there was a proud teapot, proud of being made of porcelain, proud of its long spout and its broad handle. it had something in front of it and behind it; the spout was in front, and the handle behind, and that was what it talked about. but it didn't mention its lid, for it was cracked and it was riveted and full of defects, and we don't talk about our defects - other people do that. the cups, the cream pitcher, the sugar bowl - in fact, the whole tea service - thought much more about the defects in the lid and talked more about it than about the sound handle and the distinguished spout. the teapot knew this.

"i know them," it told itself. "and i also know my imperfections, and i realize that in that very knowledge is my humility and my modesty. we all have many defects, but then we also have virtues. the cups have a handle, the sugar bowl has a lid, but of course i have both, and one thing more, one thing they can never have; i have a spout, and that makes me the queen of the tea table. the sugar bowl and the cream pitcher are permitted to be serving maids of delicacies, but i am the one who gives forth, the adviser. i spread blessings abroad among thirsty mankind. inside of me the chinese leaves give flavor to boiling, tasteless water."

this was the way the teapot talked in its fresh young life. it stood on the table that was prepared for tea and it was lifted up by the most delicate hand. but that most delicate hand was very awkward. the teapot was dropped; the spout broke off, and the handle broke off; the lid is not worth talking about; enough has been said about that. the teapot lay in a faint on the floor, while the boiling water ran out of it. it was a great shock it got, but the worst thing of all was that the others laughed at it - and not at the awkward hand.

编辑:Liuxuepaper.Com