阅读下面的文字，完成下列小题。

    中国文化一个最首要的也是一个最重要的特征，就是“性情化”。什么意思呢?就是中国人和中华民族在性情和情感方面是最发达的。性情是属于人与自我、人与自然之间的，而情感是属于人与人、人与社会之间的。当然有时我们并不严格区分两者。

    性情乃是由心而发，由“心性”而生。这种性情是独立的、自我欣赏的、悠闲自得的，然后外化为各种自然的事物上，使这种性情显得更加精微、更加深刻。例如，只有中国人才有“梅兰竹菊”这样精致高雅的性情的外化物，梅之凌霜傲骨、兰之清逸雅致、竹之高风亮节、菊之淡泊不拘，无不对应着中国人独立的性情人格。中国的诗是抒情的，中国的画是写意的， 中国的琴是直达心灵的。梅兰竹菊自有其精神，琴棋书画自有其性情。中国人的饮食也是最丰富和最讲究的，中国人讲究色、香、味、形的完美统一。中国人饮茶叫“品茗”，而西方人却是“喝茶”。只有带着性情才能是“品”，而满足生理就只能叫“喝”了。中国的陶瓷之所以精美，是因为它和制作者的情感是一一对应的，是带着性情、带着神韵的。中国之所以有精致的刺绣，也是因为其中蕴涵有中国人精致的情感。中国的景观、建筑、亭园，无不对应着中国人精微雅致的性情和情感。中国人的审美观是性情化的： 当一个事物和一个人的性情、心性和心灵相通的时候，便产生了中国式的美，也只有这时才产生中国式的美。

    如果我们把中国文化的这种“性情化”放到世界文化中去比对，就可以看得更加清楚了。就世界文化而言，可以分别以西方、印度、中国为标志，基本上划分为三大类型，它们反映的文化特性分别是“物性”、“神性”和“人性”。

    西方文化将“物性”表现得非常极致，他们的物质文化非常发达，而物质文化的手段——科技，也相应的可以非常发达。西方设计的许多制度特征也是“物性”的，尽量排除人的情感因素。西方所说的“自由”是指人身及其行为的自由，而中国人的自由更多是“心性”的自由。西方文化的“物性”更多的是满足人的生理上的需求。

    印度文化则将“神性”表现到了极致。这里的神性指的是人的“精神”上的最高程度。佛教就是在印度诞生的。但西方也有宗教如基督教，为什么我们只把印度文化称为“神性”的呢? 因为只有佛教才要求将人的精神提高到最高的境界，要求人抛弃世间的一切俗念，那就真的是“纯精神”的了。印度文化的“神性”满足人的精神和信仰上的需求。

    中国文化则将“人性”表现到了极致。我们经常说“人性化”，其实真正的人性化就是人的心情和情感达到最愉悦的状态。中国文化的“人性”是性情化的，它从根本上满足了人的心理上的需求。而且，中国人似乎也最追求这种情感和心理上的需求。这种情感和心理需求是和生活紧密相连的，同时又高于生活，但没有到达印度神性文化中超脱世俗的、纯精神的层面。

（节选自《人民文摘》《论中国文化的魅力》）

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    I've loved my mother's desk since I was just tall enough to see above the top of it as Mother sat doing letters. Standing by her chair, looking at the ink bottle, pens, and white paper, I decided that the act of writing must be the most wonderful thing in the world.

    Years later, during her final illness, Mother kept different things for my sister and brother. “But the desk,” she said again, “is for Elizabeth.”

    I never saw her angry, never saw her cry, I knew she loved me; she showed it in action. But as a young girl, I wanted heart-to-heart talks between mother and daughter. It never happened. And a gulf opened between us. I was “too emotional”. But she lived “on the surface”. As years passed and I had my own family, I loved my mother and thanked her for our happy family. I wrote to her in careful words and asked her to let me know in any way if she chose that she did forgive me. I posted the letter and waited for her answer. None came. My hope turned to disappointment, then little interest and, finally, peace—it seemed that nothing happened. I couldn't be sure the letter had even got to Mother. I only knew that I had written it, and I could stop trying to make her into someone she was not.

    Now the present of her desk told me, as she'd never been able to, that she was pleased that writing was my chosen work. I cleaned the desk carefully and found some papers inside—a photo of my father and a one-page letter folded and refolded many times. She had given me an answer in a way she chose. Mother, you always chose the act that speaks louder than words.