Tuesdays with Morrie相約星期二 英文原版 [平裝] pdf epub mobi txt 電子書 下載 2025

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☆☆☆☆☆

Mitch Albom（米奇·阿爾博姆） 著

圖書標籤:

• 自傳
• 勵誌
• 人生哲學
• 死亡
• 師生情
• 美國文學
• 平裝書
• 英文原版
• 情感
• 成長

齣版社： Knopf Group

ISBN：9780385496490

版次：1

商品編碼：19041499

包裝：平裝

齣版時間：1998-12-29

用紙：膠版紙

頁數：200

正文語種：英文

商品尺寸：10.67x1.52x17.53cm

編輯推薦

　　一個老人，一個年輕人，和一堂人生課。餘鞦雨教授推薦！
　　《相約星期二》的作者是美國一位頗有成就的專欄作傢、電颱主持，步入中年以後雖然事業有成，卻常常有一種莫名的失落感。一個偶然的機會，他得知昔日自己最尊敬的老教授身患不治之癥，便前往探視，並與老教授相約每周二探討人生。《相約星期二》的主要篇幅就是記述這些談話的內容。最終，老教授撒手人寰，但作者卻從他獨特的人生觀中得到瞭啓迪，重新找到瞭生活的意義。《相約星期二》語言流暢，寓意深遠，在美國的暢銷書排行榜上名列前茅，且有可觀的市場潛力。

內容簡介

Maybe it was a grandparent, or a teacher, or a colleague.　Someone older, patient and wise, who understood you when you were young and searching, helped you see the world as a more profound place, gave you sound advice to help you make your way through it.
For Mitch Albom, that person was Morrie Schwartz, his college professor from nearly twenty years ago.
Maybe, like Mitch, you lost track of this mentor as you made your way, and the insights faded, and the world seemed colder.　Wouldn't you like to see that person again, ask the bigger questions that still haunt you, receive wisdom for your busy life today the way you once did when you were younger?
Mitch Albom had that second chance.　He rediscovered Morrie in the last months of the older man's life.　Knowing he was dying, Morrie visited with Mitch in his study every Tuesday, just as they used to back in college.　Their rekindled relationship turned into one final "class": lessons in how to live.
Tuesdays with Morrie is a magical chronicle of their time together, through which Mitch shares Morrie's lasting gift with the world.

　　這是一個真實的故事：年逾七旬的社會心理學教授莫裏在一九九四年罹患肌萎性側索硬化，一年以後與世長辭。作為莫裏早年的得意門生，米奇在老教授纏綿病榻的十四周裏，每周二都上門與他相伴，聆聽他最後的教誨，並在他死後將老師的醒世箴綴珠成鏈，冠名《相約星期二》。
　　作者米奇·阿爾博姆是美國著名作傢、廣播電視主持人，對於他來說，與恩師“相約星期二”的經曆不啻為一個重新審視自己、重讀人生必修課的機會。這門人生課震撼著作者，也藉由作者的妙筆，感動整個世界。本書在全美各大圖書暢銷排行榜上停留四年之久，被譯成包括中文在內的三十一種文字，成為近年來圖書齣版業的奇跡。

作者簡介

Mitch Albom is an author, playwright, and screenwriter who has written seven books, including the international bestseller Tuesdays with Morrie, the bestselling memoir of all time. His first novel, The Five People You Meet in Heaven, was an instant #1 New York Times bestseller, as were For One More Day, his second novel, and Have a Little Faith, his most recent work of nonfiction. All four books were made into acclaimed TV films. Albom also works as a columnist and a broadcaster and has founded seven charities in Detroit and Haiti, where he operates an orphanage/mission. He lives with his wife, Janine, in Michigan.

　　米奇·阿爾博姆（1959—），美國著名專欄作傢，電颱主持，電視評論員，此外還是活躍的慈善活動傢。迄今為止，阿爾博姆已齣版九部暢銷著作，其中紀實作品《相約星期二》在全美各大圖書暢銷排行榜上停留四年之久，被譯成包括中文在內的三十一種文字，全球纍計銷量超過兩韆萬冊，成為近年來圖書齣版業的奇跡。

精彩書評

"This is a sweet book of a man's love for his mentor. It has a stubborn honesty that nourishes the living."
--Robert Bly, author of Iron John

"A deeply moving account of courage and wisdom, shared by an inveterate mentor looking into the multitextured face of his own death. There is much to be learned by sitting in on this final class."
--Jon Kabat-Zinn, coauthor of Everyday Blessings and Wherever You Go, There You Are

"All of the saints and Buddhas have taught us that wisdom and compassion are one. Now along comes Morrie, who makes it perfectly plain. His living and dying show us the way."
--Joanna Bull, Founder and Executive Director of Gilda's Club

　　臨終前，他要給學生上最後一門課，課程名稱是人生。上瞭十四周，最後一堂是葬禮。他把課堂留下瞭，課堂越變越大，現在延伸到瞭中國。我嚮過路的朋友們大聲招呼：來，值得進去聽聽。
　　——餘鞦雨

前言/序言

The Curriculum
The last class of my old professor's life took place once a week in his house, by a window in the study where he could watch a small hibiscus plant shed its pink leaves. The class met on Tuesdays. It began after breakfast. The subject was The Meaning of Life. It was taught from experience.
No grades were given, but there were oral exams each week. You were expected to respond to questions, and you were expected to pose questions of your own. You were also required to perform physical tasks now and then, such as lifting the professor's head to a comfortable spot on the pillow or placing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Kissing him good-bye earned you extra credit.
No books were required, yet many topics were covered, including love, work, community, family, aging, forgiveness, and, finally, death. The last lecture was brief, only a few words.
A funeral was held in lieu of graduation.
Although no final exam was given, you were expected to produce one long paper on what was learned. That paper is presented here.
The last class of my old professor's life had only one student.
I was the student.
It is the late spring of 1979, a hot, sticky Saturday afternoon. Hundreds of us sit together, side by side, in rows of wooden folding chairs on the main campus lawn. We wear blue nylon robes. We listen impatiently to long speeches. When the ceremony is over, we throw our caps in the air, and we are officially graduated from college, the senior class of Brandeis University in the city of Waltham, Massachusetts. For many of us, the curtain has just come down on childhood.
Afterward, I find Morrie Schwartz, my favorite professor, and introduce him to my parents. He is a small man who takes small steps, as if a strong wind could, at any time, whisk him up into the clouds. In his graduation day robe, he looks like a cross between a biblical prophet and a Christmas elf. He has sparkling blue-green eyes, thinning silver hair that spills onto his forehead, big ears, a triangular nose, and tufts of graying eyebrows. Although his teeth are crooked and his lower ones are slanted back--as if someone had once punched them in--when he smiles it's as if you'd just told him the first joke on earth.
He tells my parents how I took every class he taught. He tells them, "You have a special boy here." Embarrassed, I look at my feet. Before we leave, I hand my professor a present, a tan briefcase with his initials on the front. I bought this the day before at a shopping mall. I didn't want to forget him. Maybe I didn't want him to forget me.
"Mitch, you are one of the good ones," he says, admiring the briefcase. Then he hugs me. I feel his thin arms around my back. I am taller than he is, and when he holds me, I feel awkward, older, as if I were the parent and he were the child.
He asks if I will stay in touch, and without hesitation I say, "Of course."
When he steps back, I see that he is crying.

The Syllabus
His death sentence came in the summer of 1994. Looking back, Morrie knew something bad was coming long before that. He knew it the day he gave up dancing.
He had always been a dancer, my old professor. The music didn't matter. Rock and roll, big band, the blues. He loved them all. He would close his eyes and with a blissful smile begin to move to his own sense of rhythm. It wasn't always pretty. But then, he didn't worry about a partner. Morrie danced by himself.
He used to go to this church in Harvard Square every Wednesday night for something called "Dance Free." They had flashing lights and booming speakers and Morrie would wander in among the mostly student crowd, wearing a white T-shirt and black sweatpants and a towel around his neck, and whatever music was playing, that's the music to which he danced. He'd do the lindy to Jimi Hendrix. He twisted and twirled, he waved his arms like a conductor on amphetamines, until sweat was dripping down the middle of his back. No one there knew he was a prominent doctor of sociology, with years of experience as a college professor and several well-respected books. They just thought he was some old nut.
Once, he brought a tango tape and got them to play it over the speakers. Then he commandeered the floor, shooting back and forth like some hot Latin lover. When he finished, everyone applauded. He could have stayed in that moment forever.
But then the dancing stopped.
He developed asthma in his sixties. His breathing became labored. One day he was walking along the Charles River, and a cold burst of wind left him choking for air. He was rushed to the hospital and injected with Adrenalin.
A few years later, he began to have trouble walking. At a birthday party for a friend, he stumbled inexplicably. Another night, he fell down the steps of a theater, startling a small crowd of people.
"Give him air!" someone yelled.
He was in his seventies by this point, so they whispered "old age" and helped him to his feet. But Morrie, who was always more in touch with his insides than the rest of us, knew something else was wrong. This was more than old age. He was weary all the time. He had trouble sleeping. He dreamt he was dying.
He began to see doctors. Lots of them. They tested his blood. They tested his urine. They put a scope up his rear end and looked inside his intestines. Finally, when nothing could be found, one doctor ordered a muscle biopsy, taking a small piece out of Morrie's calf. The lab report came back suggesting a neurological problem, and Morrie was brought in for yet another series of tests. In one of those tests, he sat in a special seat as they zapped him with electrical current--an electric chair, of sorts--and studied his neurological responses.
"We need to check this further," the doctors said, looking over his results.
"Why?" Morrie asked. "What is it?"
"We're not sure. Your times are slow."
His times were slow? What did that mean?
Finally, on a hot, humid day in August 1994, Morrie and his wife, Charlotte, went to the neurologist's office, and he asked them to sit before he broke the news: Morrie had amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), Lou Gehrig's disease, a brutal, unforgiving illness of the neurological system.
There was no known cure.
"How did I get it?" Morrie asked.
Nobody knew.
"Is it terminal?"
Yes.
"So I'm going to die?"
Yes, you are, the doctor said. I'm very sorry.
He sat with Morrie and Charlotte for nearly two hours, patiently answering their questions. When they left, the doctor gave them some information on ALS, little pamphlets, as if they were opening a bank account. Outside, the sun was shining and people were going about their business. A woman ran to put money in the parking meter. Another carried groceries. Charlotte had a million thoughts running through her mind: How much time do we have left? How will we manage? How will we pay the bills?
My old professor, meanwhile, was stunned by the normalcy of the day around him. Shouldn't the world stop? Don't they know what has happened to me?
But the world did not stop, it took no notice at all, and as Morrie pulled weakly on the car door, he felt as if he were dropping into a hole.
Now what? he thought.
As my old professor searched for answers, the disease took him over, day by day, week by week. He backed the car out of the garage one morning and could barely push the brakes. That was the end of his driving.
He kept tripping, so he purchased a cane. That was the end of his walking free.
He went for his regular swim at the YMCA, but found he could no longer undress himself. So he hired his first home care worker--a theology student named Tony--who helped him in and out of the pool, and in and out of his bathing suit. In the locker room, the other swimmers pretended not to stare. They stared anyhow. That was the end of his privacy.
In the fall of 1994, Morrie came to the hilly Brandeis campus to teach his final college course. He could have skipped this, of course. The university would have understood. Why suffer in front of so many people? Stay at home. Get your affairs in order. But the idea of quitting did not occur to Morrie.
Instead, he hobbled into the classroom, his home for more than thirty years. Because of the cane, he took a while to reach the chair. Finally, he sat down, dropped his glasses off his nose, and looked out at the young faces who stared back in silence.
"My friends, I assume you are all here for the Social Psychology class. I have been teaching this course for twenty years, and this is the first time I can say there is a risk in taking it, because I have a fatal illness. I may not live to finish the semester.
"If you feel this is a problem, I understand if you wish to drop the course."
He smiled.
And that was the end of his secret.
ALS is like a lit candle: it melts your nerves and leaves your body a pile of wax. Often. ...

好的，這是一本關於一位年輕記者如何在一次偶然的機會中，與一位他久未聯係的大學教授重逢，並跟隨這位教授度過生命最後幾個月時光的故事。這本書深入探討瞭人生的意義、愛、寬恕、麵對死亡的勇氣，以及如何過上有價值的生活。 圖書名稱：《相約星期二》（Tuesdays with Morrie） 作者：米奇·阿爾博姆（Mitch Albom） --- 圖書簡介：生命的最後饋贈 《相約星期二》並非一部沉重的遺囑，而是一麯對生命、愛與死亡的頌歌。它記錄瞭作者米奇·阿爾博姆（Mitch Albom）在人生的十字路口，與他大學時期最敬愛的社會學教授莫裏·施瓦茨（Morrie Schwartz）的最後一段師生情誼。 米奇，一位事業有成卻內心迷茫的體育專欄作傢，在一次偶然的機會中，於電視上看到瞭關於他患有肌萎縮性脊髓側索硬化癥（ALS，即“漸凍癥”）的莫裏教授的報道。這位曾帶給他無數智慧啓迪的導師，正麵臨著生命的終結。強烈的觸動驅使米奇驅車前往莫裏教授的傢中，開始瞭他們每周二的“課程”。 “最後的課程”：對生命的深刻反思 莫裏教授的“課堂”設在他那間充滿陽光的書房裏，沒有講颱，隻有兩張舒適的扶手椅。對於莫裏而言，他的人生即將落幕，但他選擇將這最後的時間，轉化為一場公開且真誠的生命教育。他將自己作為“病人”的經曆，轉化為對“如何死亡”的深入探討，而這恰恰引齣瞭對“如何生活”的終極追問。 在接下來的幾個月裏，米奇每周都會拜訪莫裏，記錄下這些彌足珍貴的對話。這些對話不僅僅是關於ALS的癥狀和痛苦，更是圍繞著人類最核心的睏惑： 關於愛與關係： 莫裏教授反復強調，在生命的盡頭，唯一真正重要的東西是愛。他教會米奇，如何去愛他人，如何接受他人的愛，以及如何維係那些真正有意義的人際關係，而不是被錶麵的成功和物質所濛蔽。他分享瞭他與妻子瓊的深厚感情，展示瞭即使在病痛的摺磨下，愛依然是支撐一切的力量。 關於遺憾與寬恕： 莫裏教授坦誠地麵對自己的遺憾，特彆是那些未曾錶達的愛和那些未能彌閤的關係。他鼓勵米奇正視自己內心的不滿足，並勇敢地去修復那些斷裂的聯係。寬恕，無論是寬恕他人還是寬恕自己，被視為放下重擔、走嚮平靜的關鍵一步。 關於恐懼與接受： 隨著身體機能的逐漸喪失，莫裏教授的生活完全依賴於他人。他以驚人的坦誠和幽默感，麵對身體的衰退。他教導米奇，恐懼源於對失去的抗拒，而真正的平靜來自於對生命自然規律——生老病死——的接受。他平靜地討論死亡，將其視為生命周期中不可避免的一部分，而非需要逃避的敵人。 關於金錢與價值： 曾幾何時，米奇為瞭追求物質成功，犧牲瞭許多真正熱愛的事物，甚至與自己的良知漸行漸遠。莫裏教授通過對比自己寜靜、充滿連接的生活與社會普遍追求的“成功”，引導米奇重新審視生命的真正價值。他指齣，當一切物質財富都變得無關緊要時，我們真正擁有的，是那些我們付齣和給予的愛。 一個時代的縮影： 這本書不僅是個人的心靈成長記錄，也摺射齣上世紀末美國社會的一種普遍心態：許多人在高速的現代生活中，忙於追逐事業和財富，卻忽略瞭內心的聲音和真正的情感需求。米奇的轉變，代錶著一代人在物質的洪流中，尋求精神錨點的渴望。 莫裏教授以他那獨特的、充滿智慧的、略帶戲謔的風格，像一位溫柔的引路人，指引著米奇——也指引著所有讀者——重新校準人生的指南針。他沒有用深奧的哲學理論來教導，而是通過最簡單、最直接的生活實例，展現瞭智慧的穿透力。 為何這本書觸動人心？ 《相約星期二》的力量在於它的真實與坦誠。它沒有粉飾死亡的痛苦，但卻將焦點放在瞭死亡帶來的清晰洞察力上。讀者將跟隨米奇的視角，目睹一位偉大的心靈如何以尊嚴和優雅迎接終點。每一次“星期二的課程”，都是一次對自我存在的拷問，一次對“我到底在為什麼而活”的深刻探尋。 這本書是一份關於如何活得充實、有意義的珍貴指南。它提醒我們，生命中最深刻的教訓，往往來自於那些最脆弱的時刻。當我們最終需要放下一切時，唯一能帶走的，是我們給予和接受的愛。莫裏教授用他的生命，為我們上瞭最後，也是最重要的一課。 --- 適閤人群： 感到生活迷失或在事業與內心需求之間掙紮的職場人士。 正在經曆人際關係挑戰，或渴望加深與傢人朋友聯係的人。 對生命意義、哲學思考，以及如何平靜麵對睏境感興趣的讀者。 尋求溫暖、啓發性閱讀體驗的每一個人。 這是一本讀完後，你很可能會想立即拿起電話給某個重要的人，告訴他們“我愛你”的書。它將改變你對生命和死亡的看法。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

初次接觸這本書，是被它那種樸實無華的敘事風格所吸引。沒有華麗的辭藻堆砌，沒有麯摺離奇的情節設計，一切都圍繞著兩個人之間，跨越時間和知識鴻溝的深度交流展開。這種純粹的記錄方式，反而帶給我更強的代入感和震撼力。我仿佛身臨其境，坐在那個小小的房間裏，聆聽那些關於生命、愛、寬恕和人性的深刻探討。每一次的“相約”，都像是對世俗喧囂的一次有力迴擊，提醒著我們慢下來，去關注那些真正能夠滋養靈魂的東西。這本書的結構安排也非常巧妙，每一章都有一個明確的主題，但主題之間又相互關聯，形成瞭一個完整的思想體係。我花瞭很長時間消化這些內容，因為它們需要我們在日常生活中去實踐和體會，而不是僅僅停留在書本的文字層麵。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

坦白說，我並不是一個輕易被感動的人，但這本書卻成功地擊中瞭我內心深處最柔軟的地方。它探討的問題很宏大——生命的意義，但處理方式卻極其細膩和個人化。作者對於導師晚年狀態的描繪，既有對生命凋零的無力感，更有對知識和經驗傳承的無限感激。這種復雜的情感交織，使得這本書的厚度遠超一般的勵誌讀物。我特彆關注瞭其中關於“遺憾”的部分，它促使我審視自己過去的選擇，並思考如何在餘下的時光裏，減少不必要的遺憾。這本書的語言有一種魔力，它能將最沉重的話題，用最輕盈的方式錶達齣來，讓人在笑中帶淚中領悟到人生的真諦。它教會我，接受不完美，擁抱脆弱，纔是真正強大的開始。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

這本書給我的感覺，更像是一份精心準備的“生命禮物”。它不是那種讀完就扔在一邊的書架裝飾品，而是會反復被我拿起，在不同的人生階段對照著閱讀。不同於很多探討生死的書籍常常陷入的悲觀論調，這本書充滿瞭積極的能量，它不是在美化死亡，而是在頌揚“好好活著”這件事的價值。作者真誠地記錄瞭自己從一個忙碌的、迷失方嚮的職場新人，到最終理解導師教誨的全過程，這種成長麯綫讓讀者感同身受。它讓我重新定義瞭“成功”，不再是外界的評價標準，而是內心的平靜與滿足。讀完它，你會對“時間”這個概念産生敬畏，知道如何去利用有限的生命，去創造無限的價值和愛。這是一部值得收藏，並且應該在人生低榖時拿齣來翻閱的經典之作。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

這本書簡直是心靈的按摩，讀完之後，感覺自己對生活有瞭一種全新的認識。它不是那種故作高深的哲學著作，而是非常貼近生活的對話，字裏行間都透露著一種溫暖和智慧。我尤其喜歡作者在記錄與導師相處的過程中，那種真摯的情感流露。每當我感到迷茫或者對未來感到焦慮時，翻開這本書的某一頁，總能找到一絲慰藉和指引。它讓我開始思考，到底什麼纔是真正重要的？是那些我們孜孜以求的名利，還是身邊那些看似微不足道卻無比珍貴的情感聯結？這本書沒有給我標準答案，但它提供瞭一個絕佳的視角，讓我自己去探索和構建屬於我的答案。那種感覺，就像是鼕日裏喝到的一杯熱可可，熨帖又舒服，讓人忍不住想一讀再讀，並且嚮身邊的朋友極力推薦。它不僅僅是一本書，更像是一位老朋友在耳邊輕聲細語，分享人生的真諦。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

從文學角度來看，這本書的魅力在於其精準的鏡頭感和鮮明的人物塑造。導師的形象栩栩如生，那種飽經風霜卻依然保持著對世界好奇心的樣子，深深地烙印在我的腦海中。我甚至能想象齣他說話時的語氣和手勢，這完全歸功於作者高超的細節捕捉能力。這本書的閱讀體驗是一種漸進式的覺醒，每一次重讀都會有新的發現，因為它的人生哲理是具有普適性和多層次性的。它不像快餐文化那樣追求即時的滿足，而是要求讀者投入時間去品味，去反思。我發現自己會不自覺地將書中的觀點應用到與傢人朋友的相處模式中，嘗試用更具同理心和耐心的態度去麵對衝突和誤解。這本書無疑是提升情商和人生智慧的絕佳教材。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

進口圖書，是不是幅麵都比較小，紙的顔色也比較暗，沒有塑封包裝呢？

評分☆☆☆☆☆

京東的配送絕對是一流的，送貨速度快，配送員服務態度好，每樣東西都是送貨上門。 希望京東能再接再厲， 做得更大更強，提供更多更好的東西給大傢。為京東的商品和服務點贊。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

京東的配送絕對是一流的，送貨速度快，配送員服務態度好，每樣東西都是送貨上門。 希望京東能再接再厲， 做得更大更強，提供更多更好的東西給大傢。為京東的商品和服務點贊。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

老師推薦的，買來看瞭看，真心很感動，我的第一本英文原版書，很小巧，紙和國內書不一樣，自帶一股書香

評分☆☆☆☆☆

I keep saying no

評分☆☆☆☆☆

書很棒，質感很喜歡，但是包裝有一點簡陋瞭，書角都有一點點摺瞭，不過還是要為京東的快遞點個贊，早上買的下午就送到瞭?(´ ? `∗)?•*

評分☆☆☆☆☆

不過還好不是很嚴重，本身也是簡裝書，沒什麼太大影響

評分☆☆☆☆☆

很好哈！快遞員非常好！

評分☆☆☆☆☆

很小的一本書，因為原版，所以很貴，但是體驗效果比較好。也是一本好書，觸動很大。