His teaching still exerts a strong influence.
他的教导仍在产生巨大影响。
对财富的渴望完全是我们追求更高水平生活的一种本能表现。
你必须过着真正的生活，而不仅仅只满足于寻欢作乐。
你要去创造，并非与别人竞争已经创造出来的财富。
You must get rid of the last vestige of the old idea that there is a Deity whose will it is that you should be poor or whose purposes may be served by keeping you in poverty.
get rid of：摆脱，除去
You do not want to get rich solely for the good of others, to lose yourself for the salvation of mankind, to experience the joys of philanthropy and sacrifice.
for the good of：为了……的好处；为了……的利益
52快乐三明治
Enjoy Every Sandwich
查尔斯·扎诺尔 / Charles Zanor
I did not know who Warren Zevon was until last year, when his impending death from lung cancer made the news. He was a singer-songwriter, and it turned out that I was very familiar with one of his pieces—the famous were wolf song that blares from the jukebox while Tom Cruise prances victoriously around the pool table in The color of Money. It has always been one of my favorite movie scenes.
Zevon' s illness provoked a seemingly heartfelt show of support from others in the entertainment business. David Letterman featured him for an entire show, and at one point asked him if his illness had given him any wisdom. Zevon' s response: "Enjoy every sandwich."
To characterize this message as inspirational is probably over the top, but grant me this much—it stands in refreshing contrast to the stories of other victims of life-threatening illnesses that are intended to be inspirational but end up sounding superhuman. The protagonists in these tales meet any challenge, climb any mountain and draw their last breath with optimism and grace.
I admire the take-charge attitude and energy of such people, but I have nothing in common with them and they bear little resemblance to anyone I know. Zevon, however, I can relate to.
In February of 2002 I was diagnosed with lymphoma. Since that time I have be come increasingly aware that the world-beater stories are simply part of a larger conspiracy to get everyone in the country to live life to the fullest—travel more, learn to play the tuba, teach our grandchildren about the fall of the Roman Empire, build our own lathes and turn that cherry tree in the front yard into salad bowls for the whole neighborhood.
Each of these ventures is fine when considered by itself (except maybe for the salad-bowl thing), but I am suspicious of the cultural imperative that whether we are sick or well, more is better. I have no quarrel with those who, faced with a catastrophic health event, want to put more pins in their maps, but there are some of us who simply find renewed meaning in our already existing worlds.
Since my chemotherapy treatment, I have experienced small "Zen" rushes—an arresting sense of tranquility coupled with the heightened awareness that what I am doing at that moment is exactly what I want to be doing—whether I' m sitting in a restaurant with a newspaper, reading a book in bed, cooking a meal or watching a movie with my wife. I had these moments before my diagnosis, but not as often or as easily.
This sense of well-being is a welcome change, but I can' t say that it is due to a major shift in my priorities. The changes here have been small ones. I did not consider myself particularly materialistic before cancer, but I am definitely less so now. I used to be hungry to see live performances—plays, symphonies, singers—but I am more easily satisfied these days, and I don' t feel as much that I am missing something if I don' t go. Family and friends have always been important to me, but cancer has a way of separating those who are closest to you from those who are not.
During chemo I lost my hair, my appetite and a ton of weight. My color was lousy and my voice was weak. I had trouble carrying on complicated conversations. Outside of that I thought I made a pretty good impression, but to my surprise some people avoided me. Others were relentlessly faithful.
The clichés about sickness and marriage are true—the tested relationship does not stay the same. I was fortunate. Gene was steadfast in her love and support. In the ground war that is cancer, I knew she' d be there on the toughest days.
直到去年听到瓦伦·泽冯因患肺癌而生命垂危的消息，我才知道他是谁。他身兼歌手与作词者身份，而我比较熟悉的他的一首歌曲就是那首著名的《狼人》歌曲。影片《金钱本色》中，汤姆·克鲁斯绕着台球桌昂首阔步地走着，自动唱片点唱机里播放着的就是这首歌曲，而那一直是我最喜爱的电影场景之一。
泽冯的病情引发了娱乐界人士看似发自内心的支持。大卫·莱特曼还特意为他制作了一期电视节目，并在节目中询问泽冯对他的疾病有什么感触。泽冯的回答是：“享受每一份三明治。”
如果说这句话很令人振奋，也许有点儿夸张，可是它的确给了我很多启发——它与那些受疾病威胁、危及生命的患者的故事形成了对比，那些故事旨在振奋人心，听起来却不合乎人之常情。这些故事中的主角勇于挑战，什么山都敢爬，最终乐观且体面地结束了生命。
我敬仰这些人积极的人生态度以及他们的精力，然而我与他们没有丝毫共同点，而且他们和我认识的任何一个人都没有相似之处。但是，我和泽冯有着相同的感触。
2002年2月，我被诊断患上了淋巴癌。从那一刻起，我渐渐认识到，那些令人惊异的故事只不过是更大阴谋的一部分，它的目的就在于让居住在这个国家的每一个人过上最充实的生活：多旅游，学会演奏大号，给我们的孙辈讲述罗马帝国的衰败，造自己的车床，用前院的那棵樱桃树做成沙拉碗并送给所有邻居。
单单从其本身来考虑，这些做法都不错（或许排除沙拉碗这事），但是我对这一文化的高要求持怀疑态度，即：不管我们是否健康，活动越多越好。我不想与那些面对灾难性的疾病却要在他们的地图上标出更多旅游目标的人争论，然而，我们中的有些人完全能在我们现存的这个世界中找到崭新的生活内涵。
接受化疗以后，我已经经历了几次突发式的短暂“禅定”（佛教禅宗修行方法之一），这是一种让人印象深刻的宁静，夹杂着一股强烈的意识，感觉那一刻的所作所为正是自己所追求的——不管我是坐在餐厅看报，在床上看书，做饭还是和妻子一起看电影。在确诊之前，我也曾有过这样的时光，却不像现在这么经常，这么容易。
这种幸福的感觉是一种让人喜悦的变化，可是我不能说这是由于应该优先考虑的事情发生了重大转变所造成的。这里所说的只是很小的变化。在患癌症之前，我并不认为自己是只重视物质的人，现在的我就更不那么重视了。以往的我，经常盼望去观看现场表演——戏剧、交响乐、演唱会。然而，现在的我更容易满足于这些普通的日子，我不再觉得如果不去现场我会损失什么。家人和朋友对我来说一直很重要，而癌症则把那些和你亲近或不亲近的人区别开来。