星期绿·档案

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     Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
　　By each let this be heard,
　　Some do it with a bitter look,
　　Some with a flattering word,
　　The coward does it with a kiss,
　　The brave man with a sword!
　　
　　Some kill their love when they are young,
　　And some when they are old;
　　Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
　　Some with the hands of Gold:
　　The kindest use a knife, because
　　The dead so soon grow cold.
　　                                                       ——Oscar Wilde