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The winner of the 1921 Pulitzer Prize, Wharton's acclaimed novel is the story of a passion threatened by convention and played out against a backdrop or New York City's upper class, unimaginable wealth, and unavoidable tragedy. Revised reissue.

《纯真时代》是伊迪丝·华顿的杰出代表作品。华顿把爱伦--全书的灵魂人物的性格的各个侧面都描写的栩栩如生。她的温柔、善良、勇敢、真实，尤其是她展现出来的牺牲精神更是伴随着故事的发展而升华。

内容简介

The 1920s novel of a passion threatened by convention and played outagainst a backdrop of New York City-s upper class, unimaginable wealth,and unavoidable tragedy.

《纯真年代》讲述透过老纽约社会培养出的最优秀的青年———纽兰，通过他保守的思想和双眼，奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人的形象就是一个极为风情、大胆的女子，有些轻浮、有些散漫，看起来和老纽约社会上的
贵族是那样的不同，在他看来这样的女人也不可能具有什么高贵的品质。但是随着故事的展开，奥兰斯卡伯爵夫人的许多优秀的品质被显现出来，尤其是她的人道主义的牺牲精神展现得尤为突出。

作者简介

Edith Wharton:One of America's most important novelists, Edith Wharton was a refined, relentless chronicler of the Gilded Age and its social mores. Along with close friend Henry James, she helped define literature at the turn of the 20th century, even as she wrote classic nonfiction on travel, decorating and her own life.

伊迪丝·华顿（Edith Wharton, 1862年1月24日－1937年8月11日），是19 世纪末女性现实主义作家的代表，她的一生推出了近十余部作品，包括中、长篇小说、诗歌、传记和文学批评等不同体裁。由于她生活的局限性，她的小说一般都是以一种极其细腻的手法描写着贵族生活，所以也被人称为温和现实主义作家。美国女作家，作品有《高尚的嗜好》、《纯真年代》、《四月里的阵雨》、《马恩河》、《战地英雄》等书。

精彩书评

"One of the best novels of the 20th century."
--NY Times Book Review

"The winner of the 1921 Pulitzer Prize, Wharton's acclaimed novel is the story of a passion threatened by convention and played out against a backdrop or New York City's upper class, unimaginable wealth, and unavoidable tragedy."
-- Revised reissue.

精彩书摘

ON A January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was singing in "Faust" at the Academy of Music in New York.

Though there was already talk of the erection, in remote metropolitan distances "above the Forties," of a new Opera House which should compete in costliness and splendour with those of the great European capitals, the world of fashion was still content to reassemble every winter in the shabby red and gold boxes of the sociable old Academy. Conservatives cherished it for being small and inconvenient, and thus keeping out the "new people" whom New York was beginning to dread and yet be drawn to; and the sentimental clung to it for its historic associations, and the musical for its excellent acoustics, always so problematic a quality in halls built for the hearing of music.

It was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that winter, and what the daily press had already learned to describe as "an exceptionally brilliant audience" had gathered to hear her, transported through the slippery, snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious family landau, or in the humbler but more convenient "Brown coupé." To come to the Opera in a Brown coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving as in one's own carriage; and departure by the same means had the immense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion to democratic principles) to scramble into the first Brown conveyance in the line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congested nose of one's own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy. It was one of the great livery-stableman's most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more quickly than they want to get to it.

When Newland Archer opened the door at the back of the club box the curtain had just gone up on the garden scene. There was no reason why the young man should not have come earlier, for he had dined at seven, alone with his mother and sister, and had lingered afterward over a cigar in the Gothic library with glazed black-walnut bookcases and finial-topped chairs which was the only room in the house where Mrs. Archer allowed smoking. But, in the first place, New York was a metropolis, and perfectly aware that in metropolises it was "not the thing" to arrive early at the opera; and what was or was not "the thing" played a part as important in Newland Archer's New York as the inscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of his forefathers thousands of years ago.

The second reason for his delay was a personal one. He had dawdled over his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking over a pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than its realisation. This was especially the case when the pleasure was a delicate one, as his pleasures mostly were; and on this occasion the moment he looked forward to was so rare and exquisite in quality that—well, if he had timed his arrival in accord with the prima donna's stage-manager he could not have entered the Academy at a more significant moment than just as she was singing: "He loves me—he loves me not—he loves me!—" and sprinkling the falling daisy petals with notes as clear as dew.

She sang, of course, "M'ama!" and not "he loves me," since an unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences. This seemed as natural to Newland Archer as all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as the duty of using two silver-backed brushes with his monogram in blue enamel to part his hair, and of never appearing in society without a flower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole.

"M'ama . . . non m'ama . . ." the prima donna sang, and "M'ama!" with a final burst of love triumphant, as she pressed the dishevelled daisy to her lips and lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance of the little brown Faust-Capoul, who was vainly trying, in a tight purple velvet doublet and plumed cap, to look as pure and true as his artless victim.

Newland Archer, leaning against the wall at the back of the club box, turned his eyes from the stage and scanned the opposite side of the house. Directly facing him was the box of old Mrs. Manson Mingott, whose monstrous obesity had long since made it impossible for her to attend the Opera, but who was always represented on fashionable nights by some of the younger members of the family. On this occasion, the front of the box was filled by her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Lovell Mingott, and her daughter, Mrs. Welland; and slightly withdrawn behind these brocaded matrons sat a young girl in white with eyes ecstatically fixed on the stage lovers. As Madame Nilsson's "M'ama!" thrilled out above the silent house (the boxes always stopped talking during the Daisy Song) a warm pink mounted to the girl's cheek, mantled her brow to the roots of her fair braids, and suffused the young slope of her breast to the line where it met a modest tulle tucker fastened with a single gardenia. She dropped her eyes to the immense bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley on her knee, and Newland Archer saw her white-gloved finger-tips touch the flowers softly. He drew a breath of satisfied vanity and his eyes returned to the stage.

No expense had been spared on the setting, which was acknowledged to be very beautiful even by people who shared his acquaintance with the Opera Houses of Paris and Vienna. The foreground, to the footlights, was covered with emerald green cloth. In the middle distance symmetrical mounds of woolly green moss bounded by croquet hoops formed the base of shrubs shaped like orange-trees but studded with large pink and red roses. Gigantic pansies, considerably larger than the roses, and closely resembling the floral pen-wipers made by female parishioners for fashionable clergymen, sprang from the moss beneath the rose-trees; and here and there a daisy grafted on a rose-branch flowered with a luxuriance prophetic of Mr. Luther Burbank's far-off prodigies.

In the centre of this enchanted garden Madame Nilsson, in white cashmere slashed with pale blue satin, a reticule dangling from a blue girdle, and large yellow braids carefully disposed on each side of her muslin chemisette, listened with downcast eyes to M. Capoul's impassioned wooing, and affected a guileless incomprehension of his designs whenever, by word or glance, he persuasively indicated the ground floor window of the neat brick villa projecting obliquely from the right wing.

"The darling!" though The Age of Innocence[纯真年代] [平装] 电子书 下载 mobi epub pdf txt

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值得购买质量不错 “书籍是人类进步的阶梯”；书籍是人类智慧的结晶； 书籍是传播知识的载体。书海浩瀚无边，里面蕴藏着丰富的知识， 知识是开启理想之门的钥匙；知识是无价的宝贵财富，知识只有靠读书才能获得。 读书的感觉真好。读书是一种享受，无论躺在床上随意浏览，还是在办公室伏案书海畅游； 无论是在公共汽车上翻阅消遣，还是在茶余饭后静坐捧读、托腮沉思，都会使你进入一种兴趣盎然、 不克言状的绝妙境界。当心情愉快的时候读书，它会带给你更加舒畅的惬意； 当心情消极悲观的时候读书，它会唤起你对未来人生的热爱和美好生活的向往； 当你孤独寂寞时读书，它就像佳人乍到，给你送来了清新的问候和舒适的抚慰， 使你心胸顿时豁然开朗，感到世界是那么美好，人间是那么可爱。 读书的感觉真好。 读书可开阔视野，明了天下之大事；读书可陶冶情操，使人心胸更加开阔；读书可醒脑益智， 提高人的综合能力；读书可豪情满怀，使人精神更加振奋；读书可泣人泪下， 它能净化人的心灵。每读到一本好书就像他乡遇故知、久旱遇甘霖一样，另人心旷神怡， 从中获得宝贵的启示并能懂得人生的真谛及生活的意义。 生快事，莫如读书。 它能让我们知天地、晓人生。它能让我们陶冶性情，不以物喜，不以物悲。 书是我们精神的巢穴，生命的源泉。古今中外有成就的人，到与书结下了不解之缘， 并善于从书中汲取营养。从阅读中养成爱好读书的习惯，体会读书的乐趣， 学习和掌握一些读书的方法，这不是人生的第一大快事吗？下面，我就和大家分享读书的各种乐趣吧！ 读书的一大乐趣莫过于当你当你正为一个问题绞尽脑汁，百思不得其解的时候， 或对某一个问题似有所闻的时候，打开书一看，你就会发现早已有人对这个问题做了充分的论述， 正好骚到了你的痒处。这种“柳暗花明又一村”的感觉你那么舒服，那么的自在。 读书对于不同的人有不同的乐趣，对于从事体力劳动来说，读书一种休闲；对于从事脑力劳动的人来说， 书可能是一种灵丹妙药，烦闷时，读书可以解闷；愁苦时，读书可以忘忧；兴奋时， 读书可以畅流…… 读书给人恬淡、宁静、心安理得的快乐，是名利、金钱不可取代的， 书就像人类的精神营养剂，缺了它，生活必缺陷。让我们别留下遗憾，拿起书吧！ 相信你一定也能从书中懂得人生的真谛! 读书的感觉真好！朋友，多读书吧! 书的质量非常好，封面的图画让人对作品本身也充满好感和期待。 书总给我一种轻便自然的感觉。非常喜欢。

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　　埃伦是一个因不幸婚姻而遭上流社会封杀的女人，她总是毫无顾忌地笑，她不懂得礼仪、不在乎形式。阿切尔看到她哭了：“难道上流社会的人从来不哭泣？”她的眼泪里写满了孤寂。他握住她的手，洁白修长的手指，青色的血管像浮雕般在皮肤上蔓延开来。

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买的10本书没一本有塑封的！都挺旧的！

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　　耶哥蕊特是乡下姑娘进城，绝境长城内的新鲜事物都让她好奇，见到个磨坊就当是宫殿了。这时，琼恩来到了自己熟悉的地域，自然有话要说，可是和耶哥蕊特的几番交谈，依旧是落了下风，仍旧是那个“你什么都不知道”的囧。两人一路打情骂俏，此时活着且享受拥有彼此的美好时光，即使为人挑拨，前路生死未卜，也无所谓了。耶哥蕊特的活力、勇敢，还有她对爱情的坚定和对自由的向往，在电视剧展现得更加淋漓尽致。

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好

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买来慢慢读 包装小些 便于携带 但是字儿也小哦

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买来慢慢读 包装小些 便于携带 但是字儿也小哦

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　　他期待一辈子的，不过是一个转身。记忆深处那个金色的背影，只有她才是真实的。

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　　我们可以把握自己的命运，可那些羁绊和琐碎的现实无形中消磨了我们的勇气。我们一次次地把自己的命运交到别人手中，那是不负责任还是太负责任？

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