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因此，如果你祈祷找到一个伴侣，就先培养自己的独立性吧，战胜你自己的需求，然后再尽情释放，你将收获最好的东西——你自己丰裕的心。
请自由地奉献你的爱。有一天你会遇到另一个付出者，那时一切便会有其归属，没有任何约束。你们会准备好给出彼此最终的礼物：一生的承诺。
琐事是灵魂的毒药。它会把你拖垮，挑战你神经的极限，让你分神。神经衰弱和与压力有关的疾病常常归因于那些最无意义的琐事带来的压力。
对于爱情，没有什么折磨和考验能比每日平淡的家庭生活更有效的了。甚至在你还没有意识到的时候，对琐事无尽的关心会占据你的多半个视界。
这就需要有些不寻常的事情，或者需要一些带有悲剧色彩的事情发生，才能让你意识到你将失去的是什么。
当我的一个朋友没有任何前兆地逝去时，他留下了妻儿。这件事触动我为我的丈夫写下了下面的这些文字：
我的爱人，当你死去那天，
如果你先我而去，
我会万分悲恸。
这并非为你的离去，
我再明白不过。
那些不能改变的，
我们必须选择去忍受，
并优雅地接受。
我为之悲恸的，
哦，是那些曾经共同拥有却没有被我们珍惜的时刻——
那些还未曾打开的礼物，
那些被我们践踏的花蕊，
那些永远逝去的庆祝的机会，
那些被我们遗忘和失去的美好……
哦，我的爱人，我将如何祭奠它们。
很多年前，我的一个女朋友到伦敦拜访我，她当时情绪很激动。在我眼中，她一直是个麻烦缠身、被宿命和痛苦的想法折磨的、孤独而压抑的人。
那天，我得知她去参加了一个降神会，在那里她似乎看到了一个男人。这个男人温柔地告诉她，自己是多么爱她，多么希望看到她开心，告诉她他会一直守护着她。
“这个人是我父亲，”她满眼泪水地轻声说道，“我从来没有见过我的父亲，在我还是个婴儿的时候，他就在战场上被杀了。”
我对她的话不禁产生了质疑，问道：“你真的相信有鬼神存在吗？”
“谁知道呢？”她笑了笑，泰然自若地说道，“事实上，这让我感觉他就在那儿，尽管他离开了我，但是他的爱没有走，就在我的体内。我只是从来没意识到而已。”
这个我认识的女人从此改变了。她充满光彩地在我的面前站起身，深深地确定她是值得爱的，也是被深爱着的。在这个全新的她的面前，将是一条充满鲜花的道路。
那个时刻对我自己来说也是个转折点。跟她一样，我也有一位在我还是个婴儿时便去世的父亲。书 包 网 txt小说上传分享
Love 爱（2）
我的儿子有一只黑白相间的宠物兔子，它总是会给我们种种惊喜。它被训练得很乖，从不在房间里随地大小便。它爱玩一个小玩具，有时会在它自己篮子里的手柄上来回转悠。
它喜欢看早间新闻，跟我们其他人一起坐在沙发上。偶尔用它的后爪碰碰遥控器，或是趁我不注意时在我的杯子里吸几口茶。
这只小兔子简直就是我们生活的一部分，我们无法想象没有它的日子会怎样。
两年后，它没能逃过“流感”，这是一种很少有兔子能躲过的灾疫。我当时给兽医打电话，医生也答应来了，赶来回60英里的路来救我们的小宠物。
在等待的时候，我把它放在我的大腿上，想给它喂点水。它虚弱而平静地躺在我的身上，姿势看起来并不像往常那么自然。它把头舒适地倚在我的胳膊上，看了我一眼。那根本就不像是一只小兔子的眼神。
后来，我意识到那是一种感谢，感谢我当时陪着它，感谢我对它的关心和爱。在那一刻，我突然有一种少有的感觉，那是最纯洁、毫无杂质的爱的形式：剥离了私欲的、仅仅作为一种神秘力量存在的爱。
我感觉到这种爱从我的体内散发出去，像一把保护伞一样轻轻地把它包裹了起来，当它喘息着最后一口气的时候温柔地将它扶在我的手臂里。
我永远也不会忘记那只小兔子和那种感觉，那是它以及任何生命可以给予的、对生命的启示。
During a brief acting career； I appeared in an obscure play at a backstreet theatre。 My part was a real challenge； furiously rehearsed for weeks。
On the second night after opening； I was aware of a strange lack of response from the house。 Believing there was something lacking in my performance I tried a little harder – and harder still。 No improvement。
Only in the interval was the terrible truth revealed： There was no one in the audience。 I was mortified。 To this day I feel the blush on my cheek when I think of myself pouring my heart out – to no one。
I quit acting soon after that。 It obviously wasn’t the right choice for me； if a response was so essential。
By contrast think of an artist like Renoir； who went on producing pictures； day in day out； year after year； decade following decade。 Nothing ever stopped him； no amount of discouragement； poverty or failure。 He painted away； regardless of people’s opinions； in pure delight at his own creativity。
To be an artist merely for the return it may bring is as doomed as entering a relationship only for what you hope to get out of it： warmth； togetherness； intimacy； sex； security； money； status or whatever： The minute the reward is not forthing； it all es to an end。
Love is like art： to survive it has to be genuine； sustained by its own imperative； and never requiring an applause。
A lot of people have a fear of mitment。 I suppose what they really abhor is being dependent； handing over control。 I can relate to that。
What I can’t understand is why anyone should want to control another； especially in the name of love。 For if you attempt it； it leaves the other person with no option but to resist； evade or deceive you； or； worst of all； succumb to your will； in which case their personality expires； and you are stuck with what？ A mollusc。
The symbiosis of domination； like any mutual dependence； is the enemy of love。 Based on want； our greatest weakness； it makes us stunted； insecure。 For if you rely on each other to fill the vacuum inside you； one of you is always bound to lose； as the other one dies； or simply moves on。
So – if you wish to find a partner； foster your independence； over…e your needs。 Thus released； you’ll have the best to offer： your own affluent heart。
Give freely of your love。 One day you’ll e across another giver； and then it will all fall into place； without any restrictions。 You’ll both be ready for the ultimate gift： that of mitment。 电子书 分享网站
Love 爱（3）
Trivia is poison for the soul。 It wears you down； grates on your nerves； drives you to distraction。 Mental breakdowns and stress…related illness are often due to pressures of the most meaningless kind。
As for romance； few antidotes are as effective as the trials and tribulations of normal； everyday family life。 Before you know it； endless concerns of little or no significance take up your entire field of vision。
It takes something extraordinary； perhaps a brush with tragedy； to make you realize what you stand to lose。
When a friend of ours died unexpectedly； leaving behind a wife and a young child； I wrote the following lines to my husband：
My love； when you die –
if you die before me –
I shall grieve。
Not for your passing；
I know better than that。
What can’t be altered
must be borne
and gracefully accepted。
But I shall grieve –
oh how I shall grieve
for each moment of our life together
that we had and did not treasure：
precious gifts left unopened；
blossoms trampled underfoot。
Celebrations
lost forever。
Sacrificed。
Waylaid。
Oh my love； how I shall mourn them。
Many years ago in London； I was visited by a girl…friend in a highly emotional state。 I was used to seeing her troubled； plagued by doomed or thwarted expectations； often lonely and depressed。
It transpired that she’d been to a seance。 A male voice had sought her out； telling her； tenderly； how much he loved her； how he wished to see her happy； and how he was always watching over her。
“It was my father；” she whispered tearfully。 “The father I never knew。 He was killed in the war； when I was a baby。”
I reacted with a certain scepticism： “Do you really believe there’s such a thing as spirits？”
“Who knows？” she smiled； unperturbed。 “The thing is； it made me realise that he would have felt just like that。 And； although he’s gone； I still have his love。 It is contained within me。 I just wasn’t aware of it before。”
The woman I knew had been transformed。 She stood before me radiant； secure in the knowledge that she was lovable and loved。 Looking at her； I could tell that the person she had suddenly bee had a rosy future ahead of her。
That moment was a turning…point for me； too。 For； just like her； I had a father who died when I was a baby。
My son used to have a black…and…white pet rabbit who amazed us all。 He was fully house…trained； answered to his name； he played with dinky toys and went cycling in a basket on the handle…bars。
He liked watching the early evening news； sitting on the sofa with the rest of us； occasionally operating the remote control with his hind paw； or sipping tea from my mug when I wasn’t looking。
The rabbit was so much part of our life； we couldn’t imagine it without him scuttling around the house。
After two years he was struck down with “flu”。 The nasty kind that few rabbits survive。 I rang the vet； who promised to e： a sixty mile round…trip for our precious pet。
While waiting； I took the rabbit on my lap to try and syringe some water into him。 Weak； but peaceful； he lay on his side in what seemed an unnatural position。 He placed his head fortably on my arm and gave me a curious glance： not like a rabbit at all。
Later I realized it was an acknowledgement： of my presence； my care； and my love for him。 For at that moment I had a rare sensation of love in its purest； most unadulterated form： love stripped of all self…interest； existing only as a mystic force。
I felt it reaching out from me； enveloping the tiny body on