On Nov. 18， 1995， violinist Itzhak Perlman， performed a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City.

Stricken with polio as a child， Perlman painfully walked with the aid of two crutches to a chair in the middle of the stage. He carefully laid the crutches on the floor， loosened the clasps of his leg braces， extended one leg forward and the other underneath his chair， picked up his instrument and nodded to the conductor to begin.

But something went wrong. After only seconds of playing， one of the strings on his violin broke. The snap was a gunfire reverberating in the auditorium. The audience immediately knew what happened and fully expected the concert to be suspended until another string or even another instrument could be found.

But Perlman surprised them. He quietly composed himself， closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra resumed where they had left off and Perlman played on three strings. He played with passion， and power. All the time he worked out new fingering in his mind to compensate for the missing string. A work that few people could play well on four strings Perlman accomplished on three.

When he finished， an awesome silence hung in the room. And then as one， the crowd rose to their feet and cheered wildly. Applause burst forth from every corner of the auditorium as fans showed deep appreciation for his talent and his courage.

Perlman smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow. Then he raised his bow to quiet the crowd and said， not boastfully， but in a quiet， pensive， reverent tone， “You know， sometimes it is the artists task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.” Polio left him with less stamina than he had before， yet he went on. Playing a concert on three strings is not unlike his philosophy of life—he persevered with what he had left and still made music.

And isnt that true with us？ Our task is to find out how much music we can still make with what we have left， how much good we can still do， and how much joy we can still share. For Im convinced that the world， more than ever， needs the music only you and I can make.

1995年11月18日，小提琴家伊薩克·帕爾曼在紐約市林肯中心的艾弗里費(fèi)雪音樂(lè)廳舉辦音樂(lè)會(huì)。

由于得過(guò)小兒麻痹癥，帕爾曼拄著雙拐艱難地走向舞臺(tái)中央的椅子上。之后，他小心地把拐杖放在地上，解開(kāi)腿上的固定支架，一條腿向前伸出，另一條腿放到椅子下面。然后他拿起自己的樂(lè)器，向樂(lè)隊(duì)指揮點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭，表示可以開(kāi)始了。

然而，他僅僅演奏了幾秒鐘之后，意外出現(xiàn)了，小提琴上的一根琴弦斷了。斷裂聲非常響亮地回蕩在大廳內(nèi)，在場(chǎng)的聽(tīng)眾馬上就知道出了什么事，并且大家都非常希望音樂(lè)會(huì)能夠暫停，直到帕爾曼找到另一根琴弦或另一把琴后再繼續(xù)演奏下去。

但帕爾曼的行為讓他們感到非常驚訝。只見(jiàn)他閉著眼睛，靜靜地獨(dú)自摸索著演奏了一會(huì)兒，然后睜開(kāi)眼睛又示意樂(lè)隊(duì)指揮再次開(kāi)始。于是，管弦樂(lè)隊(duì)從剛才停下的地方重新開(kāi)始演奏，帕爾曼也開(kāi)始接著演奏——在三根琴弦上。他的演奏充滿著激情和力量。在整個(gè)演奏過(guò)程中，他一直在運(yùn)用腦中思考的新指法來(lái)彌補(bǔ)那根失去的琴弦。很少有人能夠在四根琴弦上演奏的作品，卻被帕爾曼在三根琴弦上完成了。

當(dāng)他演奏完畢時(shí)，大廳內(nèi)一片寂靜。隨后聽(tīng)眾全體起立，熱烈歡呼。雷鳴般的掌聲從大廳的每個(gè)角落里爆發(fā)出來(lái)，樂(lè)迷們對(duì)他的才能和勇氣表達(dá)了深切的贊賞之情。

帕爾曼笑著擦去額頭上的汗水，然后他舉起琴弓，示意大家安靜。他毫無(wú)自滿之意，只是用一種異常平靜、沉穩(wěn)且虔誠(chéng)的語(yǔ)氣說(shuō)道：“你們知道，有時(shí)候，用你僅有的一切去發(fā)現(xiàn)你能創(chuàng)造多少音樂(lè)，是藝術(shù)家的責(zé)任?！彪m然得了小兒麻痹癥后，他的體力不如從前了，但他并沒(méi)有放棄。用三根琴弦演奏音樂(lè)正體現(xiàn)了他的人生觀——用他僅有的一切堅(jiān)持創(chuàng)造音樂(lè)。

這個(gè)道理不也一樣適用于我們嗎？我們的任務(wù)就是用我們僅有的一切去發(fā)掘出我們到底能創(chuàng)造多少音樂(lè)，能做多少有益的事，能與別人分享多少快樂(lè)。因?yàn)?，我確信，這個(gè)世界比以往任何時(shí)候都需要只有你和我才能創(chuàng)造的音樂(lè)。

Word Study

crutch /kr?t?/ n. 拐杖

extend /?k'stend/ v. 伸開(kāi)；舒展

suspend /s?'spend/ v. 暫停；中止

Talks between the two countries have now been suspended.

resume /r?'zju?m/ v. 重新開(kāi)始；（中斷后）又繼續(xù)

He resumed his work after a short rest.

applause /?'pl??z/ n. 掌聲

They greeted him with thunderous applause.

stamina /'st?m?n?/ n. 耐力；持久力

persevere /?p??s?'v??（r）/ v. 堅(jiān)持；不屈不撓

If you persevere with the work， youll succeed in the end.