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Youth  _  by. Samuel Ullman

ûÃá - »ç¹«¿¤ ¿ï¸¸

 

Youth is not a time of life, it is a state of mind.

 Ã»ÃáÀ̶õ ÀλýÀÇ ¾î¶² ÇÑ ½Ã±â°¡ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó, ¾î¶² ¸¶À½ °¡ÁüÀ» ¶æÇÑ´Ù.

It is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees.

ûÃáÀ̶õ Àå¹Ì ºû º¼, ºÓÀº ÀÔ¼ú ±×¸®°í À¯¿¬ÇÑ ¹«¸­À» ¶æÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó, 

It is a matter of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions.

°­ÀÎÇÑ ÀÇÁö, dzºÎÇÑ »ó»ó·Â, ºÒŸ´Â ¿­Á¤ÀÌ´Ù.

It is the freshness of the deep springs of life.

ûÃáÀ̶õ ÀλýÀÇ ±íÀº »ù¿¡¼­ ¼Ú¾Æ³ª´Â ½Å¼±ÇÑ Á¤½ÅÀÌ´Ù.

 

Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity of the appetite,

for adventure over the love of ease.

ûÃáÀ̶õ µÎ·Á¿òÀ» ¹°¸®Ä¡´Â ¿ë±â¿Í ¾ÈÀÌÇÔÀ» »Ñ¸®Ä¡´Â ¸ðÇè½ÉÀ» ÀǹÌÇÑ´Ù.

This often exists in  man of sixty more than a boy of twnety.

¶§·Î´Â ½º¹«»ìÀÇ Ã»³âº¸´Ù ¿¹¼ø»ìÀÇ ³ëÀÎÀÌ ´õ ûÃáÀÏ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù.

Nobody grows old merely by a number of years.

³ªÀ̸¦ ¸Ô´Â´Ù°í ´©±¸³ª ´Ä´Â °ÍÀº ¾Æ´Ï´Ù.

We grow old by deserting our ideals.

ÀÌ»óÀ» ÀÒ¾î ¹ö¸± ¶§ ºñ·Î¼Ò ´Ä´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù.

 

Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiam wrinkles the soul.

¼¼¿ùÀº ÇǺθ¦ ÁÖ¸§Áö°Ô ÇÏÁö¸¸, ¿­Á¤À» »ó½ÇÇÒ ¶§ ¿µÈ¥ÀÌ ÁÖ¸§Áø´Ù.

Worry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart and turns the spirit back to dust.

±Ù½É, µÎ·Á¿ò, ÀڽۨÀÇ »ó½ÇÀº Á¤½ÅÀ» ±¼º¹½ÃÅ°°í ¿µÈ¥À» Çѳ¹Àç·Î ¼Ò¸ê½ÃŲ´Ù.

 

Whether sixty or sixteen, there is in every human being heart the lure of wonder,

the infaililng child-like appetite of what is next, and the joy of the game of living.

¿¹¼øÀÌ°Ç ¿­¿©¼¸ÀÌ°Ç, ¸ðµç Àΰ£ÀÇ °¡½¿¼Ó¿¡´Â
°æÀ̷οò¿¡ ´ëÇÑ È£±â½É, ¾ÆÀÌó·³ ¿Õ¼ºÇÑ ¹Ì·¡ÀÇ Å½±¸½É°ú ÀλýÀ̶ó´Â °ÔÀÓ¿¡ ´ëÇÑ Áñ°Å¿òÀÌ ÀÖ´Ù.
 

In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wireless station.

±×´ëÀÇ °¡½¿ ³ªÀÇ °¡½¿ ÇÑ°¡¿îµ¥´Â À̽ÉÀü½ÉÀÇ ¹«¼±±¹ÀÌ ÀÖ´Ù.

so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage and power from men and from the infinite,

so long are you young.

±×°ÍÀº Á¶¹°ÁÖ¿Í »ç¶÷À¸·ÎºÎÅÍ ³ª¿À´Â ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿ò, Èñ¸Á, »ý±â, ¿ë±â, ÈûÀÇ ¸Þ½ÃÁö¸¦ ¼ö½ÅÇÏ´Â ÇÑ ´ç½ÅÀº ±×¸¸Å­ ÀþÀ» °ÍÀÌ´Ù.

 

When the aerials are down, and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicism and the ice of pessimism,

then you are grown old, even at twenty.

±×´ë°¡ ±â°³¸¦ ÀÒ°í, Á¤½ÅÀÌ ³Ã¼ÒÁÖÀÇ¿Í ºñ°üÁÖÀÇÀÇ ¾óÀ½À¸·Î µ¤ÀÏ ¶§,

 ±×´ë´Â ½º¹« »ì ÀÌ¶óµµ ´ÄÀºÀÌÀÌ´Ù.

 

But as long as your aerials are up to catch the waves of optimism,

there is hope you may die young at eighty. 

±×·¯³ª ´ç½ÅÀÇ ±â°³°¡ ³«°üÁÖÀÇ Æĵµ¸¦ Àâ°í ÀÖ´Â ÇÑ,

±×´ë´Â ¿©µç »ì·Îµµ ûÃáÀÇ À̸§À¸·Î Á×À» ¼ö ÀÖ´Â Èñ¸ÁÀÌ ÀÖ´Ù.

 


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