People around the world are superstitious about numbers; even those ancient Greeks believed that all numbers and their multiples had some mystical significance.

    Those numbers between 1 and 13 were in particular to have a powerful influence over the affairs of men.

    For example, it is commonly said that luck, good or bad, comes in threes; if an accident happens, two more of the same kind may be expected soon afterwards. The arrival of a letter will be followed by two others within a certain period.

    Another belief involving the number three has it that it is unlucky to light three cigarettes from the one match. If this happens, the bad luck that goes with the deed falls upon the person whose cigarette was the last to be lit. The ill-men linked to the lighting of three things from one match or candle goes back to at least the 17th century and probably earlier. It was believed that three candles alight at the same time would be sure to bring bad luck; one, two, or four, were permissible, but never just three.

    Seven was another significant number, usually regarded as a bringer of good luck. The ancient astrologers believed that the universe was governed by seven planets; students of Shakespeare will recall that the life of man was divided into seven ages. Seven horseshoes nailed to a house will protect it from all evil.

    Nine is usually thought of as a lucky number because it is the product of three times three. It was much used by the Anglo Saxons in their charms for healing.

    Another belief was that great changes occurred every 7th and 9th of a man's life. Consequently, the age of 63 (the product of nine and seven) was thought to be a very perilous time for him. If he survived his 63rd year he might hope to live to a ripe old age.

    Thirteen, as we well know, is regarded with great awe and fear. The common belief is that this derives from the fact that there were 13 people at Christ's Last Supper. This being the eve of his betrayal, it is not difficult to understand the significance given to the number by the early Christians.

    In more modern times 13 is an especially unlucky number of a dinner party, for example. Hotels will avoid numbering a floor the 13th; the progression is from 12 to 14, and no room is given the number 13. Many home owners will use 12 1/2 instead of 13 as their house number.

    Yet oddly enough, to be born on the 13th of the month is not regarded with any fear at all, which just shows how irrational we are in our superstitious beliefs.

    When asked to point out one or two things that are most important to themselves, many put friends ahead of homes, jobs, clothes and cars.

    A true friendship carries a long history of experience that determines who we are and keeps us connected. It is a treasure we should protect. Unfortunately, the better friends you are, the more probably you'll have disagreements. And the result can be what you don't want—an end to the relationship.

    The good news is that most troubled friendships can be mended. First, don't let your pride get in your way. Most of us can forgive each other when differences are brought out in the open. Second, apologize when you're wrong — even if you've been wronged. Over the course of a friendship, even the best people make mistakes. Sometimes, it may be best if the wronged person takes the lead and apologizes. When you apologize, give your friend a chance to admit(承认) that he has been wrong. Third, see things from your friend's point of view. And finally, accept that friendships change as our needs and lifestyle change. Making friends can sometimes seem easy. The hard part is keeping the connections strong during the natural ups and downs that have an effect on all relationships. My suggestion: consider friendship as an honor and a gift, and worth the effort to treasure and nurture(培养).

    One morning, Ann's neighbor Tracy found a lost dog wandering around the local elementary school. She asked Ann if she could keep an eye on the dog. Ann said that she could watch it only for the day.

    Tracy took photos of the dog and printed off 400 FOUND fliers（传单）, and put them in mailboxes. Meanwhile, Ann went to the dollar store and bought some pet supplies, warning her two sons not to fall in love with the dog. At the time, Ann's son Thomas was 10 years old, and Jack, who was recovering from a heart operation, was 21 years old.

    Four days later Ann was still looking after the dog, whom they had started to call Riley. When she arrived home from work, the dog threw itself against the screen door and barked madly at her. As soon as she opened the door, Riley dashed into the boys' room where Ann found Jack suffering from a heart attack. Riley ran over to Jack, but as soon as Ann bent over to help him the dog went silent.

     “If it hadn't come to get me, the doctor said Jack would have died,” Ann reported to a local newspaper. At this point, no one had called to claim the dog, so Ann decided to keep it.

    The next morning Tracy got a call. A man named Peter recognized his lost dog and called the number on the flier. Tracy started crying, and told him, “That dog saved my friend's son.”

    Peter drove to Ann's house to pick up his dog, and saw Thomas and Jack crying in the window. After a few moments Peter said, “Maybe Odie was supposed to find you, maybe you should keep it.”

    A few years ago I had an “aha!” moment regarding handwriting.

    I had in my hand a sheet of paper with handwritten instructions on it for some sort of editorial task. It occurred at first that I did not recognize the handwriting, and then I realized whose it must be. I finally became aware of the fact that I had been working with this colleague for at least a year, maybe two, and yet I did not recognize her handwriting at that point.

    It was a very important event in the computerization of life-a sign that the informal. Friendly communication of people working together in an office had changed from notes in pen to instant messages and emails. There was a time when our workdays were filled with little letters, and we recognized one another's handwriting the way we knew voices or faces.

    As a child visiting my father's office, I was pleased to recognize, in little notes on the desks of his staff, the same handwriting I would see at home in the notes he would leave on the fridge—except that those notes were signed “dad” instead of “RFW”.

    All this has been on my mind because of the talk about The Rise and Fall of Handwriting, a book by Florey. She shows in her book a deep concern about the fall of handwriting and the failure of schools to teach children to write well, but many others argue that people in a digital age can't be expected to learn to hold a pen.

    I don't buy it.

    I don't want to see anyone cut off from the expressive, personal associations that a pen still promotes better than a digital keyboard does. For many a biographer, part of really getting to know their subjects is learning to read their handwriting.

    What some people advocate is teaching one of the many attractive handwritings based on the handwriting of 16^th-century Italy. That may sound impossibly grand-as if they want kids to learn to draw by copying classical paintings. However, they have worked in many school systems.

    In Shanghai's Grand Theater, a fashionable, mainly young audience applauds enthusiastically as Guo Yong takes center stage. He holds a large bushy tree branch with leaves. Blowing on one of the leaves, he produces a sound like the singing of birds as he plays a traditional Buyi folk song. Some other musicians are also playing the traditional instruments from various ethnic groups in China.

    It's the first time such music has ever been performed in the Grand Theater. But all this is the efforts of Zhu Zheqin, a Cantonese-born singer; who has made it her mission to help preserve China's traditional ethnic music.

    Several years ago, after being appointed a United Nations Development Program ambassador, Zhu traveled through some of China's remotest regions in an attempt to document the traditional music of various minority groups. In the course other four- month trip, she recorded more than a thousand songs. But she noticed that many of the best musicians were old, and some of the music was at risk of dying out.

    "I was shocked the beauty of what I heard-it was so good," she says. "But it needed support. I hope to let people see the beauty of these things in the contemporary times."

    So Zhu decided to introduce some of the musicians to a wider audience. By doing this, she hopes to rekindle (再次点燃) the interest of the younger generation. "Young people don't like this music much; they prefer pop music and love songs. They think these songs are something their grandma sings. This kind of repackaging gives young people a new door into their heritage."

    Zhu believes China needs to look again at its own roots. "China today is basically all Western art; in our conservatories (音乐学院) Western classical music is the top," she says. "For China to really contribute to the world, we need to go on our own path. So what can represent China today?" The answer, she suggests, is to move from "made in China" to "created in China".

    Like many other people who speak more than one language, I often have the sense that I'm a slightly different person in each of my languages­more confident in English, more relaxed in French, more emotional in Czech. Is it possible that, along with these differences, my moral compass (指南针) also points in somewhat different directions depending on the language I'm using at the time?

    Psychologists who study moral judgments have become very interested in this question. The findings of several recent studies suggest that when people are faced with moral dilemmas (困境), they do indeed respond differently when considering them in a foreign language than when using their native tongue.

    In a 2014 paper led by Albert Costa  volunteers were presented with a moral dilemma known as the "trolley problem": imagine that a runaway trolley is moving quickly toward a group of five people standing on the tracks, unable to move. You are next to a switch that can move the trolley to a different set of tracks, therefore sparing the five people, but resulting in the death of one who is standing on the side tracks. Do you pull the switch?

    Most people agree that they would. But what if the only way to stop the trolley is by pushing a large stranger off a footbridge into its path? People tend to be very hesitant to say they would do this, even though in both situations, one person is sacrificed to save five. But Costa and his colleagues found that presenting the dilemma in a language that volunteers had learned as a foreign tongue dramatically increased their stated willingness to push the sacrificial person off the footbridge, from fewer than 20% of respondents working in their native language to about 50% of those using the foreign one.

    Why does it matter whether we judge morality in our native language or a foreign one? According to one explanation, such judgments involve two separate and competing ways of thinking­one of these, a quick, natural "feeling," and the other, careful deliberation about the greatest good for the greatest number. When we use a foreign language, we unconsciously sink into the more careful way simply because the effort of operating in our non-native language signals our cognitive (认知的) system to prepare for difficult activity.

    An alternative explanation is that differences arise between native and foreign tongues because our childhood languages are filled with greater emotions than are those learned in more academic settings. As a result, moral judgments made in a foreign language are less filled with the emotional reactions that surface when we use a language learned in childhood.

    There's strong evidence that memory connects a language with the experiences and interactions through which that language was learned. For example, people who are bilingual (双语的) are more likely to recall an experience if reminded in the language in which that event occurred. Our childhood languages, learned in the middle of passionate emotion, become filled with deep feeling. By comparison, languages acquired late in life, especially if they are learned through limited interactions in the classroom or dully delivered over computer screens and headphones, enter our minds lacking the emotionality that is present for their native speakers.