When I first received this Nobel Prize for Literature, I got to wondering exactly how my songs related to literature. I wanted to reflect on it and see where the connection was. I'm going to try to articulate that to you. And most likely it will go in a roundabout way, but I hope what I say will be worthwhile and purposeful.
If I was to go back to the dawning of it all, I guess I'd have to start with Buddy Holly. Buddy died when I was about eighteen and he was twenty-two. From the moment I first heard him, I felt akin. I felt related, like he was an older brother. I even thought I resembled him. Buddy played the music that I loved – the music I grew up on: country western, rock 『n' roll, and rhythm and blues. Three separate strands of music that he intertwined and infused into one genre. One brand. And Buddy wrote songs – songs that had beautiful melodies and imaginative verses. And he sang great – sang in more than a few voices. He was the archetype. Everything I wasn't and wanted to be. I saw him only but once, and that was a few days before he was gone. I had to travel a hundred miles to get to see him play, and I wasn't disappointed.
He was powerful and electrifying and had a commanding presence. I was only six feet away. He was mesmerizing. I watched his face, his hands, the way he tapped his foot, his big black glasses, the eyes behind the glasses, the way he held his guitar, the way he stood, his neat suit. Everything about him. He looked older than twenty-two. Something about him seemed permanent, and he filled me with conviction. Then, out of the blue, the most uncanny thing happened. He looked me right straight dead in the eye, and he transmitted something. Something I didn't know what. And it gave me the chills.
I think it was a day or two after that that his plane went down. And somebody – somebody I'd never seen before – handed me a Leadbelly record with the song "Cottonfields" on it. And that record changed my life right then and there. Transported me into a world I'd never known. It was like an explosion went off. Like I'd been walking in darkness and all of the sudden the darkness was illuminated. It was like somebody laid hands on me. I must have played that record a hundred times.
在一個我從未聽過的廣告小冊子上，有幾個名字和利德貝利放在一起：Sonny Terry，Brownie McGhee, the New Lost City Ramblers, Jean Ritchie等等。我雖然從未聽過他們的歌，但我想既然他們的名字和利德貝利在一起，肯定都很好，我需要去聽他們的歌。我想了解關於這些歌的一切並演奏出來。我漸漸長大，始終保持著這樣一種對音樂的感覺，但如今，我已然遺忘。
It was on a label I'd never heard of with a booklet inside with advertisements for other artists on the label: Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee, the New Lost City Ramblers, Jean Ritchie, string bands. I'd never heard of any of them. But I reckoned if they were on this label with Leadbelly, they had to be good, so I needed to hear them. I wanted to know all about it and play that kind of music. I still had a feeling for the music I'd grown up with, but for right now, I forgot about it. Didn't even think about it. For the time being, it was long gone.
I hadn't left home yet, but I couldn't wait to. I wanted to learn this music and meet the people who played it. Eventually, I did leave, and I did learn to play those songs. They were different than the radio songs that I'd been listening to all along. They were more vibrant and truthful to life. With radio songs, a performer might get a hit with a roll of the dice or a fall of the cards, but that didn't matter in the folk world. Everything was a hit. All you had to do was be well versed and be able to play the melody. Some of these songs were easy, some not. I had a natural feeling for the ancient ballads and country blues, but everything else I had to learn from scratch. I was playing for small crowds, sometimes no more than four or five people in a room or on a street corner. You had to have a wide repertoire, and you had to know what to play and when. Some songs were intimate, some you had to shout to be heard.
By listening to all the early folk artists and singing the songs yourself, you pick up the vernacular. You internalize it. You sing it in the ragtime blues, work songs, Georgia sea shanties, Appalachian ballads and cowboy songs. You hear all the finer points, and you learn the details.
你開始了解了一切，掏出手槍放在自己的口袋裡。你開始在擁擠中開路，在黑暗中講話。你知道了Stagger Lee是個壞人，Frankie是個好女孩；你知道華盛頓是個資產階級小鎮、聽到John the Revelator的低音、看到泰坦尼克沉沒在一條小溪。你成了愛爾蘭流浪者和殖民地男孩的同伴，你看到唐納德爵士指向他妻子的刀，你的好多同伴都穿著白色的亞麻布衣裳。
You know what it's all about. Takin' the pistol out and puttin' it back in your pocket. Whippin' your way through traffic, talkin' in the dark. You know that Stagger Lee was a bad man and that Frankie was a good girl. You know that Washington is a bourgeois town and you've heard the deep-pitched voice of John the Revelator and you saw the Titanic sink in a boggy creek. And you're pals with the wild Irish rover and the wild colonial boy. You heard the muffled drums and the fifes that played lowly. You've seen the lusty Lord Donald stick a knife in his wife, and a lot of your comrades have been wrapped in white linen.
I had all the vernacular down. I knew the rhetoric. None of it went over my head – the devices, the techniques, the secrets, the mysteries – and I knew all the deserted roads that it traveled on, too. I could make it all connect and move with the current of the day. When I started writing my own songs, the folk lingo was the only vocabulary that I knew, and I used it.
But I had something else as well. I had principles and sensibilities and an informed view of the world. And I had had that for a while. Learned it all in grammar school. Don Quixote, Ivanhoe, Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver's Travels, Tale of Two Cities, all the rest – typical grammar school reading that gave you a way of looking at life, an understanding of human nature, and a standard to measure things by. I took all that with me when I started composing lyrics. And the themes from those books worked their way into many of my songs, either knowingly or unintentionally. I wanted to write songs unlike anything anybody ever heard, and these themes were fundamental.
Specific books that have stuck with me ever since I read them way back in grammar school – I want to tell you about three of them: Moby Dick, All Quiet on the Western Front and The Odyssey.
Moby Dick is a fascinating book, a book that's filled with scenes of high drama and dramatic dialogue. The book makes demands on you. The plot is straightforward. The mysterious Captain Ahab – captain of a ship called the Pequod – an egomaniac with a peg leg pursuing his nemesis, the great white whale Moby Dick who took his leg. And he pursues him all the way from the Atlantic around the tip of Africa and into the Indian Ocean. He pursues the whale around both sides of the earth. It's an abstract goal, nothing concrete or definite. He calls Moby the emperor, sees him as the embodiment of evil. Ahab's got a wife and child back in Nantucket that he reminisces about now and again. You can anticipate what will happen.
The ship's crew is made up of men of different races, and any one of them who sights the whale will be given the reward of a gold coin. A lot of Zodiac symbols, religious allegory, stereotypes. Ahab encounters other whaling vessels, presses the captains for details about Moby. Have they seen him? There's a crazy prophet, Gabriel, on one of the vessels, and he predicts Ahab's doom. Says Moby is the incarnate of a Shaker god, and that any dealings with him will lead to disaster. He says that to Captain Ahab. Another ship's captain – Captain Boomer – he lost an arm to Moby. But he tolerates that, and he's happy to have survived. He can't accept Ahab's lust for vengeance.
Everything is mixed in. All the myths: the Judeo Christian bible, Hindu myths, British legends, Saint George, Perseus, Hercules – they're all whalers. Greek mythology, the gory business of cutting up a whale. Lots of facts in this book, geographical knowledge, whale oil – good for coronation of royalty – noble families in the whaling industry. Whale oil is used to anoint the kings. History of the whale, phrenology, classical philosophy, pseudo-scientific theories, justification for discrimination – everything thrown in and none of it hardly rational. Highbrow, lowbrow, chasing illusion, chasing death, the great white whale, white as polar bear, white as a white man, the emperor, the nemesis, the embodiment of evil. The demented captain who actually lost his leg years ago trying to attack Moby with a knife.
A typhoon hits the Pequod. Captain Ahab thinks it's a good omen. Starbuck thinks it's a bad omen, considers killing Ahab. As soon as the storm ends, a crewmember falls from the ship's mast and drowns, foreshadowing what's to come. A Quaker pacifist priest, who is actually a bloodthirsty businessman, tells Flask, "Some men who receive injuries are led to God, others are led to bitterness."
We see only the surface of things. We can interpret what lies below any way we see fit. Crewmen walk around on deck listening for mermaids, and sharks and vultures follow the ship. Reading skulls and faces like you read a book. Here's a face. I'll put it in front of you. Read it if you can.
Tashtego says that he died and was reborn. His extra days are a gift. He wasn't saved by Christ, though, he says he was saved by a fellow man and a non-Christian at that. He parodies the resurrection.
When Starbuck tells Ahab that he should let bygones be bygones, the angry captain snaps back, "Speak not to me of blasphemy, man, I'd strike the sun if it insulted me." Ahab, too, is a poet of eloquence. He says, "The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails whereon my soul is grooved to run." Or these lines, "All visible objects are but pasteboard masks." Quotable poetic phrases that can't be beat.
This book tells how different men react in different ways to the same experience. A lot of Old Testament, biblical allegory: （Gabriel, Rachel, Jeroboam, Bildah, Elijah. Pagan names as well: Tashtego, Flask, Daggoo, Fleece, Starbuck, Stubb, Martha's Vineyard. The Pagans are idol worshippers. Some worship little wax figures, some wooden figures. Some worship fire. The Pequod is the name of an Indian tribe.） Moby Dick is a seafaring tale. One of the men, the narrator, says, "Call me Ishmael." Somebody asks him where he's from, and he says, "It's not down on any map. True places never are." Stubb gives no significance to anything, says everything is predestined. Ishmael's been on a sailing ship his entire life. Calls the sailing ships his Harvard and Yale. He keeps his distance from people.
Finally, Ahab spots Moby, and the harpoons come out. Boats are lowered. Ahab's harpoon has been baptized in blood. Moby attacks Ahab's boat and destroys it. Next day, he sights Moby again. Boats are lowered again. Moby attacks Ahab's boat again. On the third day, another boat goes in. More religious allegory. He has risen. Moby attacks one more time, ramming the Pequod and sinking it. Ahab gets tangled up in the harpoon lines and is thrown out of his boat into a watery grave.
Ishmael survives. He's in the sea floating on a coffin. And that's about it. That's the whole story. That theme and all that it implies would work its way into more than a few of my songs.
All Quiet on the Western Front was another book that did. All Quiet on the Western Front is a horror story. This is a book where you lose your childhood, your faith in a meaningful world, and your concern for individuals. You're stuck in a nightmare. Sucked up into a mysterious whirlpool of death and pain. You're defending yourself from elimination. You're being wiped off the face of the map. Once upon a time you were an innocent youth with big dreams about being a concert pianist. Once you loved life and the world, and now you're shooting it to pieces.
日復一日，大黃蜂叮咬你的皮膚和蠕蟲吮吸你的血液。 你成為了一個邊緣動物 ，哪都不適合你。 大雨沒完沒了的， 無盡的襲擊、毒氣、嗎啡、汽油燃燒產生的濃煙、流感，傷寒、痢疾。你身邊的生命正在消解，炮彈呼嘯而來。這只是地獄的低級地區。 泥土，鐵絲網，骯髒的戰壕，老鼠啃咬死人的肚腸，充滿排泄物的溝渠。 有人：「嘿，你！快起來戰鬥」。
Day after day, the hornets bite you and worms lap your blood. You're a cornered animal. You don't fit anywhere. The falling rain is monotonous. There's endless assaults, poison gas, nerve gas, morphine, burning streams of gasoline, scavenging and scabbing for food, influenza, typhus, dysentery. Life is breaking down all around you, and the shells are whistling. This is the lower region of hell. Mud, barbed wire, rat-filled trenches, rats eating the intestines of dead men, trenches filled with filth and excrement. Someone shouts, "Hey, you there. Stand and fight."
誰知道混亂將持續多久？戰爭沒有盡頭。由於一條腿失血過多，你已經倒下了。 你昨天殺了一個人，然後和他的屍體聊天。 你告訴他，等到戰爭結束了，你會花費用餘生來照顧他的家人。 誰從中受益？ 領導人和將領收穫了名望，許多其他人收穫了金錢。 但是臟活的卻是你。 你的一個同志說：「等一下，你要去哪裡？」你說：「別管我，我一會兒就回來。」然後你走進屍山血海，去尋找一片香腸。 你看不出平民生活中有誰有任何目的。 他們所有的憂慮，所有的慾望—— 你不能理解它。
Who knows how long this mess will go on? Warfare has no limits. You're being annihilated, and that leg of yours is bleeding too much. You killed a man yesterday, and you spoke to his corpse. You told him after this is over, you'll spend the rest of your life looking after his family. Who's profiting here? The leaders and the generals gain fame, and many others profit financially. But you're doing the dirty work. One of your comrades says, "Wait a minute, where are you going?" And you say, "Leave me alone, I'll be back in a minute." Then you walk out into the woods of death hunting for a piece of sausage. You can't see how anybody in civilian life has any kind of purpose at all. All their worries, all their desires – you can't comprehend it.
更多的機關槍響起來，更多的殘肢掛在鐵絲網上，更多可怕的傷口，膿液從每個孔隙中湧出。 死亡無處不在 沒有其他的可能。 有人會殺死你，用你的屍體當靶子來練習。靴子是你珍貴的財產，但不久之後，他們會在別人的腳下。
More machine guns rattle, more parts of bodies hanging from wires, more pieces of arms and legs and skulls where butterflies perch on teeth, more hideous wounds, pus coming out of every pore, lung wounds, wounds too big for the body, gas-blowing cadavers, and dead bodies making retching noises. Death is everywhere. Nothing else is possible. Someone will kill you and use your dead body for target practice. Boots, too. They're your prized possession. But soon they'll be on somebody else's feet.
法國佬穿過樹林。 殘忍的混蛋 你的炮彈已經用完了。 你說，「這麼快就又攻過來是不公平的。」一個同伴躺在泥土裡，你想帶他去野戰醫院。 有人說：「你還是自己去醫院吧。」「你是什麼意思？」「把他翻過來，你就會明白。
There's Froggies coming through the trees. Merciless bastards. Your shells are running out. "It's not fair to come at us again so soon," you say. One of your companions is laying in the dirt, and you want to take him to the field hospital. Someone else says, "You might save yourself a trip." "What do you mean?" "Turn him over, you'll see what I mean."
You wait to hear the news. You don't understand why the war isn't over. The army is so strapped for replacement troops that they're drafting young boys who are of little military use, but they're draftin' 『em anyway because they're running out of men. Sickness and humiliation have broken your heart. You were betrayed by your parents, your schoolmasters, your ministers, and even your own government.
就連抽雪茄的將軍也背叛了你，把你變成了一個暴徒和兇手。 如果可以的話，你會向他和指揮官的臉上射一發子彈。 你幻想，如果你有錢，你會僱人來殺死他。如果殺手因此而死，你也會付錢給殺手的後人。那個把所有時間花在軍官的妓院上校也在必死名單之中。你也想看到他死。還有許許多多的曾經打過我的、以及酒瓶里還有威士忌的湯米和約翰們。你殺死二十個，還會有二十個跳出來。就像鼻孔里的惡臭，揮之不去。
The general with the slowly smoked cigar betrayed you too – turned you into a thug and a murderer. If you could, you'd put a bullet in his face. The commander as well. You fantasize that if you had the money, you'd put up a reward for any man who would take his life by any means necessary. And if he should lose his life by doing that, then let the money go to his heirs. The colonel, too, with his caviar and his coffee – he's another one. Spends all his time in the officers' brothel. You'd like to see him stoned dead too. More Tommies and Johnnies with their whack fo' me daddy-o and their whiskey in the jars. You kill twenty of 『em and twenty more will spring up in their place. It just stinks in your nostrils.
你想起那位把你帶入這場瘋狂、這間刑室的前輩。你周圍的一切，你的同志們都死了。 死於腹部傷口，死於截肢，死於髖骨破裂，你認為，「我只有二十歲，但我有能力殺死任何人。 即使是我的父親，如果他敢攻擊我。
You've come to despise that older generation that sent you out into this madness, into this torture chamber. All around you, your comrades are dying. Dying from abdominal wounds, double amputations, shattered hipbones, and you think, "I'm only twenty years old, but I'm capable of killing anybody. Even my father if he came at me."
Yesterday, you tried to save a wounded messenger dog, and somebody shouted, "Don't be a fool." One Froggy is laying gurgling at your feet. You stuck him with a dagger in his stomach, but the man still lives. You know you should finish the job, but you can't. You're on the real iron cross, and a Roman soldier's putting a sponge of vinegar to your lips.
幾個月過去了 你休假回家了，卻無法與你的父親溝通。 他說：「如果你不參加戰爭，你會成為一個懦夫，」你的媽媽也在門外說 「你現在要小心那些法國女孩子。」更瘋狂的是，你打了一個禮拜或者是一個月，卻只前進了十碼，這十碼下個月又被敵軍奪回。
Months pass by. You go home on leave. You can't communicate with your father. He said, "You'd be a coward if you don't enlist." Your mother, too, on your way back out the door, she says, "You be careful of those French girls now." More madness. You fight for a week or a month, and you gain ten yards. And then the next month it gets taken back.
千年前的那些文化，哲學，智慧——柏拉圖，亞里士多德，蘇格拉底——它們怎麼了？它們應該阻止這些發生。 你的思緒飄回了家鄉，又一次，你變成了走過高大的白楊樹小男孩，這是多麼愉快的記憶。更多的炸彈從飛機上掉落，但是你已經不再擔心了，除了死亡，再無其他的可能。然後你注意到了櫻花，你看到大自然完全不受戰爭的影響。 楊樹，紅蝴蝶，花朵的脆弱之美，太陽 - 你看到大自然對此無動於衷。 全人類的所有的暴力和痛苦，大自然渾不在意。
All that culture from a thousand years ago, that philosophy, that wisdom – Plato, Aristotle, Socrates – what happened to it? It should have prevented this. Your thoughts turn homeward. And once again you're a schoolboy walking through the tall poplar trees. It's a pleasant memory. More bombs dropping on you from blimps. You got to get it together now. You can't even look at anybody for fear of some miscalculable thing that might happen. The common grave. There are no other possibilities.Then you notice the cherry blossoms, and you see that nature is unaffected by all this. Poplar trees, the red butterflies, the fragile beauty of flowers, the sun – you see how nature is indifferent to it all. All the violence and suffering of all mankind. Nature doesn't even notice it.
You're so alone. Then a piece of shrapnel hits the side of your head and you're dead.
You've been ruled out, crossed out. You've been exterminated. I put this book down and closed it up. I never wanted to read another war novel again, and I never did.
Charlie Poole from North Carolina had a song that connected to all this. It's called "You Ain't Talkin' to Me," and the lyrics go like this:
I saw a sign in a window walking up town one day.
Join the army, see the world is what it had to say.
You'll see exciting places with a jolly crew,
You'll meet interesting people, and learn to kill them too.
Oh you ain't talkin' to me, you ain't talking to me.
I may be crazy and all that, but I got good sense you see.
You ain't talkin' to me, you ain't talkin' to me.
Killin' with a gun don't sound like fun.
You ain't talkin' to me.
The Odyssey is a great book whose themes have worked its way into the ballads of a lot of songwriters: "Homeward Bound, "Green, Green Grass of Home," "Home on the Range," and my songs as well.
《奧德賽》講述了一個奇怪的，冒險的故事，一個成年男子試圖在戰爭結束后回家。 他漫長的回家旅程，充滿了陷阱和誘惑。他被詛咒迷路。 他一直在海上航行，總是九死一生。巨石塊搖晃他的船， 他遷怒於無辜的人。 他的船員中有製造麻煩的人。 因為背信棄義。 他的人被變成豬，然後變成更年輕，更帥氣的男人。他總是試圖拯救某人， 他一直在旅途，但做了很多的停留。
The Odyssey is a strange, adventurous tale of a grown man trying to get home after fighting in a war. He's on that long journey home, and it's filled with traps and pitfalls. He's cursed to wander. He's always getting carried out to sea, always having close calls. Huge chunks of boulders rock his boat. He angers people he shouldn't. There's troublemakers in his crew. Treachery. His men are turned into pigs and then are turned back into younger, more handsome men. He's always trying to rescue somebody. He's a travelin' man, but he's making a lot of stops.
他被困在一個荒島上。 他發現荒蕪的洞穴，躲在裡面。 在裡面奧德賽遇到了巨人，他們說：「我遲早會吃了你。」他從巨人那裡逃脫后，試圖回家，但被風吹倒了。 這些不安定的風，寒冷的風，不友好的風。 他走得很遠，然後他又被吹回來。
He's stranded on a desert island. He finds deserted caves, and he hides in them. He meets giants that say, "I'll eat you last." And he escapes from giants. He's trying to get back home, but he's tossed and turned by the winds. Restless winds, chilly winds, unfriendly winds. He travels far, and then he gets blown back.
奧德賽總是收到警告。有兩條路要走，都不好。兩種危險。一個是淹死，另一個是餓死。 他選擇進入狹窄的海峽，被漩渦吞噬； 遇到有鋒利的牙齒六頭怪物；遭受雷霆的襲擊。有些神靈保護他，有些想殺死他。 他改變了身份。他累極而眠，卻被笑聲喚醒。他向陌生人講述他的故事， 他已經走了二十年。這是一條艱難的回家路。
He's always being warned of things to come. Touching things he's told not to. There's two roads to take, and they're both bad. Both hazardous. On one you could drown and on the other you could starve. He goes into the narrow straits with foaming whirlpools that swallow him. Meets six-headed monsters with sharp fangs. Thunderbolts strike at him. Overhanging branches that he makes a leap to reach for to save himself from a raging river. Goddesses and gods protect him, but some others want to kill him. He changes identities. He's exhausted. He falls asleep, and he's woken up by the sound of laughter. He tells his story to strangers. He's been gone twenty years. He was carried off somewhere and left there. Drugs have been dropped into his wine. It's been a hard road to travel.
當奧德賽回到家時，事情沒有好轉。 流氓和無賴已經闖入他的家並利用他妻子的款待。他們人數太多了。雖然奧德賽是最好的木匠，最好的獵人，最好的動物專家，最好的海員 – 但是他的勇氣不會救他，他的詭計會。
When he gets back home, things aren't any better. Scoundrels have moved in and are taking advantage of his wife's hospitality. And there's too many of 『em. And though he's greater than them all and the best at everything – best carpenter, best hunter, best expert on animals, best seaman – his courage won't save him, but his trickery will.
所有這些流浪者都為褻瀆他的宮殿而付出代價。 他會把自己偽裝成一個骯髒的乞丐，一個低賤的僕人以傲慢和愚蠢的態度踢倒了他。 僕人的傲慢使他憤怒，但他控制著自己的憤怒。他可以以一敵百，敵人都會倒下，甚至是最強的。 他曾經默默無聞，然後當所有事情塵埃落定，當他最終回到家裡，他和妻子坐在一起，告訴她這些故事。
All these stragglers will have to pay for desecrating his palace. He'll disguise himself as a filthy beggar, and a lowly servant kicks him down the steps with arrogance and stupidity. The servant's arrogance revolts him, but he controls his anger. He's one against a hundred, but they'll all fall, even the strongest. He was nobody. And when it's all said and done, when he's home at last, he sits with his wife, and he tells her the stories.
很多時候，這些事情也發生在你身上。 你也有藥物掉入你的酒，你也和錯誤的女人分享了一張床，你也被魔法般的聲音所吸引。你也曾被吹向遠方，又被吹回來，你也曾遷怒於無辜的人。 你也在這個國家漫遊。 而且你也感受到了那陣不正常的風，深深的打擊了你。但這還不是全部。
In a lot of ways, some of these same things have happened to you. You too have had drugs dropped into your wine. You too have shared a bed with the wrong woman. You too have been spellbound by magical voices, sweet voices with strange melodies. You too have come so far and have been so far blown back. And you've had close calls as well. You have angered people you should not have. And you too have rambled this country all around. And you've also felt that ill wind, the one that blows you no good. And that's still not all of it.
這又有什麼意義呢？我自己和許多其他作曲家也被同樣的主題影響過。這些主題意味深長。但是如果一首歌感動了你，這就足夠了，你不必知道這首歌意味著什麼。我曾經在歌里寫過各種各樣的事情，我從來不會擔心他們有什麼意義。當梅爾維爾將他所有的舊約，聖經參考，科學理論，新教教義，以及所有海洋、帆船和鯨魚的知識融入一個故事時，我不認為他也會擔心 - 這一切都意味著什麼。
So what does it all mean? Myself and a lot of other songwriters have been influenced by these very same themes. And they can mean a lot of different things. If a song moves you, that's all that's important. I don't have to know what a song means. I've written all kinds of things into my songs. And I'm not going to worry about it – what it all means. When Melville put all his old testament, biblical references, scientific theories, Protestant doctrines, and all that knowledge of the sea and sailing ships and whales into one story, I don't think he would have worried about it either – what it all means.
約翰·多恩也是如此。這位在莎士比亞時期生活的詩人牧師，寫下這樣的話：「The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts. Notof two lovers, but two loves, the nests.」我也不知道這是什麼意思，但聽起來不錯。你也希望你的歌聽起來不錯。
John Donne as well, the poet-priest who lived in the time of Shakespeare, wrote these words, "The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts. Not of two lovers, but two loves, the nests." I don't know what it means, either. But it sounds good. And you want your songs to sound good.
當《奧德賽》里的奧德修斯拜訪地下世界的著名戰士阿基里斯時，這個長壽擁有各種榮譽和榮耀的人告訴奧德修斯這都是誤會。 「我剛剛死了，就是這樣。」沒有榮譽，沒有不朽。如果可以的話，阿基里斯會選擇回去，成為土地上一個農民的奴隸，而不是現在這樣，成為死亡之地的君主- 無論他過去的生活如何艱難，都好過呆在這片死亡之地上。
When Odysseus in The Odyssey visits the famed warrior Achilles in the underworld – Achilles, who traded a long life full of peace and contentment for a short one full of honor and glory – tells Odysseus it was all a mistake. "I just died, that's all." There was no honor. No immortality. And that if he could, he would choose to go back and be a lowly slave to a tenant farmer on Earth rather than be what he is – a king in the land of the dead – that whatever his struggles of life were, they were preferable to being here in this dead place.