翻译公司,北京翻译公司

本文摘自 太原圆成生理咨询网

记载冲动时候,赢取超等大奖!点击链接,和我一块儿到场"2010:我的世界杯Blog日记"流动!

   从生理的角度上望,性的欲望决不亚于饮食的欲望.性的欲望越是压抑就越是猛烈,而满意它则可以使它患上到暂时的和缓.当性欲火急时,它会把天下上的统统事变

北京理雅格北京翻译公司??汉译英翻译技巧介绍(二)
拟人化
拟人化，即把抽象事物比喻替无觉得的人，大概有人的一些特点。那是在汉英两种语言里都兴在的现象。在汉语中，这个现象比较普

我祖父母的婚姻持续了大半个世纪，从他们最初认识起，他们就一直在玩着自己的特有的游戏。这个游戏的玩法是一个人在意想不到的地方写上“shmily”,然后让另外一个人去寻找。他们轮流把“shmily”放在房子里，谁找到字条就把字条再藏起来。

无论是谁准备下一餐，他们都会用手指在盛糖和面粉的容器上写上“shmily”；他们把它写在沾有露珠的窗户上，透过这扇窗户能看到下面的厨房，奶奶经常在那里自己制作热气腾腾的布丁；洗完热水澡后，在雾气朦胧的镜子上也会冒同“shmily”，周而复始；“shmily”会被写在壁炉架上的灰尘里和壁炉的灰烬中；潦潦草草写“shmily”的字条会出现在汽车的仪表盘或座位上；还会被塞到鞋子里，压在枕头下。有一次我奶奶甚至展开了整筒卫生纸，在最后一张上留下了“shmily”!有“shmily”的地方不胜枚举，不知道啥时候就会冒出来。这个神秘的字眼就像家具一样是我祖父母房子的一部分。

过了好长一段时间我才真正地懂得了祖父母的游戏。长久以来，我一直怀疑爱情是否真能纯洁无睱和天长地久。但是，我对祖父母的感情却深信不疑。他们爱的至死不渝，这不仅仅是一种略带调情的小游戏，这是一种生活方式。他们的感情建立在情真意笃的基础上，这并不是每个人都能有幸经历的。

一有机会，祖父母就手牵着手，在小厨房里两人碰到一起的时候。他俩也会偷偷地接一下吻。他俩讲完话后便一同做每天的拼字游戏。祖母会悄声告诉我祖父如何可爱、如何帅气和老当益壮。每每吃饭前，他们都会低头祷告，感谢上天的赐福：家庭幸福、好运长来、相敬如宾。

但祖父母的生活却笼罩着乌云：我祖母患了乳腺癌。第一次发现癌细胞是在十年前。祖父陪着她一步步熬了过来。在他们黄色的卧室里，祖父一直安慰着祖母，他把房子漆成日光的颜色，这样即使祖母病重无法外出时，她也能沐浴在阳光之中。

现在癌细胞又卷土重来，摧残着她的身体，可祖母凭借着拐杖和祖父稳健的搀扶，他们每天早上都一起上教堂。但祖母的身体每况愈下，到后来她再也无法走出房子了。有一段时间。祖父独自一人去教堂，祈求上帝保佑他的妻子。后来有一天，我们大家担心的事终于降临了：祖母离开了人世。

在祖母的葬礼上，黄色的“shmily”一字潦草地写在花束的粉红带子上。人群渐渐散去，最后一批来哀悼的人也即将离开。姑姑、叔伯、堂兄弟姐妹和家庭里的其他成员走上前来，最后一次聚集在祖母的灵柩旁。祖父走到祖母的棺木前，颤抖地吸了一口气，然后开始放声歌唱。深情嘶哑的摇篮曲在祖父的眼泪与悲伤中传出。我感到悲痛不已，但我永远也不会忘记那一刻，因为我知道，尽管我还难以理解他们之间的那种爱，但我却有幸目睹了它那天无与伦比的美。

S-h-m-i-l-y:看我有多爱你……

   My grandparents were married for over half a century,and played their own special game from the time they had met each other.The goal of their game was to write the word “shmily” in a surprise place for the other to find.They took turns leaving “shmily” around the house,and as soon as one of them discovered it,it was his/her turn to hide it once more.

  They wrote “shmily” with their fingers on the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the kitchen where my grandma always made warm pudding. “Shmily” was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. “Shmily” was written in the dust upon the mantel and in the ashes of the fireplace.Little notes with “shmily” scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows.At one point,my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave “shmily” on the very last sheet! There was no end to the places “shmily” would pop up. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents ’house as the furniture.

   It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents ’game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love-one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents’ relationship. They had love down part. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection which not everyone is lucky experience.

Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other’s sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was,how handsome and old he had grown to be. Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other.

But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents’ lift: my grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside.

Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather’s steady hand, they went to church finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone.

“Shmily.” It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother’s funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother’s casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby. Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew that, although I couldn’t begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.

S-h-m-i-l-y: Seen How Much I Love You.

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