I feel that this award was not made

I feel that this award was not made to me as a man, but to my worka lifes work in all the agony and sweat of the human spirit, not for glory and least of all for profit, but to create out of the materials of the human spirit something which did not exist before. So this award is only mine in trust. It will not be difficult to find a dedication for the money part of it commensurate with the purpose and significance of its origin. But I would like to do the same with the acclaim too, by using this moment as a pinnacle from which I might be listened to by the young men and women already that one who will some day stand here where I am standing.
Our tragedy today is a general and universal physical fear so long sustained by now that we can even bear it. There are no longer problems of the spirit. There is only the question: When will I be blown up? because of this, the young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat.
He must learn them again. He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomedlove and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, of victories without hope, and worse of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands.
Until he relearns these things, he will write as though he stood among and watched the end of man. I decline to accept the end of man. I decline to accept the end of man. It is easy enough to say that man is immortal simply because he will endure; that when the last ding-dong of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tideless in the last red and dying evening, that even then there will still be one more sound: that of his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking. I refuse to accept this. I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poets, the writers duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poets voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.

結果 (中文) 2:

我觉得这个奖不是给我做一个男人，但我worka静物在所有的痛苦和人类精神的汗液工作，而不是为荣耀，至少所有的利润，而是创造出来的材料人的精神这东西以前不存在。因此，这份奖金只在信任我的。这不会是难以找到它的一部分钱与它的起源的目的和意义相称的奉献。但我想这样做与赞誉也一样，使用这种时刻，我从中可能会受到青年男女已经是一个谁总有一天会站在这里，在这里我站在被倾听一个巅峰。
我们今天的悲剧是人们普遍存在一种生理上的恐惧现在，我们甚至可以忍受这么长时间的持续。有精神不再是问题。目前唯一的问题是：我什么时候会被炸得粉身碎骨？正因为如此，年轻的男人或女人写今天已经忘记了在冲突人的心脏与自己只有这样才能出好作品，因为这是唯一值得写，值得的痛苦和汗水的问题。
他一定要了解这些。他必须使自己明白世间最可鄙的事情就是害怕; 并自学了，永远忘了，留下他的工作室容不得任何东西，但旧的真理和心脏的真理，老普遍真理缺乏，任何故事都短暂的，doomedlove，荣誉，怜悯，自尊，同情与牺牲。直到他这样做，他劳作下了诅咒。他写道不是爱情而是情欲的，其中没有人失去可贵的东西，胜利是没有希望，而最糟糕的是，没有怜悯或同情的失败。他的悲伤而悲伤没有通用的骨头，不留疤痕。他写道不是心脏，而是在写器官。
在他重新懂得这些东西，他会写，就犹如站在中间，看着男人的结束。我拒绝接受人类末日。我拒绝接受人类末日。这是很容易说人是不朽的，因为他会忍受; 当最后叮咚厄运已经叮当响，并在最后的红色和垂死的傍晚从上毫无价值的岩石悬tideless褪色，甚至然后还会有一个声音：他弱小的取之不尽，用之不竭的声音，还在说话。我不能接受这种说法。我相信人类不会仅仅存在，他还将胜利。他是不朽的，这不是因为万物当中仅仅他拥有不竭的声音，而是因为他有一个灵魂，有同情心，有牺牲和忍耐精神。诗人，作家的责任就是把这些写的东西。这是他的特权帮人提起他的心脏承受，提醒他的勇气，荣誉，希望，自尊，同情，怜悯和牺牲这是他过去的辉煌。诗人的声音不应只是人类的记录，也可以是道具之一，支柱帮他忍受为准。

結果 (中文) 3:

我觉得这个奖不是授予我个人，而是我的工作生活中的所有人类精神痛苦和汗水的工作，不为荣耀，不为利，而是为了创造出人类精神的东西，没有存在过的材料。所以这个奖是我唯一的信任。它将不难找到一个奉献的钱的一部分，它的目的和意义相称的起源。但是，我也愿意做同样的欢呼，用这个时刻作为一个顶峰，我可能会听的年轻男女，已经有一天站在这里，我站在。我们今天的悲剧是一种普遍的、普遍的生理恐惧，到现在我们还可以忍受.。不再有精神上的问题。只有一个问题：我什么时候会被炸死？正因为如此，今天写作的年轻人或女人已经忘记了与自己冲突的人的心灵的问题，因为只有写作才值得书写，值得付出痛苦和汗水。他必须再次学习。他必须使自己明白世间最可鄙的事情是恐惧；和，告诉自己，永远忘记它，没有在他的工作室里除了古老的真理和心灵的真理，没有这古老的普遍真理，任何故事都是短暂的和doomedlove、荣誉、怜悯、尊严、同情和牺牲。直到他这样做，他劳动的诅咒。他写的不是爱，而是情欲，不是没有人失去价值的胜利，没有希望的胜利，更糟的是，没有怜悯和同情。他的悲伤不是为了世上生灵，不留疤痕。他写的不是心脏而是腺体。直到他重新学习这些东西，他会写，就像他站在关注着人类的末日。我拒绝接受男人的终结。我拒绝接受男人的终结。很容易说人是不朽的，因为他会忍受；当最后的钟声已经消失了最后的价值在过去的红色晚霞岩悬tideless，仍然会有一个声音，人类微弱的声音仍在。我拒绝接受这个。我相信人不仅会忍耐，而且会胜利。他是不朽的，不是因为他在生物中只有一个不竭的声音，而是因为他有灵魂，有同情心，有牺牲精神和忍耐力.。诗人、作家的职责就是写这些东西。他有幸通过提升自己的心来帮助人类，提醒他勇敢、荣誉、希望、自豪、同情、怜悯和牺牲，这是他过去的荣耀。诗人的声音不应仅仅是人类的记录，它可以是帮助他忍耐和胜利的支柱和支柱.。