شهر « گلاسکو » به پایان رسانید و سپس در « دوبلین » در کالج « بل ودر » به تحصیل
پرداخت . به زبان لاتین علاقه ی فراوان داشت .در سال 1898 به دانشگاه رویال وارد شد و
آموزش خود را در رشته ی فلسفه و زبان دنبال کرد .به تئاتر علاقه ی بسیار داشت و در سال 1900
درباره ی نمایشنامه ی «هنگامی که مامردگان بیدار می شویم » اثر « ایبس » در مجله ی
فورتینا یتلی ریویو » گفتاری نوشت . یک چند در مدرسه «دالکی » تدریس کرد و در سال 1904 »
ازدواج کرد و همراه همسرش به « زوریخ » و « تریست » رفت و درآن جا به تدریس زبان
پرداخت . سال های جنگ جهانی اول را با همسر و دو فرزندش در نهایت تنگدستی گذرانید و از

ادامه نوشته

The Girl by JAMAICA KINCAID

Wash the white clothes on Monday and put them on the stone heap; wash the color clothes on Tuesday and put them on the clothesline to dry; don't walk barehead in the hot sun; cook pumpkin fritters in very hot sweet oil; soak your little cloths right after you take them off; when buying cotton to make yourself a nice blouse, be sure that it doesn't have gum on it, because that way it won't hold up well after a wash; soak salt fish overnight before you cook it; is it true that you sing benna in Sunday school?; always eat your food in such a way that it won't turn someone else's stomach; on Sundays try to walk like a lady and not like the slut you are so bent on becoming; don't sing benna in Sunday school; you mustn't speak to wharf-rat boys, not even to give directions; don't eat fruits on the street--flies will follow you; but I don't sing benna on Sundays at all and never in Sunday school; this is how to sew on a button; this is how to make a hole for the button you have just sewed on; this is how to hem a dress when you see the hem coming down and so to prevent yourself from looking like the slut I know you are so bent on becoming; this is how you iron your father's khaki shirt so that it doesn't have a crease; this is how

ادامه نوشته

ترجمه ی داستان the Girl

 رخت سفيدا رو دوشنبه ها مي‌شوري و پهنشون مي‌كني روي پشتة سنگ، ببين اين‌جوري؛ رخت رنگيارم سه شنبه ها مي‌شوري و پهنشون مي‌كني سرِ بند تا خشك شن؛ نبينم ظهر گرما سرِ لخت بري بيرون؛ كلوچه رو با روغن معطر داغ مي‌پزن؛ لباساي زيرتو تا در آوردي بشورشون، خب؛ وقتي ميري پارچه نخي بخري كه واسه خودت بلوزاي قشنگ بدوزي، ششدنگ حواستو جمع مي كني كه پارچه‌هه اهار نخورده باشه، چون بعد يكي دو بار شستن وا مي‌ره؛ ماهي شورا رو شب قبل از اين‌كه بپزي، بذار خوب خيس بخورن؛ ببينم، راس ميگن يكشنبه‌ها تو كلاساي مذهبي مي‌زني زير آواز؟ هميشه جوري غذاتو بخور كه دل دوروبرياتو آشوب نکني؛ مي خوام ببينم يكشنبه‌ها مثه يه پارچه خانم رفتار مي‌كني‌ها، نه مثه اون دختراي چش سفيدي كه يواش يواش داري شبيهشون مي‌شي؛ نشنفم يكشنبه‌ها تو كلاساي مذهبي زدي زير آواز، ها؛ نبينم با بر و بچه‌هاي بي‌سروپا دهن به دهن شدي، حتي اگه نشوني جايي رو ازت خواستن محلشون نمي‌ذاري؛ تو خيابون ميوه نمي‌خوري چون اونوقت ديگه مگسا دست از سرت بر نمي‌دارن؛ ولي من نه يكشنبه‌ها، نه تو كلاساي مذهبي، نه هيچ‌وقت ديگه اي نمي‌زنم زير آواز؛ اين‌جوري دكمه رو به پارچه مي‌دوزن؛ بعدش كه دكمه رو دوختي، اين‌جوري واسه‌ش جادكمه‌اي در مياري؛ وقتي لبة لباسي پوسيده شد، اين‌جوري لبه دوزيش مي‌كنن؛ اگه اين كارايي كه گفتم انجام بدي ديگه از ريخت و قيافة اون دختراي چش سفيد در مياي؛ اگه مي‌خواي رو پيرهنسربازي و خاكي

ادامه نوشته

Animal Farm- Chapter IX TO END

Chapter IX



Boxer's split hoof was a long time in healing. They had started the
rebuilding of the windmill the day after the victory celebrations were
ended. Boxer refused to take even a day off work, and made it a point of
honour not to let it be seen that he was in pain. In the evenings he would
admit privately to Clover that the hoof troubled him a great deal. Clover
treated the hoof with poultices of herbs which she prepared by chewing
them, and both she and Benjamin urged Boxer to work less hard. "A horse's
lungs do not last for ever," she said to him. But Boxer would not listen.
He had, he said, only one real ambition left--to see the windmill well

ادامه نوشته

Animal Farm- Chapter VI VII VIII

Chapter VI



All that year the animals worked like slaves. But they were happy in their
work; they grudged no effort or sacrifice, well aware that everything that
they did was for the benefit of themselves and those of their kind who
would come after them, and not for a pack of idle, thieving human beings.

Throughout the spring and summer they worked a sixty-hour week, and in
August Napoleon announced that there would be work on Sunday afternoons
as well. This work was strictly voluntary, but any animal who absented
himself from it would have his rations reduced by half. Even so, it was

ادامه نوشته

Animal Farm -Chapter III IV V

Chapter III



How they toiled and sweated to get the hay in! But their efforts were
rewarded, for the harvest was an even bigger success than they had hoped.

Sometimes the work was hard; the implements had been designed for human
beings and not for animals, and it was a great drawback that no animal was
able to use any tool that involved standing on his hind legs. But the pigs
were so clever that they could think of a way round every difficulty. As
for the horses, they knew every inch of the field, and in fact understood
the business of mowing and raking far better than Jones and his men had

ادامه نوشته

Animal Farm by George Orwell-Chapter I & II

Title: Animal Farm
Author: George Orwell (pseudonym of Eric Blair) (1903-1950)


Language: English


Chapter I



Mr. Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but
was too drunk to remember to shut the pop-holes. With the ring of light
from his lantern dancing from side to side, he lurched across the yard,
kicked off his boots at the back door, drew himself a last glass of beer
from the barrel in the scullery, and made his way up to bed, where
Mrs. Jones was already snoring 

ادامه نوشته

THE WITCH A LA MODE by D.H Lawrence

THE WITCH A LA MODE



When Bernard Coutts alighted at East Croydon he knew he was tempting Providence.

"I may just as well," he said to himself, "stay the night here, where I am used to the place, as go to London. I can't get to Connie's forlorn spot to-night, and I'm tired to death, so why shouldn't I do what is easiest?"

He gave his luggage to a porter

ادامه نوشته

THINGS by D.H lawrence

THINGS



They were true idealists, from New England. But that is some time ago: before the War. Several years before the War they met and married; he a tall, keen-eyed young man from Connecticut, she a smallish, demure, Puritan-looking young woman from Massachusetts. They both had a little money. Not much, however. Even added together it didn't make three thousand dollars a year. Still--they were free. Free!

ادامه نوشته

D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930)

D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930), English novelist, storywriter, critic, poet and painter, one of the greatest figures in 20th-century English literature. "Snake" and "How Beastly the Bourgeoisie is" are probably his most anthologized poems

ادامه نوشته

Determinism

Determinism in Philosophy

In philosophy, the doctrine that all events, including human decisions, are completely determined by previously existing causes. The traditional free will problem arises from the question, Is moral responsibility consistent with the truth of determinism? Among those who believe it is not consistent, some, maintaining the truth of determinism, have concluded that no one is morally responsible for what he does (and therefore that punishment for criminal actions is unjustified); others, maintaining the reality of moral responsibility, have concluded that determinism is false. Those who believe that moral responsibility is consistent with determinism are known as compatibilists (see compatibilism). Pierre-Simon Laplace is responsible for the classical formulation of determinism in the 18th century. For Laplace, the present state of the universe is the effect of its previous state and the cause of the state that follows it. If a mind, at any given moment, could know all the laws and all the forces operating in nature and the respective positions and momenta of all its components, it could thereby know with certainty the future and the past of every entity

ادامه نوشته

The Wall (short story) 1939 | Jean-Paul SARTRE

The Wall (short story) 1939 | Jean-Paul SARTRE



They pushed us into a big white room and I began to blink because the light hurt my eyes. Then I saw a table and four men behind the table, civilians, looking over the papers. They had bunched another group of prisoners in the back and we had to cross the whole room to join them. There were several I knew and some others who must have been foreigners. The two in front of me were blond with round skulls: they looked alike. I supposed they were French. The smaller one kept hitching up his pants: nerves 

ادامه نوشته

The Fly

The Fly

by Katherine Mansfield

'Y'are very snug in here,' piped old Mr Woodifield, and he peered out of the great, green leather armchair by his friend the boss's desk as a baby peers out of its pram. His talk was over; it was time for him to be off. But he did not want to go. Since he had retired, since his... stroke, the wife and the girls kept him boxed up in the house every day of the week except Tuesday. On Tuesday he was dressed and brushed and allowed to cut back to the City for the day. Though what he did there the wife and girls couldn't imagine. Made a nuisance of himself to his friends, they supposed.... Well, perhaps so. All the same, we cling to our last pleasures as the tree clings to its last leaves. So there sat old Woodifield, smoking a cigar and staring almost greedily at the boss, who rolled in his once chair, stout, rosy, five years older than he, and still going strong, still at the helm. It did one good to see him 

ادامه نوشته

Katherine Mansfield

New Zealand's most famous writer, who was closely associated with D.H. Lawrence and something of a rival of Virginia Woolf. Mansfield's creative years were burdened with loneliness, illness, jealousy, alienation – all this reflected in her work with the bitter depiction of marital and family relationships of her middle-class characters. Her short stories are also notable for their use of stream of consciousness. Like the Russian writer Anton Chekhov, Mansfield depicted trivial events and subtle changes in human behavior

ادامه نوشته