Some old people are oppressed by the fear of death. In the young there is a justification（理由） for this feeling. Young men who have reason to fear that they will be killed in battle may justifiably feel bitter（ 有苦味的） in the thought that they have been cheated of the best things that life has to offer. But in an old man who has known human joys（欢乐） and sorrows and has achieved whatever work it was in him to do, the fear of death is somewhat（有点） abject（卑鄙的） and ignoble. The best way to overcome（克服） it, so at least it seems to me, is to make your interests gradually（逐渐地） wider and more impersonal（ 不受个人感情影响的）, until, bit by bit, the walls of the ego（自我） recede（后退）, and your life becomes increasingly（日益） merged（合并） in the universal（宇宙的） life. An individual human existence（存在） should be like a river, small at first, narrowly（仔细地） contained within its banks, and rushing（冲） passionately past boulders（ 巨砾） and over waterfalls.

  Gradually, the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible（可见的） break, they become merged in the sea and painlessly lose their individual being. The man who, in old age, can see his life in this way, will not suffer from the fear of death, since the things he cares for will continue. And if, with the decay（衰退） of vitality（活力）, weariness increases, the thought of rest will be not unwelcome（不受欢迎的）. I should wish to die while still at work, knowing that others will carry on what I can no longer do, and content in the thought that what was possible has been done.