虽然有这样一个标题，这篇文章真正要谈的却是怎样才能不老。在我这个年纪，这实在是一个至关重要的问题。我的第一个忠告是，要仔细选择你的祖先。尽管我的双亲皆属早逝，但是考虑到我的其他祖先，我的选择还是很不错的。是的，我的外祖父六十七岁时去世，正值盛年，可是另外三位祖父辈的亲人都活到八十岁以上。至于稍远些的亲戚，我只发现一位没能长寿的，他死于一种现已罕见的病症：被杀头。我的一位曾祖母是吉本的朋友，她活到九十二岁高龄，一直到死，她始终是让子孙们全都感到敬畏的人。我的外祖母，一辈子生了十个孩子，活了九个，还有一个早年夭折，此外还有过多次流产。可是守寡以后，她马上就致力于妇女的高等教育事业。她是格顿学院的创办人之一，力图使妇女进入医疗行业。她总好讲起她在意大利遇到过的一位面容悲哀的老年绅士。她询问他忧郁的缘故，他说他刚刚同两个孙儿女分手。“天哪！”她叫道，“我有七十二个孙儿孙女，如果我每次分手就要悲伤不已，那我早就没法活了！”
“奇怪的母亲。”他回答说。但是，作为她的七十二个孙儿孙女的一员，我却要说我更喜欢她的见地。上了八十岁，她开始感到有些难以入睡，她便经常在午夜时分至凌晨三时这段时间里阅读科普方面的书籍。我想她根本就没有功夫去留意她在衰老。我认为，这就是保持年轻的最佳方法。如果你的兴趣和活动既广泛又浓烈，而且你又能从中感到自己仍然精力旺盛，那么你就不必去考虑你已经活了多少年这种纯粹的统计学情况，更不必去考虑你那也许不很长久的未来。
至于健康，由于我这一生几乎从未患过病，也就没有什么有益的忠告。我吃喝均随心所欲，醒不了的时候就睡觉。我做事情从不以它是否有益健康为依据，尽管实际上我喜欢做的事情通常都是有益健康的。
从心理角度讲，老年需防止两种危险。一是过分沉湎于往事。人不能生活在回忆当中，不能生活在对美好往昔的怀念或对去世的友人的哀念之中。一个人应当把心思放在未来，放到需要自己去做点什么的事情上。要做到这一点并非轻而易举，往事的影响总是在不断增加。人们总好认为自己过去的情感要比现在强烈得多，头脑也比现在敏锐。假如真的如此，就该忘掉它；而如果可以忘掉它，那你自以为是的情况就可能并不是真的。
另一件应当避免的事是依恋年轻人，期望从他们的勃勃生气中获取力量。子女们长大成人以后，都想按照自己的意愿生活。如果你还想象她们年幼时那样关心他们，你就会成为他们的包袱，除非她们是异常迟钝的人。我不是说不应该关心子女，而是说这种关心应该是含蓄的，假如可能的话，还应是宽厚的，而不应该过分地感情用事。动物的幼子一旦自立，大动物就不再关心它们了。人类则因其幼年时期较长而难于做到这一点。
我认为，对于那些具有强烈的爱好，其活动又都恰当适宜、并且不受个人情感影响的人们，成功地度过老年决非难事。只有在这个范围里，长寿才真正有益；只有在这个范围里，源于经验的智慧才能得到运用而不令人感到压抑。告诫已经成人的孩子别犯错误是没有用处的，因为一来他们不会相信你，二来错误原本就是教育所必不可少的要素之一。但是，如果你是那种受个人情感支配的人，你就会感到，不把心思都放在子女和孙儿女身上，你就会觉得生活很空虚。假如事实确是如此，那么你必须明白，虽然你还能为他们提供物质上的帮助，比如支援他们一笔钱或者为他们编织毛线外套的时候，决不要期望他们会因为你的陪伴而感到快乐。
有些老人因害怕死亡而苦恼。年轻人害怕死亡是可以理解的。有些年轻人担心他们会在战斗中丧身。一想到会失去生活能够给予他们的种种美好事物，他们就感到痛苦。这种担心并不是无缘无故的，也是情有可原的。但是，对于一位经历了人世的悲欢、履行了个人职责的老人，害怕死亡就有些可怜且可耻了。克服这种恐惧的最好办法是——至少我是这样看的——逐渐扩大你的兴趣范围并使其不受个人情感的影响，直至包围自我的围墙一点一点地离开你，而你的生活则越来越融合于大家的生活之中。每一个人的生活都应该像河水一样——开始是细小的，被限制在狭窄的两岸之间，然后热烈地冲过巨石，滑下瀑布。渐渐地，河道变宽了，河岸扩展了，河水流得更平稳了。最后，河水流入了海洋，不再有明显的间断和停顿，而后便毫无痛苦地摆脱了自身的存在。能够这样理解自己一生的老人，将不会因害怕死亡而痛苦，因为他所珍爱的一切都将继续存在下去。而且，如果随着精力的衰退，疲倦之感日渐增加，长眠并非是不受欢迎的念头。我渴望死于尚能劳作之时，同时知道他人将继续我所未竟的事业，我大可因为已经尽了自己之所能而感到安慰。
Money for Nothing
In the early nineteentwenties， when I first settled in London， I did a great deal of reviewing. (There was much more space then for book reviews than there is now.) I was ready to review anything， and often did columns of short notes on new books. The books themselves were then sold - fiction for a third of the publisher，s price， nonfiction for about a half - to a certain shop not far from the Strand， a shop that specialized in the purchase and resale of review copies， a traffic that had a faintly piratical air. At this shop， where human nature was understood， one was always paid at once and paid in cash， generally in exquisite new pound notes. And of all the money I have ever handled， this gave me most delight. Money for Jam， Money for Old Rope. Money for Nothing. When we receive our wages， salaries or fees， we may be content， for this is what we have earned， but we are a long way form delight. It is money that we have not earned， the windfall， the magical bonus， that starts us capering. Many sociologists， who understand everything except their fellow creatures， are bewildered and saddened by the ubiquitous passion among the mob for betting and gambling. But the more we standardize wages， hours and prices， the more we insist upon social security for everybody， the more we compel two and two to make four everywhere， the more people will take to the greyhound tracks and the football pools. For it is when two and two miraculously make five that the heart leaps up at last. It is when money looks like manna that we truly delight in it. Since those days when I used to sell my review copies I have earned in one way or another very considerable sums of money indeed； but they have all been lost in a dreary maze of bank accounts， stocks and shares， tax certificates， checks and bills and receipts. I have never felt rich and careless， like a man returning from a lucky day at the races or a sailor home from a long voyage. But when I used to hurry out of that shop with five or six new pound notes singing in my pocket， for quarter of an hour or so I felt like a tipsy millionaire or the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo. Money to Burn！ And the only comparable moments I have known since have been on certain very rare occasions when I happen to have been fortunate in playing those fruit machines， which were so popular in the American southwest when we were there. These machines are so rigged that the odds are monstrously against the customer. Nickels and quarters by the score could vanish as lemons tried to mate with plums. But the jackpot， which must surely have been the invention of some poet， more than compensated for all these losses. As the magic combination of symbols showed itself， the machine would first hesitate， then shiver and noisily gather its works together， and then， like an exasperated fairy godmother， would splutteringly hurl whole handfuls of coin at you so that below your waist it seemed to be raining nickels or quarters. This is acquisition lit with wonder and glory. We could do with more of it.
不劳而获的钱