Why is a two-year-old so terrible? Because she is systematically testing the fascinating and, to her, utterly novel notion that something that gives her pleasure might not actually give someone else pleasure—and the truth is that as adults we never lose that fascination.
為什么兩歲的孩子那么可怕呢?因為在有條例地驗證奇妙的事情害碾，對她來說窘哈，能帶給她愉悅卻不能讓其他人也開心這可是個全新的概念燥撞，事實上大人也沒有失去這個想象力篮迎。
What is the first thing that we want to know when we meet someone who is a doctor at a social occasion? It isn’t “What do you do?”
We know, sort of, what a doctor does.
當(dāng)我們想了解我們在一個社交場合上遇見的醫(yī)生時，首先想到的問題是什么楼肪？不是“你是做什么的么”?我們知道醫(yī)生是做什么症革。
Instead, we want to know what it means to be with sick people all day long. We want to know what it feels like to be a doctor, because we’re quite sure that it doesn’t feel at all like what it means to sit at a computer all day long, or teach school, or sell cars.
相反罗晕，我們想了解的是一整天都和病人在一起是意味著什么千埃。我們想了解的是作為一名醫(yī)生是什么感覺憔儿，因為我們很確定那和我們整天坐在電腦前，或者教書镰禾，銷售汽車不是同樣的感覺。
Such questions are not dumb or obvious. Curiosity about the interior life of other people’s day-to-day work is one of the most fundamental of human impulses, and that same impulse is what led to the writing you now hold in your hands.
這樣的問題并不愚蠢或者答案很顯然易見唱逢。對其他人每天工作內(nèi)在生活（內(nèi)情）的好奇是一個最基礎(chǔ)的人類沖動吴侦，這種相同的沖動引導(dǎo)我去寫作你手上這本書的動力。
