20世纪*伟大的作家之一 诺贝尔文学奖得主
　　名列影响历史的百部经典 获得普利策奖
　　超越地域和时代 揭示人类共同的命运

　　欧内斯特·米勒·海明威（1899—1961），美国著名作家，20世纪20年代美国“迷惘的一代”的代表。代表作有《老人与海》《太阳照样升起》《永别了，武器》《丧钟为谁而鸣》等，凭借《老人与海》获得1953年普利策奖及1954年诺贝尔文学奖。海明威被誉为美利坚民族的精神丰碑，并且是“新闻体”小说的创始人。他一向享有“文坛硬汉”之誉，写作风格以简洁著称，对美国文学及20世纪文学的发展有极深远的影响。肯尼迪称他为“20世纪最伟大的作家之一”。

　　The shark closed fast astern and when he hit the fish the old man saw his mouth open and his strange eyes and the clicking chop of the teeth as he drove forward in the meat just above the tail. The shark’s head was out of water and his back was coming out and the old man could hear the noise of skin and flesh ripping on the big fish when he rammed the harpoon down onto the shark’s head at a spot where the line between his eyes intersected with the line that ran straight back from his nose.There were no such lines. There was only the heavy sharp blue head and the big eyes and the clicking, thrusting, all-swallowing jaws. But that was the location of the brain and the old man

　　hit it. He hit it with his blood-mushed hands driving a good harpoon with all his strength. He hit it without hope but with resolution and complete malignancy.

　　The shark swung over and the old man saw his eye was not alive and then he swung over once again, wrapping himself in two loops of the rope. The old man knew 　　that he was dead but the shark would not accept it. Then, on his back, with his tail lashing and his jaws clicking, the shark ploughed over the water as a speed-boat does. The water was white where his tail beat it and three-quarters of his body was clear above the water when the rope came taut, shivered, and then snapped. The 　　shark lay quietly for a little while on the surface and the old man watched him. Then he went down very slowly. 

　　“He took about forty pounds,” the old man said aloud. He took my harpoon too and all the rope, he thought, and now my fish bleeds again and there will be others.

　　He did not like to look at the fish any more since he had been mutilated. When the fish had been hit it was as though he himself were hit.

　　But I killed the shark that hit my fish, he thought. And he was the biggest dentuso that I have ever seen. And God knows that I have seen big ones. 

　　It was too good to last, he thought. I wish it had been a dream now and that I had never hooked the fish and was alone in bed on the newspapers.

　　“But man is not made for defeat,” he said. “A man can be destroyed but not defeated.” I am sorry that I killed the fish though, he thought. Now the bad time is coming and I do not even have the harpoon. The dentuso is cruel and able and strong and intelligent. But I was more intelligent than he was. Perhaps not, he thought. 　　Perhaps I was only better armed.

　　“Don’t think, old man,” he said aloud. “Sail on this course and take it when it comes. ”

　　But I must think, he thought. Because it is all I have left. That and baseball. I wonder how the great DiMaggio would have liked the way I hit him in the brain. It was no great thing, he thought. Any man could do it. But do you think my hands were as great a handicap as the bone spurs? I cannot know. I never had anything wrong with my heel except the time the sting ray stung it when I stepped on him when swimming and paralysed the lower leg and made the unbearable pain. 

　　“Think about something cheerful, old man,” he said. “Every minute now you are closer to home. You sail lighter for the loss of forty pounds.”

　　He knew quite well the pattern of what could happen when he reached the inner part of the current. But there was nothing to be done now.

　　“Yes there is,” he said aloud. “I can lash my knife to the butt of one of the oars.” 

　　So he did that with the tiller under his arm and the sheet of the sail under his foot. “Now,” he said. “I am still an old man. But I am not unarmed.”

　　The breeze was fresh now and he sailed on well. He watched only the forward part of the fish and some of his hope returned.

　　……