就连书虫也归于尘土。

Even the bookworms return to the dust.

他们的藏书以半价售出。

Their collections sold at half the cost.

那些卷角，那些空白处草草的记录，

The dog ears, the jots in the margins,

我曾在这儿。我读过这个。我爱那一页。

I was here. l read this. I loved that page.

我们读书试图找到要追随的那条路。

We read in search of the path to follow.

仿佛每个词都拼出了一块石头，

As though each word spelled out a stone,

一级级攀升直达旋转的星辰。

Ascending rungs up to the spinning stars.

我们读书这样我们的心就可以不作空洞。

We read so our hearts may not be hollow.

别人的思想刺穿你的骨头。

The thoughts of others slice through to bone.

当我们阅读这些页面时，我们不孤单。

We weren't alone when we read those pages.

餐桌摆好了，一场主人与客人的盛宴。

The table set, a feast for host and guests.

曾经被遗忘的不再失落。

What once forgotten was no longer lost.

尽管我们的肉体再次化为灰烬，

And though our flesh again becomes ashes,

我们活着时却并非没有胸膛。

We did not live without our chests.