The Fry Chronicles—Stephen Fry 下载 网盘 txt 地址 rtf kindle docx pdf

　　Spanning 1979-1987, "The Fry Chronicles" charts Stephen's

arrival at Cambridge up to his thirtieth birthday. "Heartbreaking,

a delight, a lovely, comfy book". ("The Times"). "Perfect prose and

excruciating honesty. A grand reminiscence of college and theatre

and comedyland in the 1980s, with tone-perfect anecdotes and

genuine readerly excitement. What Fry does, essentially, is tell us

who he really is. Above all else, a thoughtful book. And namedroppy

too, and funny, and marbled with melancholy". ("Observer").

"Arguably the greatest living Englishman". ("Independent on

Sunday"). "Extremely enjoyable". ("Sunday Times"). "Fry's

linguistic facility remains one of the Wildean wonders of the new

media age. The patron saint of British intelligence". ("Daily

Telegraph").

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　　Stephen Fry is an award-winning comedian, actor, presenter and

director. He rose to fame alongside Hugh Laurie in A Bit of Fry and

Laurie (which he co-wrote with Laurie) and Jeeves and Wooster, and

was unforgettable as General Melchett in Blackadder. More recently

he presented Stephen Fry: The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive,

his groundbreaking documentary on bipolar disorder, to huge

critical acclaim. His legions of fans tune in to watch him host the

popular quiz show QI each week.

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To care about my body would be to suggest that I had a body worth caring about. Since my earliest years I felt nothing but shame for the useless casing of flesh I inhabit. It couldn’t bowl, bat or catch. It couldn’t dance. It couldn’t ski, dive or leap. When it walked into a bar or club it didn’t attract lustful glares of desire or even faint glances of interest. It had nothing to recommend it beyond its function as a fuel cell for my brain and a dumping ground for toxins that might reward me with rushing highs and reasons to be cheerful. Perhaps it all comes down to breasts. Or the lack of them.

…which is not to say that I am uniquely alone in the possession of these weakness. Far from it. They might almost be called the failings of my generation.

They say that Jean Coceau, to amuse his f...

To have Rice Krispies when you could have Ricicles, to have Cornflakes when you could have Frosties. Who could imagine such a dull life? It was like deliberately choosing to watch the news on television or preferring to drink unsweetened tea. I lived for one thing and one thing only. C12H22O11. Perhaps this is why I should have been American.

Sugar, sugar, sugar.

A Hungarian Jew, as he liked to observe, is the only man who can fellow you into a revolving door and come out first.

<原文开始>I might make the claim that life was never the same again, that trust, faith, hope, belief and confidence died in me that day and that thenceforward melancholy marked me for her own, but perhaps that would be pitching it a touch strong. Nonetheless I was shocked. Was there now to be no sweetness in my life?

“Please, Mummy, please. All the other boys have got enough money to last them forever. Oh please, please, please…”

All the elements were now in place. Sugar. White powder. Tobacco. Desire. Lack of money. The forbidden.

Yet from my very earliest consciousness I sensed with savage unswervable certainty that other people were not seized by the same rapacious greed, insatiable hunger, overmastering desire, shivering lust and terrible, hurting need that had me in its grip almost every hour of every day. Or, if were they had levels of self-control that entirely shamed me. Perhaps, I wondered, perhaps everyone but me was strong, characterful and morally assured. Perhaps only I was so weak as to succumb to appetites that other could control. Perhaps everyone else was equally gnawed by equally keen desires, but had been granted by nature or the almighty an ability to master their emotions that in my trembling d...

Regularly caned, always in trouble, never stable, never settled in or secure, I left prep school a sugar addict, thief, fantasist and liar.

The need for sugar was destroying me. The rush of excitement as I stole and rush from the sugar as I sat and feasted on my kill inevitably ended, such is the way of passion, in the crash of guilt, melancholia, nausea and self-disgust that fellow all such addictions… sugar, shopping, alcohol, sex, you name it.

We are in our early twenties and have left universities eight months earlier. Everything should be wonderful in our lives, and I suppose it is.

书籍介绍

Spanning 1979-1987, "The Fry Chronicles" charts Stephen's arrival at Cambridge up to his thirtieth birthday. "Heartbreaking, a delight, a lovely, comfy book". ("The Times"). "Perfect prose and excruciating honesty. A grand reminiscence of college and theatre and comedyland in the 1980s, with tone-perfect anecdotes and genuine readerly excitement. What Fry does, essentially, is tell us who he really is. Above all else, a thoughtful book. And namedroppy too, and funny, and marbled with melancholy". ("Observer"). "Arguably the greatest living Englishman". ("Independent on Sunday"). "Extremely enjoyable". ("Sunday Times"). "Fry's linguistic facility remains one of the Wildean wonders of the new media age. The patron saint of British intelligence". ("Daily Telegraph").