The fortunate people in the world—the only really fortunate people in the world， in my mind —are those whose work is also their pleasure. The class is not a large one， not nearly so large as it is often represented to be; and authors are perhaps one of the most important elements in its composition. They enjoy in this respect2) at least a real harmony of life. To my mind， to be able to make your work your pleasure is the one class distinction in the world worth striving for; and I do not wonder that others are inclined to envy those happy human beings who find their livelihood in the gay effusions3) of their fancy， to whom every hour of labor is an hour of enjoyment， to whom repose4)—however necessary—is a tiresome interlude， and even a holiday is almost deprivation. Whether a man writes well or ill， has much to say or little， if he cares about writing at all， he will appreciate the pleasures of composition. To sit at one’s table on a sunny morning， with four clear hours of uninterruptible security， plenty of nice white paper， and a Squeezer pen—that is true happiness. The complete absorption of the mind upon an agreeable occupation—what more is there than that to desire? What does it matter what happens outside? The House of Commons may do what it likes， and so may the House of Lords. The heathen5) may rage furiously in every part of the globe. Consols6) may fall and suffragettes7) may rise. Never mind， for four hours， at any rate， we will withdraw ourselves from a common， ill-governed， and disorderly world， and with the key of fancy unlock that cupboard where all the good things of the infinite are put away.

And speaking of freedom， is not the author free， as few men are free? Is he not secure， as few men are secure? The tools of his industry are so common and so cheap that they have almost ceased to have commercial value. He needs no bulky pile of raw material， no elaborate apparatus8)， no service of men or animals. He is dependent for his occupation upon no one but himself， and nothing outside him that matters. He is the sovereign of an empire， self-supporting， self-contained. No one can sequestrate9) his estates; no one can deprive him of his stock in trade; no one can force him to exercise his faculty against his will; no one can prevent him exercising it as he chooses. The pen is the great liberator of men and nations. No chains can bind; no poverty can choke; no tariff can restrict the free play of his mind. Whether his work is good or bad， so long as he does his best he is happy. I often fortify10) myself amid the uncertainties and vexations11) of political life by believing that I possess a line of retreat into a peaceful and fertile country where no rascal12) can pursue and where one need never be dull or idle or even wholly without power. It is then， indeed， that I feel devoutly thankful to have been born fond of writing. It is then， indeed， that I feel grateful to all the brave and generous spirits who， in every age and in every land， have fought to establish the now unquestioned freedom of the pen.

Let us remember the author can always do his best. There is no excuse for him. The great cricketer may be out of form. The general may on the day of decisive battle have a bad toothache or a bad army. The admiral may be seasick—as a sufferer I reflect with satisfaction upon that contingency13). Caruso14) may be afflicted with catarrh15)， or Hackenschmidt16) with influenza. As for an orator， it is not enough for him to be able to think well and truly. He must think quickly. Speed is vital to him. Spontaneity is more than ever the hallmark of good speaking. All these varied forces of activity require from the performer the command of the best that is in him at a particular moment which may be fixed by circumstances utterly beyond his control. It is not so with the author. He need never appear in public until he is ready. He can always realize the best that is in him. He is not dependent upon his best moment in any one day. He may group together the best moments of twenty days. There is no excuse for him if he does not do his best. Great is his opportunity; great also is his responsibility. Someone—I forget who—has said: “Words are the only things which last for ever.” That is， to my mind， always a wonderful thought. The most durable structures raised in stone by the strength of man， the mightiest monuments of his power， crumble into dust， while the words spoken with fleeting breath， the passing expression of the unstable fancies of his mind， endure not as echoes of the past， not as mere archaeological17) curiosities or venerable relics， but with a force and life as new and strong， and sometimes far stronger than when they were first spoken， and leaping across the gulf of three thousand years， they light the world for us today.

世上幸運之人——世上唯一真正幸運之人，在我看來，是那些以工作為樂的人。這種人并不多，至少沒有人們想象的那樣多;在這些人中，作家也許是其中最重要的成員之一。就樂趣而言，他們至少享受著一種真正和諧的生活。在我看來，能以工作為樂趣的人，代表著一個杰出的階層，世人值得為加入這一階層而拼搏;這些幸福的人們，往往會受到他人的羨慕，這也不足為奇，因為他們在馳騁想象的妙趣中找到了生存的手段。對他們來說，一小時的勞作，就是一小時的享受，而休憩——無論多么必要——都是一種無聊的插曲，甚至休假也幾乎成了對快樂的掠奪。一個人無論寫好寫壞，寫多寫少，只要真心喜歡，就能領略到激揚文字的樂趣。在陽光燦爛的早晨，憑案而坐，鋪一沓雪白的稿紙，握一支“擠壓式”鋼筆，享受整整四小時毫無干擾的清靜時光——這才是真正的幸福。能夠?qū)⑺行乃级純A注到自己由衷喜愛的職業(yè)中——夫復何求!外界的風云變幻，與我何干?管它下議院上議院，愛干什么干什么，隨它去吧。哪怕異教徒的囂張氣焰席卷了全球每一個角落。哪怕債券市場一落千丈，女權運動勢不可擋。沒有關系，不管世界如何變幻，我們擁有四個小時的時間，可以避開這混亂、無序的塵世，用想象的鑰匙，去開啟藏有無限宇宙中一切美好事物的寶箱。

說到自由，雖然自由自在者為數(shù)不多，難道作家還不算自由?雖然安居樂業(yè)者實屬少見，難道作家還不夠安穩(wěn)?作家這個行業(yè)用以工作的工具如此平常，如此便宜，幾乎不再有什么商業(yè)價值。他不需要堆積如山的原材料，不需要精密儀器，不需要額外的人力物力。他獨自從業(yè)，不靠別人，只靠自己;外在的一切對他來講都無關緊要。他就是一國之君，獨立獨行，自給自足。任何人都無權扣押他的財產(chǎn);任何人都無法剝奪他的庫存產(chǎn)品;任何人都不能強迫他違心地創(chuàng)作;任何人都不能阻止他按自己的意愿施展才華。他的筆就是人類和各民族的解放者。他自由翱翔的神思，鎖鏈鎖不住，貧困困不住，關稅擋不住。無論作品是好是壞，只要盡心盡力，他就會感到快樂。在變幻莫測、勞心傷神的政治生涯中，我常常這樣安慰自己:我自信有一條退路，通向一片寧靜富饒之地，任何無賴之徒都無法追蹤到那里;在那里，一個人永遠不會感到煩悶，或虛擲光陰，甚至孤獨無助。確實，每當這種時候，我就會為自己與生俱來的寫作愛好而真誠地感到欣慰;每當這種時候，我就會對各個時代、各個國家那些勇敢而慷慨的人們充滿感激，感謝他們的奮斗贏得了當今無可爭議的創(chuàng)作自由。

讓我們記住，作家永遠可以展現(xiàn)最佳的自我。他沒有任何理由不這樣做。板球健將也許會有發(fā)揮失常的時候。將軍在決戰(zhàn)來臨之日也許會突然牙疼，或者缺乏勇猛善戰(zhàn)的部隊。艦隊司令也許會暈船——我本人作為暈船者確信有這種可能?？斔饕苍S會得黏膜炎，哈肯施密特也許會得流感。對于演說家來說，僅有正確縝密的思維是不夠的，他還必須反應機敏。速度決定成敗。出口成章現(xiàn)已成為優(yōu)秀演講的標志性特征。所有這一切活動都需要行動者在一個特定時刻發(fā)揮其最佳狀態(tài)，但他們卻可能因為某些不可控制的力量而錯失良機。作家的情況卻不一樣。不到勝券在握，他可以永遠不出場。他總是可以把自己最佳的一面展現(xiàn)出來。他不必依賴于某一天的某一最佳時刻，他可以把二十天的最佳時刻累加起來。他沒有理由不做到最好。對他來說，機會很多，但責任也很重。有人說過——我忘了是誰——“話語是唯一永恒不朽之物?！边@句話，在我看來，永遠是絕妙佳句。人類用石頭構筑的堅固無比的大廈——人力所能企及的最偉大的豐碑，也會化為廢墟，而那瞬息即逝的話語，那思緒飄游時一閃而過的言辭，卻流傳了下來，但不是作為歷史的回音，不是作為純粹的考古奇跡或珍貴的遺跡，而是帶著一種嶄新的、強大的力量和生命——有時遠比當初第一次說出時更為強大——跨越三千年時光的鴻溝，為我們照亮了今天的世界。