摘要
我二十来岁的时候，物质贫乏得很，就像是生活在狄更斯小说的时代。那时候我住在纽约市一个脏兮兮的公寓里，没有洗碗机，没有空调，房间里更没有洗衣机，我根本就是个“邋遢浪子”。就像大多数曼哈顿人一样，我既没有车，也没有电视机。在那些日子里，我沉浸在易卜生的戏剧中，相当地自命不凡。我就是那种会用整晚来读易卜生戏剧的人——当然，唉，通常都是整晚在洗衣房里读。那时候我就是这样子过日子的，而那样的日子已经一去不复返了。
My twenties were so lacking in creature .comforts that I could have been in a Dickens novel. What a＂ bedraggled waif＂ I was, living in a grimy New York City apartment with no dishwasher, no air conditioner and no on-site laundry facilities. Like most Manhattanites, I didn＇t have a car, nor did I have a television set. In those days I was indulged in Ibsen plays and I was incredibly pretentious and I was the kind of person who spent all evening--often, alas,
