這是最好的時代，這是最壞的時代，是智慧的時代，這是愚蠢的時代，這是時代的信仰，這是劃時代的懷疑，這是光明的季節，它是黑暗的季節，這是春天的希望，這是絕望的冬天，我們都擺在我們面前，我們沒有任何關系擺在我們面前，我們都將直接向天堂，我們都將直接的其他方式。 。 。
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imagin-ings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this.
美好的事實反映，每個人都是由深刻的秘密和神秘的對其他人構成的，莊嚴的考慮，夜晚當我進入壹個偉大的城市，每壹個這些黑色集群都有自己的秘密，每個房間都環繞自己的秘密;在數以十萬計的胸腔每壹個跳動的心臟中有，在它的想像中，壹個秘密離心最近！東西的可怕，甚至死亡本身，是參考了這壹點。
The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow street in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and many wooden shoes. The hands of the man who sawed the wood, left red marks on the billets; and the forehead of the woman who nursed her baby, was stained with the stain of the old rag she wound about her head again. Those who had been greedy with the staves of the cask, had acquired a tigerish smear about the mouth; and one tall joker so besmirched, his head more out of a long squalid bag of a night-cap than in it, scrawled upon a wall with his finger dipped in muddy wine-lees—blood.
未完