世界短篇小說在線閱讀

1. 世界短篇小說3巨匠

世界三大著名短篇小說家是指法國的莫泊桑(1850-1893)，俄國的契訶夫(1860-1904)，美國的歐·亨利(1862-1910)三位文學大師。
莫泊桑
居伊·德·莫泊桑(Guy de Maupassant 1850--1893) ：19世紀後半期法國優秀的批判現實主義作家，曾拜法國著名作家福樓拜為師。一生創作了6部長篇小說和350多篇中短篇小說，他的文學成就以短篇小說最為突出，對後世產生極大影響。他擅長從平凡瑣屑的事物中截取富有典型意義的片斷，以小見大地概括出生活的真實。他的短篇小說構思別具匠心，情節變化多端，描寫生動細致，刻畫人情世態惟妙惟肖，令人讀後回味無窮。 莫泊桑 像
1880年發表第一個中篇小說《羊脂球》，此後陸續寫了一大批思想性和藝術性完美結合的短篇小說，博得世界短篇小說巨匠的贊譽。他的創作廣泛而深刻地反映了十九世紀後半期的法國社會現實，無情地揭露了資產階級道德風尚的丑惡，對下層社會的「小人物」寄予同情。小說構思新穎，描寫生動，人物語言個性化，布局謀篇別具匠心。 短篇的主題大致可歸納為三個方面第一是諷刺虛榮心和拜金主義，如《項鏈》、《我的叔叔於勒》；第二是描寫勞動人民的悲慘遭遇，贊頌其正直、淳樸、寬厚的品格，如《歸來》；第三是描寫普法戰爭，反映法國人民愛國情緒，如《羊脂球》。莫泊桑短篇小說布局結構的精巧。典型細節的選用、敘事抒情的手法以及行雲流水般的自然文筆，都給後世作家提供了楷模。 代表作有中篇小說《羊脂球》、《項鏈》、《我的叔叔於勒》等，長篇小說《一生》、《俊友》（又譯做《漂亮朋友》等。 他寫的《福樓拜家的星期天》被選入2001年、2009年和2010年七年級下冊的語文書。
編輯本段契訶夫
契訶夫 像
安東·巴甫洛維奇·契訶夫。十九世紀俄國批判現實主義作家、戲劇家、短篇小說藝術大師。 他的早期合作諷刺和揭露了俄國社會官場人物媚上欺下的丑惡面目，寫得諧趣橫生，發人深思。八十年代中期，他創作了既幽默又富於悲劇的短篇小說，反映了社會底層人民的被侮辱被損害的不幸生活，具有深刻的思想意義。代表作有短篇小說《變色龍》、《苦惱》、《凡卡》、《第六病室》、《套中人》《假面》 《牡蠣》 《必要的前奏》《脖子上的安娜》 《乞丐》 《彩票》《小公務員之死》 《名貴的狗》等。 契夫創造了一種風格獨特、言簡意賅、藝術精湛的抒情心理小說。他截取片段平凡的日常生活，憑借精巧的藝術細節對生活和人物作真實描繪和刻畫，從中展示重要的社會內容。這種小說抒情氣味濃郁，抒發他對丑惡現實的不滿和對美好未來的嚮往，把褒揚和貶抑、歡悅和痛苦之情融化在作品的形象體系之中。他認為：「天才的姊妹是簡練」，「寫作的本領就是把寫得差的地方刪去的本領」。他提倡「客觀地」敘述，說「越是客觀給人的印象就越深」。
編輯本段歐·亨利
歐亨利 像
真實姓名：威廉·西德尼·波特。曾被評論界譽為曼哈頓桂冠散文作家和美國現代短篇小說之父。十九世紀末二十世紀初美國現實主義著名作家。曾被誣告罪入獄三年。後遷居紐約，專事寫作，他幾乎每周寫一篇短篇小說，供報刊發表。他一生創作了近三百篇短篇小說和一部長篇小說，對腐朽的資本主義制度、反人道的法律、虛偽的道德給予揭露和諷刺。歐·亨利善於描寫美國社會尤其是紐約百姓的生活。他的作品構思新穎，語言詼諧，結局常常出人意外；又因描寫了眾多的人物，富於生活情趣，被譽為「美國生活的幽默網路全書」。代表作有小說集《白菜與國王》、《四百萬》、《命運之路》等。其中一些名篇如《愛的犧牲》、《警察與贊美詩》、《帶傢具出租的房間》、《麥琪的禮物》、《最後一片藤葉》等 從題材的性質來看，歐·亨利的作品大致可分為三類。一類以描寫美國西部生活為主；一類寫的是美國一些大城市的生活；一類則以拉丁美洲生活為對象。這些不同的題材，顯然與作者一生中幾個主要生活時期的不同經歷，有著密切的關系。而三類作品當中，無疑又以描寫城市生活的作品數量最多，意義最大。

2. 求世界短篇小說排行

莫泊桑 《羊脂球》,《項鏈》
契可夫 《變色龍》,《苦惱》,《萬卡》,《第六病室》,《套中人》
歐.亨利 《麥琪的禮物》,《警察與贊美詩》
這世界三大短篇小說家的其他作品還很多。

3. 世界著名短篇小說有哪些

莫泊桑 《羊脂球》,《項鏈》
契可夫 《變色龍》,《苦惱》,《萬卡》,《第六病室》,《套中人》
歐.亨利 《麥琪的禮物》,《警察與贊美詩》
這三個是短篇小說巨匠，有很多優秀作品呢~

4. 世界著名短篇小說

THE GIFT OF THE
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is graally subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."

The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze ring a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out lly at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

Jim looked about the room curiously.

"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"

And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The ll precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of plication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

5. 《愛倫坡驚悚小說全集世界推理偵探小說之父短篇小說最完整譯本》pdf下載在線閱讀，求百度網盤雲資源

《愛倫坡驚悚小說全集》（(美) 愛倫·坡）電子書網盤下載免費在線閱讀

資源鏈接：

鏈接: https://pan..com/s/1Fk8Xeyv1pWXbiqsF0VQs6w 提取碼: b547

書名：愛倫坡驚悚小說全集

作者：(美) 愛倫·坡

譯者：簡伊婕

豆瓣評分：8.5

出版社：安徽教育出版社

出版年份：2010

頁數：540

內容簡介：

愛倫•坡的小說，以永恆的死亡為主題，但又不完全等同於浪漫主義死亡的感傷，亦與哥特小說死亡的純粹恐怖有差異，當然也不同於現代主義死亡的荒謬。他是獨一無二的——以繁復的筆法，渲染詭異恐怖的氣氛，勾勒離奇的情節，以及那個亦真亦幻，令人驚詫莫名、難以置信的世界。

○偵探小說的首宗棘手案件《莫格街兇殺案》

○站在屍體上張著血紅的獨眼《黑貓》

○《跳蛙》的計劃，讓國王大臣自動受縛，上演血淋淋的人肉燒烤記

《莫格街兇殺案》《瑪麗羅傑血案》《黑貓》《金甲蟲》等篇目國內讀者早已耳熟能詳，而這一本《愛倫坡驚悚小說全集》不僅收錄了這些經典短篇，還翻譯了其餘的愛倫·坡的推理作品與驚悚小說，足以勾起每個人內心深處對於恐怖的隱秘渴望。

作者簡介：

埃德加·愛倫·坡

十九世紀美國詩人、小說家和文學評論家，在世時長期擔任報刊編輯工作。其作品在任何時代都有著獨一無二的風格。語言精緻，形式優美，內容多樣，他的小說被公認為短篇哥特小說的巔峰。他是偵探小說鼻祖，科幻小說先驅，也是恐怖小說大師，象徵主義先行者。此外，愛倫·坡還是一個唯美主義者。

6. 世界短篇小說推薦

樹妖
裟欏雙樹的
以及 浮生系列中的獵獅
文筆細膩 感人值得一看

我是一隻妖怪，生於漫天飛雪的十二月，浮瓏山顛。
哪一年已經不記得，七百年前？！一千年前？！或許更早。
在我未得成人型的時候，每至隆冬盛夏兩季，總有形色各異年歲參差的人類，懷著各自的心思，或獨來獨往，或攜家帶口，前赴後繼晝夜不分地攀上與天相接的浮瓏山。
虔誠的汗水，盡入我眼；墮崖的尖叫，盡入我耳。
端立山顛，俯瞰著匍匐在腳下的幸運兒，我心安理得地接受著他們的朝拜，任由他們哆嗦著雙手，把一條條五色錦線掛在我的身上。
願望有多少，錦線就有多少。
這些人，視我為神，執拗地以為我可以給予一切他們所渴望的庇佑。千百年來，他們不在乎這是一座沒有路的山峰，無視山腳深谷下的累累白骨，不顧峭壁上遍布毒荊，甘心以自己的性命，彰現無限的虔誠——對我的虔誠。
但是，我不是神，實現不了他們任何願望。
身上的七色光暈，不過是為了在黑夜裡吸引無知的飛鳥小獸供我果腹而已，卻被以訛傳訛地認作福澤人間的佛光神跡。
天大的誤會，真是罪過。
不過，不是我的罪，是人類的一相情願與偏聽偏信的陋習罷了。
所以，我懶得澄清。身為一個妖怪，卻被當做神一樣的崇拜，這種感覺我並不排斥，還有點喜歡。另外，觀賞完全不同的臉孔，聽著千奇百怪的祈願，比起終日面對不能說話不能動的岩石花草，活生生的人類更有利於打發我無聊的時間。
是的，我的時間很無聊，我的生活很孤獨。浮瓏山顛就是我全部的世界，除了這里，我哪裡也不能去，數百年如一日地看著同一片風景，日出日落，風起風止，花開花落，沒有哪一天是特別的。
每當目送著心滿意足的人類離開時，我總幻想著自己有朝一日也能跟他們一樣，邁著輕快的步子離開。
山下的世界，是我一直以來的渴望。
然而，我不能離開這里，寸步都不可能。
因為，我是一隻樹妖。
我的生命在堅硬的土石下盤根錯節，日復一日年復一年地擴張茁壯，長勢異常地好。我心裡很清楚，離開了土，樹只會有一個下場。
要活著，就不能有自由。
這就是身為樹妖的宿命，有點荒唐，有點殘忍。
不過，我已經逐漸習慣了這種紋絲不動的日子。比起那些默默無名隱沒在不起眼角落裡的同類，我興許能說得上是幸運了。因為，我背負著「神」的光環，拜它所賜，我總算還能擁有一些虛偽的快樂，一些不切實際的幻想。
值得慶幸，是吧？！
其實，要改變這種宿命也不是沒有辦法，只要修成人型，就可以脫離真身自由行動。這辦法我很早很早之前就知道。但是，對我而言，這「辦法」等同於幻想。以我的膚淺修為，恐怕撐不到成人的那天便化作一抷沙土，形神俱消了。有生命的東西就不會有永遠，妖精也一樣，千年也罷，萬年也好，總有消亡的一天。跟人類從生到死的道理一樣，唯一的區別就是一個短，一個長而已。
沒有不死的人，也沒有不死的妖怪。
一隻樹妖，卻渴望自由。
靜如止水的頹廢日子，幻想與絕望並存。
然而，當我抱定在浮瓏山終老至死的無奈想法時，我自欺也欺人的生活，沒有任何預兆地終結於一個炎炎夏日的夜晚……

他剛剛從崖下救回了一對失足的母子，大難不死的人坐在山邊，驚魂未定。然，他們沒有對救命恩人說半個謝字，不是害怕到忘記，而是不知道要對誰說。
他故意隱了身形，凡人看不到。
可是，我能，一清二楚。
他靠在我身上，沐著清亮的月光，耐心地等待著這一批朝拜者的離開。
除了那些人與獵物，再沒有誰如此接近過我，我不欣賞人在乞求時的卑微，以及獵物在被捕時的恐慌。但是，我喜歡他。喜歡他過人不逼人的靈氣，冰涼深邃，卻有柔軟的溫暖……
「從今往後，不得如此。」
人，終於盡數散去，他對我說了第一句話，淡定從容，不笑不怒。
我雖活得孤絕，卻不愚鈍，隱晦的責備與警告令我不快。
七色光華從我的身體里層層躍出，映得半壁山頭流光溢彩。風動我動，婆娑曼妙，搖曳生姿，引人注目之勢猶勝從前任何時候。
我故意的。
一隻不知名的白色鳥兒沒有任何防備地落進了我的陷阱，站在美麗剔透的枝葉間婉轉鳴唱。
無聲無息，我移動著萬千枝葉中的一枝，接近著今天的獵物。
鳥兒只顧為自己動人的歌聲陶醉，嗅不到半點死亡的味道。
輕輕一揚，迅速套住了脆弱的脖子，只要再用點力氣，這小東西就會永遠告別它引以為傲的歌聲。
獵物撲騰著翅膀，幾片白色的羽毛輕飄飄亂紛紛地散落在枝椏間。
其實，現在並不飢餓，我只想告訴面前的人，若不是無知地貪戀我的魅力，他們不會丟掉性命。我從不曾逼過誰，人類也好，鳥獸也罷，一切一切，都是他們心甘情願，怎能怨我。
但是，我無聲的反駁被他制止了。
一滴透明的水珠從他指間彈出，不偏不倚地擊中了我攫住了鳥兒性命的「手」。
酸麻微疼的感覺，傳遍了我身上每一條葉脈。
由不得我說不，我鬆了「手」。
撲啦啦逃向天際的鳥兒，成了第一個有幸活著離開的獵物。
「頑劣的小妖。」他收回望向鳥兒去處的目光，緩步走到我面前，夜風撩動他月白色的袍子，垂在腰間的緞帶隨風而舞，拂過我的臉，竟然癢癢的。
「冤魂不息，一狀告到冥府，拿你是遲早的事。」
撥開一縷被吹到眼前的黝黑長發，他「提醒」我。
拿我？他真以為我孤陋寡聞嗎？！
這么多年來，我聽過的哭訴不計其數。我深知，天下間，比葬身浮瓏山的「冤魂」冤枉一百倍的枉死鬼何其多，冥府能管得了多少？！
我需要食物，也需要人類的崇拜。
沒有食物，腹空；沒有崇拜，心空。
像他這樣自由來去的逍遙神仙，怎能體會一隻樹妖的心思。
是的，他是個神仙，身不染塵，高高在上。
從他一靠近，我就洞悉了他獨一無二的身份。
因為他是神仙，所以，時刻展露對蒼生的悲憫之心是他天經地義的責任。可是，「蒼生」里從來就不包括妖精，這是上界正道千萬年來定下的規矩。
我為剛才對他的「喜歡」而後悔，盤算著他接下來會以怎樣的態度對待一隻「頑劣」的樹妖，毀了我膚淺的道行，還是，立即就地正法？！
畢竟，只要他願意，不費吹灰之力就能給我滅頂之災，還能憑添一個為民除妖的美名。
今天，遇到他，我會有何後果？
「我在此，由不得你胡來。」
淡淡一句話，涼透我心。
果真被我料中，妖怪沒有資格反駁神仙，一旦觸怒對方，陪上的只有自己的性命。
浮瓏山顛的「神樹」，即將不復存在。
「我在此，由不得你胡來。」
淡淡一句話，涼透我心。
果真被我料中，妖怪沒有資格反駁神仙，一旦觸怒對方，陪上的只有自己的性命。
浮瓏山顛的「神樹」，即將不復存在。
片刻時間，從殺人跌入被殺，角色轉換如此迅速，超出了我全部的想像。從人類那裡聽來的「殺人償命」、「惡有惡報」之類的詞句一個個幸災樂禍地跳到我心裡。
雖然不滿意我的生活，可是，我依然留戀我的生命，能看能聽能呼吸，好過無知無覺的黑暗死寂。
我沒有「頑劣」到可以對死亡嗤之以鼻，所以，我真心實意地害怕著，夾雜著對他的怨恨。
「別讓我死得太難受，慈悲的神仙。」
是氣話，也是實話，是對他說的第一句話，也是最後一句。
我恐懼，但是絕不低頭哀求。
他的眼裡有笑意，深不可測。
清澈靈動的水波從他修長的指間旋繞而出，鱗鱗光點，閃爍其中。一圈一圈，層層疊疊，優雅緩慢地匯入他的掌心，開成了一朵無色的蓮花。
山腰處，一片荷塘，翠紅相間，正是盛放之季。可是，沒有一朵堪與他手中的媲美。
人映花，花映人。
盡管處在這般絕境，我還是要承認，這是我此生所見最美麗的一道風景。
神仙就是神仙，即便是斃命的武器，也要盡善盡美。
無怪人類崇拜他們，也無怪那麼多人夢想成為他們的一員。
「去。」
他攤開手來，嘴唇微微一動。
世上最美麗的那朵蓮花，旋轉著，朝我飛來。

給你發一段你先看看吧

7. 世界短篇小說三巨匠的契訶夫：

安東·巴甫洛復維奇·契訶夫( 英語：制Аnton chekhov ) (1860～1904) 俄國小說家、戲劇家、十九世紀末期俄國批判現實主義作家、短篇小說藝術大師。1860年1月29日生於羅斯托夫省塔甘羅格市。但契訶夫隻身留在塔甘羅格，靠擔任家庭教師以維持生計和繼續求學。1879年進莫斯科大學醫學系。1884年畢業後在茲威尼哥羅德等地行醫，廣泛接觸平民和了解生活，這對他的文學創作有良好影響。1904年6月，契訶夫因肺炎病情惡化，前往德國的溫泉療養地黑森林的巴登維勒治療，7月15日逝世。
代表作：
《胖子和瘦子》
《小公務員之死》
《苦惱》
《凡卡》
《變色龍》
《普里希別葉夫中士》
《第六病室》
《帶閣樓的房子》
《農民》
《新娘》