az én verzióm. igeidők és feltételesek nem erősségeim, de legalább tettem bele pár szép szót és mondatszerkezetet. csaltam is pár helyen, mert úgy jobban tetszett 8). gondoltam, írok jegyzeteket, mit miért úgy, de az már főleg túlmutat érdeklődésemen.
régen kellett magyarról angolra, jó gyakorlat volt. a nyelvtan tuti rossz, de a szavaimhoz ragaszkodom, a hangulatot, a vesztésre álló küzdelmet az írással jól visszaadja szerintem.

the writer is an enemy to the paper, an ancient, loving enemy he is - as he constantly battles with it. ever since childhood he revered its frightening whiteness when he had to lash up a composition - and while his classmates easily and neatly depicted the joys of winter or the beauty of a poem he watched in dispair that all his sentences started with 'it was', what he presents is without grace or wit, that he actually never tells what he intends - because even then his message was so complex as life itself, manifold and deep and muddy, full of fecund gloom. he has never learnt to write ever since. if he had, he would not write, he would stop, he would not be a writer. readiness and smoothness are for those who are not writers. he was born to be unable to write and to write constantly - still he writes like no one else in the world.

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