英语好文章大全

英语好文章大全

　　在 英语学习 中,阅读能力是学习者发展 其它 语言能力(听、说、写、译)的基础。下面是我带来的经典英语好 文章 摘抄，欢迎阅读!

　　经典英语好文章摘抄篇一
　　Change Makes Life Beautiful(生命美于变化)

　　To regard all things and principles of things as inconstant modes or fashions has more and more become the tendency of modern thought. Let us begin with that which is without——our physical life. Fix upon it in one of its more exquisite intervals，the moment，for instance，of delicious recoil from the flood of water in summer heat. What is the whole physical life in that moment but a combination of natural elements to which science gives their names?But these elements，phosphorus and lime and delicate fibers，are present not in the human body alone：we detect them in places most remote from it. Our physical life is a perpetual motion of them——the passage of the blood，the wasting and repairing of the lenses of the eye，the modification of the tissues of the brain under every ray of light and sound-processes which science reduces to simpler and more elementary forces. Like the elements of which we are composed，the action of these forces extends beyond us：it rusts iron and ripens corn. Far out on every side of us those elements are broadcast，driven in many currents;and birth and gesture and death and the springing of violets from the grave are but a few out of ten thousand resultant combinations. That clear，perpetual outline of face and limb is but an image of ours，under which we group them a design in a web，the actual threads of which pass out beyond it. This at least of flame——like our life has，that it is but the concurrence，renewed from moment to moment，of forces parting sooner or later on their ways.

　　生命美于变化

　　将所有事物和事物的原则统统归结为经常变化着的形态或风尚，这已日益成为近代思想界的一个趋势。我们可以从我们的生理活动等表面的事情说起。举个例子来说，选定在酷暑中猛然浸入滔滔清流的一刹那和感觉极其愉快的这么一个微妙的时刻。在那一瞬间的所有生理活动，难道不可以说是具有科学名称的各种元素的一种化合作用吗?但是，像磷、石灰、微细的纤维质等这些元素，不仅存在于人体之中，而且在与人体没有丝毫关系的地方也能检查出它们的存在。血液的流通，眼睛中水晶体的消耗和恢复，每一道光波、每一次声浪对于脑组织所引起的变异——都不外是这些元素永久的运动。但是科学把这些运动过程还原为更为简单和基本力量的作用。正如我们身体所赖以构成的元素所形成的我们的生理活动的力量，这些力量在我们身体以外也同样发挥着作用——它可以使铁生锈，使谷物成熟。这些元素，在种种气流吹送之下，从我们身外向四面八方传播：人的诞生，人的姿态，人的死亡，以及在人的坟头上生长出紫罗兰——这不过是成千上万化合结果的点滴例子而已。人类那轮廓分明、长久不变的面颜和肢体，不过是一种表象，在它那框架之内，我们好把种种化合的元素凝聚一团——这好像是蛛网的纹样，那织网的细丝从网中穿出，又引向他方。在这一点上，我们的生命有些像那火焰——它也是种种力量汇合的结果，这汇合虽不断延续，那些力量却早晚要各自飘散。
　　经典英语好文章摘抄篇二
　　The Date Father Didn’t Keep (父亲失约)

　　It happened in one of those picturesque Danish taverns that cater to tourists and where English is spoken. I was with my father on a business-and-pleasure trip，and in our leisure hours we were having a wonderful time.

　　“It‘s a pity your mother couldn’t come，”said Father.“It would be wonderful to show her around.”

　　He had visited Denmark when he was a young man. I asked him，“How long is it since you were here?”

　　“Oh，about 30 years. I remember being in this very inn，by the way.”He looked around，remembering.

　　“Those were gracious days-”He stopped suddenly，and I saw that his face was pale. I followed his eyes and looked across the room to a woman who was setting a tray of drinks before some customers. She might have been pretty once，but now she was stout and her hair was untidy.“Do you know her?”I asked……

　　“I did once，”he said.

　　The woman come to our table.“Drinks?”she inquired.

　　“We‘ll have beer，”I said. She nodded and went away.

　　“How she has changed!Thank heaven she didn‘t recognize me，”muttered Father mopping his face with a handkerchief.“I know her before I ever met your mother，”he went on.“I was a student，on a tour. She was a lovely young thing，very graceful. I fell madly in live with her，and she with me.”

　　“Does Mother know about her?”I blurted out，resentfully.

　　“Of course，”Father said gently. He looked at me a little anxiously. I felt embarrassed for him.

　　I said，“Dad，you don‘t have to-”

　　“Oh，yes，I want to tell you. I don‘t want you wondering about this. Her father objected to our romance. I was a foreigner. I had no prospects，and was dependent on my father. When I wrote Father that I wanted to get married he cut off my allowance. And I had to go home. But I met the girl once more，and told her I would return to America，borrow enough money to get married on，and come back for her in a few months.”

　　“We know，”he continued，“that her father might intercept a letter，so we agreed that I would simply mail her a slip of paper with a date on it，the time she was to meet me at a certain place;then we‘d married. Well，I went home，got the loan and sent her the date. She received the note. She wrote me：”I’ll be there.“But she wasn‘t. Then I found that she had been married about two weeks before，to a local innkeeper. She hadn’t waited.”

　　Then my father said，“Thank God she didn‘t. I went home，met your mother，and we’ve been completely happy. We often joke about that youthful love romance.”

　　The woman appeared with our beer.

　　“You are from America?”she asked me.

　　“Yes，”I said.

　　She beamed.“A wonderful country，America.”

　　“Yes，a lot of your countrymen have gone there. Did you ever think of it?”

　　“Not me. Not now，”she said.“I think so one time，a ling time ago. But I stay here. I much better here.”

　　We drank our beer and left. Outside I said，“Father，just how did you write that date on which she was to meet you?”

　　He stopped，took out an envelope and wrote on it.“Like this，”he said.“12/11/73，which was，of course，December 11，1973.”

　　“No!”I exclaimed.“It isn‘t in Denmark or any European country. Over here they write the day first，then the month. So that date wouldn’t be December 11 but the 12th of November!”

　　Father passed his hand over his face.“So she was there!”he exclaimed.“And it was because I didn‘t show up that she got married.”He was silent a while.“Well，”he said.，“I hope she’s happy. She seems be.”

　　As we resumed walking I blurted out，“It is a lucky thing it happened that way. You wouldn‘t have met Mother.”

　　He put his arm around my shoulders，looked at me with a heart-warming smile，and said，“I was doubly lucky，young fellow，for otherwise I wouldn‘t have met you，either!”
　　经典英语好文章摘抄篇三
　　改变一生的邂逅

　　Isn‘t it amazing how one person，sharing one idea，at the right time and place can change the course of your life’s history?This is certainly what happened in my life. When I was 14，I was hitchhiking from Houston，Texas，through El Paso on my way to California. I was following my dream，journeying with the sun. I was a high school dropout with learning disabilities and was set on surfing the biggest waves in the world，first in California and then in Hawaii，where I would later live.

　　Upon reaching downtown El Paso，I met an old man，a bum，on the street corner. He saw me walking，stopped me and questioned me as I passed by. He asked me if I was running away from home，I suppose because I looked so young. I told him，“Not exactly，sir，”since my father had given me a ride to the freeway in Houston and given me his blessings while saying，“It is important to follow your dream and what is in your heart. Son.”

　　The bum then asked me if he could buy me a cup of coffee. I told him，“No，sir，but a soda would be great.”We walked to a corner malt shop and sat down on a couple of swiveling stools while we enjoyed our drinks.

　　After conversing for a few minutes，the friendly bum told me to follow him. He told me that he had something grand to show me and share with me. We walked a couple of blocks until we came upon the downtown El Paso Public Library.

　　We walked up its front steps and stopped at a small information stand. Here the bum spoke to a smiling old lady，and asked her if she would be kind enough to watch my things for a moment while he and I entered the library. I left my belongings with this grandmotherly figure and entered into this magnificent hall of learning.

　　The bum first led me to a table and asked me to sit down and wait for a moment while he looked for something special amongst the shelves. A few moments later，he returned with a couple of old books under his arms and set them on the table. He then sat down beside me and spoke. He started with a few statements that were very special and that changed my life. He said，“There are two things that I want to teach you，young man，and they are these：

　　“Number one is to never judge a book by its cover，for a cover can fool you.”He followed with，“I bet you think I‘m a bum，don’t you，young man?”

　　I said，“Well，uh，yes，I guess so，sir.”

　　“Well，young man，I‘ve got a little surprise for you. I am one of the wealthiest men in the world. I have probably everything any man could ever want. I originally come from the Northeast and have all the things that money can buy. But a year ago，my wife passed away，bless her soul，and since then I have been deeply reflecting upon life. I realized there were certain things I had not yet experienced in life，one of which was what it would be like to live like a bum on the streets. I made a commitment to myself to do exactly that for one year. For the past year，I have been going from city to city doing just that. So，you see，don’t ever judge a book by its cover，for a cover can fool you.

　　“Number two is to learn how to read，my boy. For there is only one thing that people can t take away from you，and that is your wisdom.”At that moment，he reached forward，grabbed my right hand in his and put them upon the books he‘d pulled from the shelves. They were the writings of Plato and Aristotle-immortal classics from ancient times.

　　The bum then led me back past the smiling old woman near the entrance，down the steps and back on the streets near where we first met. His parting request was for me to never forget what he taught me.

英语文章大全

　　 教育 的进步是在改变的基础上实现的,改变的第一步就是摒弃墨守成规的教学思维,英语作为国际沟通交流的语言工具,其在全球化进程中扮演着重要的角色。下面是我带来的经典英语 文章 阅读，欢迎阅读!

　　经典英语文章阅读篇一
　　十二月的玫瑰

　　Roses in December

　　Coaches more times than not use their hearts instead of their heads to make tough decisions. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case when I realized we had a baseball conference game scheduled when our seniors would be in Washington, D.C. for the annual senior field trip. We were a team dominated by seniors, and for the first time in many years, we were in the conference race for first place. I knew we couldn’t win without our seniors, so I called the rival coach and asked to reschedule the game when everyone was available to play.

　　“No way,” he replied. The seniors were crushed and offered to skip the much-awaited traditional trip. I assured them they needed to go on the trip as part of their educational experience, though I really wanted to accept their offer and win and go on to the conference championship. But I did not, and on that fateful Tuesday, I wished they were there to play.

　　I had nine underclass players eager and excited that they finally had a chance to play. The most excited player was a young mentally challenged boy we will call Billy. Billy was, I believe, overage, but because he loved sports so much, an understanding principal had given him permission to be on the football and baseball teams. Billy lived and breathed sports and now he would finally get his chance to play. I think his happiness captured the imagination of the eight other substitute players. Billy was very small in size, but he had a big heart and had earned the respect of his teammates with his effort and enthusiasm. He was a left-handed hitter and had good baseball skills. His favorite pastime, except for the time he practiced sports, was to sit with the men at a local rural store talking about sports. On this day, I began to feel that a loss might even be worth Billy’s chance to play.

　　Our opponents jumped off to a four-run lead early in the game, just as expected. Somehow we came back to within one run, and that was the situation when we went to bat in the bottom of the ninth. I was pleased with our team’s effort and the constant grin on Billy’s face. If only we could win..., I thought, but that’s asking too much. If we lose by one run, it will be a victory in itself. The weakest part of our lineup was scheduled to hit, and the opposing coach put his ace pitcher in to seal the victory.

　　To our surprise, with two outs, a batter walked, and the tying run was on first base. Our next hitter was Billy. The crowd cheered as if this were the final inning of the conference championship, and Billy waved jubilantly. I knew he would be unable to hit this pitcher, but what a day it had been for all of us. Strike one. Strike two. A fastball. Billy hit it down the middle over the right fielder’s head for a triple to tie the score. Billy was beside himself, and the crowd went wild.

　　Ben, our next hitter, however, hadn’t hit the ball even once in batting practice or intrasquad games. I knew there was absolutely no way for the impossible dream to continue. Besides, our opponents had the top of their lineup if we went into overtime. It was a crazy situation and one that needed reckless strategy.

　　I called a time-out, and everyone seemed confused when I walked to third base and whispered something to Billy. As expected, Ben swung on the first two pitches, not coming close to either. When the catcher threw the ball back to the pitcher Billy broke from third base sprinting as hard as he could. The pitcher didn’t see him break, and when he did he whirled around wildly and fired the ball home. Billy dove in head first, beat the throw, and scored the winning run. This was not the World Series, but don’t tell that to anyone present that day. Tears were shed as Billy, the hero, was lifted on the shoulders of all eight team members.

　　If you go through town today, forty-two years later, you’ll likely see Billy at that same country store relating to an admiring group the story of the day he won the game that no one expected to win. Of all the spectacular events in my sports career, this memory is the highlight. It exemplified what sports can do for people, and Billy’s great day proved that to everyone who saw the game.

　　J. M. Barrie, the playwright, may have said it best when he wrote, “God gave us memories so that we might have roses in December.” Billy gave all of us a rose garden.
　　经典英语文章阅读篇二
　　Big Red

　　The first time we set eyes on "Big Red," father, mother and I were trudging through the freshly fallen snow on our way to Hubble's Hardware store on Main Street in Huntsville, Ontario. We planned to enter our name in the annual Christmas drawing for a chance to win a hamper filled with fancy tinned cookies, tea, fruit and candy. As we passed the Eaton's department store's window, we stopped as usual to gaze and do a bit of dreaming.

　　The gaily decorated window display held the best toys ever. I took an instant hankering for a huge green wagon. It was big enough to haul three armloads of firewood, two buckets of swill or a whole summer's worth of pop bottles picked from along the highway. There were skates that would make Millar's Pond well worth shovelling and dolls much too pretty to play with. And they were all nestled snugly beneath the breathtakingly flounced skirt of Big Red.

　　Mother's eyes were glued to the massive flare of red shimmering satin, dotted with twinkling sequin-centred black velvet stars. "My goodness," she managed to say in trancelike wonder. "Would you just look at that dress!" Then, totally out of character, mother twirled one spin of a waltz on the slippery sidewalk. Beneath the heavy, wooden-buttoned, grey wool coat she had worn every winter for as long as I could remember, mother lost her balance and tumbled. Father quickly caught her.

　　Her cheeks redder than usual, mother swatted dad for laughing. "Oh, stop that!" she ordered, shooing his fluttering hands as he swept the snow from her coat. "What a silly dress to be perched up there in the window of Eaton's!" She shook her head in disgust. "Who on earth would want such a splashy dress?"

　　As we continued down the street, mother turned back for one more look. "My goodness! You'd think they'd display something a person could use!"

　　Christmas was nearing, and the red dress was soon forgotten. Mother, of all people, was not one to wish for, or spend money on, items that were not practical. "There are things we need more than this," she'd always say, or, "There are things we need more than that."

　　Father, on the other hand, liked to indulge whenever the budget allowed. Of course, he'd get a scolding for his occasional splurging, but it was all done with the best intention.

　　Like the time he brought home the electric range. In our old Muskoka farmhouse on Oxtongue Lake, Mother was still cooking year-round on a wood stove. In the summer, the kitchen would be so hot even the houseflies wouldn't come inside. Yet, there would be Mother – roasting - right along with the pork and turnips.

　　One day, Dad surprised her with a fancy new electric range. She protested, of course, saying that the wood stove cooked just dandy, that the electric stove was too dear and that it would cost too much hydro to run it. All the while, however, she was polishing its already shiny chrome knobs. In spite of her objections, Dad and I knew that she cherished that new stove.

　　There were many other modern things that old farm needed, like indoor plumbing and a clothes dryer, but Mom insisted that those things would have to wait until we could afford them. Mom was forever doing chores - washing laundry by hand, tending the pigs and working in our huge garden - so she always wore mended, cotton-print housedresses and an apron to protect the front. She did have one or two "special" dresses saved for church on Sundays. And with everything else she did, she still managed to make almost all of our clothes. They weren't fancy, but they did wear well.

　　That Christmas I bought Dad a handful of fishing lures from the Five to a Dollar store, and wrapped them individually in matchboxes so he'd have plenty of gifts to open from me. Choosing something for Mother was much harder. When Dad and I asked, she thought carefully then hinted modestly for some tea towels, face cloths or a new dishpan.

　　On our last trip to town before Christmas, we were driving up Main Street when Mother suddenly exclaimed in surprise: "Would you just look at that!" She pointed excitedly as Dad drove past Eaton's.

　　"That big red dress is gone," she said in disbelief. "It's actually gone."

　　"Well . . . I'll be!" Dad chuckled. "By golly, it is!"

　　"Who'd be fool enough to buy such a frivolous dress?" Mother questioned, shaking her head. I quickly stole a glance at Dad. His blue eyes were twinkling as he nudged me with his elbow. Mother craned her neck for another glimpse out the rear window as we rode on up the street. "It's gone . . ." she whispered. I was almost certain that I detected a trace of yearning in her voice.

　　I'll never forget that Christmas morning. I watched as Mother peeled the tissue paper off a large box that read "Eaton's Finest Enamel Dishpan" on its lid.

　　"Oh Frank," she praised, "just what I wanted!" Dad was sitting in his rocker, a huge grin on his face.

　　"Only a fool wouldn't give a priceless wife like mine exactly what she wants for Christmas," he laughed. "Go ahead, open it up and make sure there are no chips." Dad winked at me, confirming his secret, and my heart filled with more love for my father than I thought it could hold!

　　Mother opened the box to find a big white enamel dishpan - overflowing with crimson satin that spilled out across her lap. With trembling hands she touched the elegant material of Big Red.

　　"Oh my goodness!" she managed to utter, her eyes filled with tears. "Oh Frank . . ." Her face was as bright as the star that twinkled on our tree in the corner of the small room. "You shouldn't have . . ." came her faint attempt at scolding.

　　"Oh now, never mind that!" Dad said. "Let's see if it fits," he laughed, helping her slip the marvellous dress over her shoulders. As the shimmering red satin fell around her, it gracefully hid the patched and faded floral housedress underneath.

　　I watched, my mouth agape, captivated by a radiance in my parents I had never noticed before. As they waltzed around the room, Big Red swirled its magic deep into my heart.

　　"You look beautiful," my dad whispered to my mom - and she surely did!
　　经典英语文章阅读篇三
　　你才是我的幸福

　　She was dancing. My crippled grandmother was dancing. I stood in the living room doorway absolutely stunned. I glanced at the kitchen table and sure enough-right under a small, framed drawing on the wall-was a freshly baked peach pie.

　　I heard her sing when I opened the door but did not want to interrupt the beautiful song by yelling I had arrived, so I just tiptoed to the living room. I looked at how her still-lean body bent beautifully, her arms greeting the sunlight that was pouring through the window. And her legs... Those legs that had stiffly walked, aided with a cane, insensible shoes as long as I could remember. Now she was wearing beautiful dancing shoes and her legs obeyed her perfectly. No limping. No stiffness. Just beautiful, fluid motion. She was the pet of the dancing world. And then she’d had her accident and it was all over. I had read that in an old newspaper clipping.

　　She turned around in a slow pirouette and saw me standing in the doorway. Her song ended, and her beautiful movements with it, so abruptly that it felt like being shaken awake from a beautiful dream. The sudden silence rang in my ears. Grandma looked so much like a kid caught with her hand in a cookie jar that I couldn’t help myself, and a slightly nervous laughter escaped. Grandma sighed and turned towards the kitchen. I followed her, not believing my eyes. She was walking with no difficulties in her beautiful shoes. We sat down by the table and cut ourselves big pieces of her delicious peach pie.

　　"So...” I blurted, “How did your leg heal?"

　　"To tell you the truth—my legs have been well all my life," she said.

　　"But I don’t understand!" I said, "Your dancing career... I mean... You pretended all these years?

　　"Very much so," Grandmother closed her eyes and savored the peach pie, "And for a very good reason."

　　"What reason?"

　　"Your grandfather."

　　"You mean he told you not to dance?"

　　"No, this was my choice. I am sure I would have lost him if I had continued dancing. I weighed fame and love against each other and love won."

　　She thought for a while and then continued. “We were talking about engagement when your grandfather had to go to war. It was the most horrible day of my life when he left. I was so afraid of losing him, the only way I could stay sane was to dance. I put all my energy and time into practicing—and I became very good. Critics praised me, the public loved me, but all I could feel was the ache in my heart, not knowing whether the love of my life would ever return. Then I went home and read and re-read his letters until I fell asleep. He always ended his letters with ‘You are my Joy. I love you with my life’ and after that he wrote his name. And then one day a letter came. There were only three sentences: ‘I have lost my leg. I am no longer a whole man and now give you back your freedom. It is best you forget about me.’”

　　"I made my decision there and then. I took my leave, and traveled away from the city. When I returned I had bought myself a cane and wrapped my leg tightly with bandages. I told everyone I had been in a car crash and that my leg would never completely heal again. My dancing days were over. No one suspected the story—I had learned to limp convincingly before I returned home. And I made sure the first person to hear of my accident was a reporter I knew well. Then I traveled to the hospital. They had pushed your grandfather outside in his wheelchair. There was a cane on the ground by his wheelchair. I took a deep breath, leaned on my cane and limped to him. "

　　By now I had forgotten about the pie and listened to grandma, mesmerized. “What happened then?” I hurried her when she took her time eating some pie.

　　"I told him he was not the only one who had lost a leg, even if mine was still attached to me. I showed him newspaper clippings of my accident. ‘So if you think I’m going to let you feel sorry for yourself for the rest of your life, think again. There is a whole life waiting for us out there! I don’t intend to be sorry for myself. But I have enough on my plate as it is, so you’d better snap out of it too. And I am not going to carry you-you are going to walk yourself.’" Grandma giggled, a surprisingly girlish sound coming from an old lady with white hair.

　　"I limped a few steps toward him and showed him what I’d taken out of my pocket. ‘Now show me you are still a man,’ I said, ‘I won’t ask again.’ He bent to take his cane from the ground and struggled out of that wheelchair. I could see he had not done it before, because he almost fell on his face, having only one leg. But I was not going to help. And so he managed it on his own and walked to me and never sat in a wheelchair again in his life."

　　"What did you show him?" I had to know. Grandma looked at me and grinned. "Two engagement rings, of course. I had bought them the day after he left for the war and I was not going to waste them on any other man."

　　I looked at the drawing on the kitchen wall, sketched by my grandfather’s hand so many years before. The picture became distorted as tears filled my eyes. “You are my Joy. I love you with my life.” I murmured quietly. The young woman in the drawing sat on her park bench and with twinkling eyes smiled broadly at me, an engagement ring carefully drawn on her finger.

　　
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英语优秀文章摘抄3篇

　　 散文 凭借精巧的谋篇布局,巧妙的措辞选景,来渲染气氛,创造意境,从而体现出它独特的风格。下面是我带来的英语优秀 文章 摘抄，欢迎阅读!

　　英语优秀文章摘抄篇一
　　A Lesson In Life 人生物语

　　Sometimes people come into your life and you know right away that they were meant to be there，they serve some sort of purpose，to teach you a lesson or help figure out who you are or who you want to become. You never know who these people may be - your roommate，neighbor，professor，long lost friend，lover or even a complete stranger who，when you lock eyes with them，you know that very moment that they will affect your life in some profound way.

　　And sometimes things happen to you and at the time they may seem horrible，painful and unfair，but in reflection you realize that without overcoming those obstacles，you would have never realized your potential，strength，will power or heart. Everything happens for a reason. Nothing happens by chance or by means of good or bad luck. Illness，injury，love，lost moments of true greatness and sheer stupidity - all occur to test the limits of your soul. Without these small tests，if they be events，illnesses or relationships，life would be like a smoothly paved，straight，flat road to nowhere. Safe and comfortable but dull and utterly pointless.

　　The people you meet who affect your life and the successes and downfalls you experience - they are the ones who create who you are. Even the bad experiences can be learned from. Those lessons are the hardest and probably the most important ones.

　　If someone hurts you，betrays you or breaks your heart，forgive them for they have helped you learn about trust and the importance of being cautious to whom you open your heart to. If someone loves you，love them back unconditionally，not only because they love you，but because they are teaching you to love and opening your heart and eyes to things you would have never seen or felt without them.

　　Make every day count. Appreciate every moment and take from it everything that you possibly can，for you may never be able to experience it again.

　　Talk to people you have never talked to before，and actually listen. Let yourself fall in love，break free and set your sights high. Hold your head up because you have every right to. Tell yourself you are a great individual and believe in yourself，for if you don‘t believe in yourself，no one else will believe in you either. You can make of your life anything you wish. Create your own life and then go out and live it.

　　“People are like tea bags - you have to put them in hot water before you know how strong they are.''
　　英语优秀文章摘抄篇二
　　老爸(Dad)

　　The first memory I have of him—of anything，really—is his strength. It was in the late afternoon in a house under construction near ours. The unfinished wood floor had large，terrifying holes whose yawning[张大嘴] darkness I knew led to nowhere good. His powerful hands，then age 33，wrapped all the way around my tiny arms，then age 4，and easily swung[摇摆] me up to his shoulders to command all I surveyed.

　　我对他——实际上是对所有事的最初记忆，就是他的力量。那是一个下午的晚些时候，在一所靠近我家的正在修建的房子里，尚未完工的木地板上有一个个巨大可怕的洞，那些张着大口的黑洞在我看来是通向不祥之处的。时年33岁的爸爸用那强壮有力的双手一把握住我的小胳膊，当时我才4岁，然后轻而易举地把我甩上他的肩头，让我把一切都尽收眼底。

　　The relationship between a son and his father changes over time. It may grow and flourish[繁茂] in mutual maturity[成熟]. It may sour in resented dependence or independence. With many children living in single-parent homes today，it may not even exist.

　　父子间的关系是随着岁月的流逝而变化的，它会在彼此成熟的过程中成长兴盛，也会在令人不快的依赖或独立的关系中产生不和。而今许多孩子生活在单亲家庭中，这种关系可能根本不存在。

　　But to a little boy right after World War II，a father seemed a god with strange strengths and uncanny[离奇的] powers enabling him to do and know things that no mortal could do or know. Amazing things，like putting a bicycle chain back on，just like that. Or building a hamster[仓鼠] guiding a jigsaw[拼板玩具] so it forms the letter F;I learned the alphabet[字母表] that way in those pre-television days.

　　然而，对于一个生活在二战刚刚结束时期的小男孩来说，父亲就像神，他拥有神奇的力量和神秘的能力，他无所不能，无所不知。那些奇妙的事儿有上自行车链条，或是建一个仓鼠笼子，或是教我玩拼图玩具，拼出个字母“F”来。在那个电视机还未诞生的年代，我便是通过这种 方法 学会了字母表的。

　　There were，of course，rules to learn. First came the handshake. None of those fishy[冷冰冰的] little finger grips，but a good firm squeeze accompanied by an equally strong gaze into the other‘s eyes.“The first thing anyone knows about you is your handshake，”he would say. And we’d practice it each night on his return from work，the serious toddler in the battered[用旧了的] Cleveland Indian‘s cap running up to the giant father to shake hands again and again until it was firm enough.

　　当然，还得学些做人的道理。首先是握手。这可不是指那种冷冰冰的手指相握，而是一种非常坚定有力的紧握，同时同样坚定有力地注视对方的眼睛。老爸常说：“人们认识你首先是通过同你握手。”每晚他下班回家时，我们便练习握手。年幼的我，戴着顶破克利夫兰印第安帽，一本正经地跌跌撞撞地跑向巨人般的父亲，开始我们的握手。一次又一次，直到握得坚定，有力。

　　As time passed，there were other rules to learn.“Always do your best.”“Do it now.”“Never lie!”And most importantly，“You can do whatever you have to do.”By my teens，he wasn‘t telling me what to do anymore，which was scary[令人害怕的] and heady[使人兴奋的] at the same time. He provided perspective，not telling me what was around the great corner of life but letting me know there was a lot more than just today and the next，which I hadn’t thought of.

　　随着时间的流逝，还有许多其他的道理要学。比如：“始终尽力而为”，“从现在做起”，“永不撒谎”，以及最重要的一条：“凡是你必须做的事你都能做到”。当我十几岁时，老爸不再叫我做这做那，这既令人害怕又令人兴奋。他教给我判断事物的方法。他不是告诉我，在人生的重大转折点上将发生些什么，而是让我明白，除了今天和明天，还有很长的路要走，这一点我是从未考虑过的。

　　One day，I realize now，there was a change. I wasn‘t trying to please him so much as I was trying to impress him. I never asked him to come to my football games. He had a high-pressure career，and it meant driving through most of Friday night. But for all the big games，when I looked over at the sideline，there was that familiar fedora. And by God，did the opposing team captain ever get a firm handshake and a gaze he would remember.

　　有一天，事情发生了变化，这是我现在才意识到的。我不再那么迫切地想要取悦于老爸，而是迫切地想要给他留下深刻的印象。我从未请他来看我的 橄榄球 赛。他工作压力很大，这意味着每个礼拜五要拼命干大半夜。但每次大型比赛，当我抬头环视看台时，那顶熟悉的软呢帽总在那儿。并且感谢上帝，对方队长总能得到一次让他铭记于心的握手——坚定而有力，伴以同样坚定的注视。

　　Then，a school fact contradicted something he said. Impossible that he could be wrong，but there it was in the book. These accumulated over time，along with personal experiences，to buttress my own developing sense of values. And I could tell we had each taken our own，perfectly normal paths.

　　后来，在学校学到的一个事实否定了老爸说过的某些东西。他不可能会错的，可书上却是这样写的。诸如此类的事日积月累，加上我的个人阅历，支持了我逐渐成形的价值观。我可以这么说：我俩开始各走各的阳关道了。

　　I began to see，too，his blind spots，his prejudices[偏见] and his weaknesses. I never threw these up at him. He hadn‘t to me，and，anyway，he seemed to need protection. I stopped asking his advice;the experiences he drew from no longer seemed relevant to the decisions I had to make.

　　与此同时，我还开始发现他对某些事的无知，他的偏见，他的弱点。我从未在他面前提起这些，他也从未在我面前说起，而且，不管怎么说，他看起来需要保护了。我不再向他征求意见;他的那些 经验 也似乎同我要做出的决定不再相干。

　　He volunteered advice for a while. But then，in more recent years，politics and issues gave way to talk of empty errands and，always，to ailments.

　　老爸当了一段时间的“自愿顾问”，但后来，特别是近几年里，他谈话中的政治与国家大事让位给了空洞的使命与疾病。

　　From his bed，he showed me the many sores and scars on his misshapen body and all the bottles for medicine.“Sometimes，”he confided[倾诉]，“I would just like to lie down and go to sleep and not wake up.”

　　躺在床上，他给我看他那被岁月扭曲了的躯体上的疤痕，以及他所有的药瓶儿。他倾诉着：“有时我真想躺下睡一觉，永远不再醒来。”

　　After much thought and practice(“You can do whatever you have to do.”)，one night last winter，I sat down by his bed and remembered for an instant those terrifying dark holes in another house 35 years before. I told my fatherhow much I loved him. I described all the things people were doing for him. But，I said，he kept eating poorly，hiding in his room and violating the doctor‘s orders. No amount of love could make someone else care about life，I said;it was a two-way street. He wasn’t doing his best. The decision was his.

　　通过深思熟虑与亲身体验(“凡是你必须做的事你都能做到”)，去年冬天的一个夜晚，我坐在老爸床边，忽然想起35年前那另一栋房子里可怕的黑洞。我告诉老爸我有多爱他。我向他讲述了人们为他所做的一切。而我又说，他总是吃得太少，躲在房间里，还不听医生的劝告。我说，再多的爱也不能使一个人自己去热爱生命：这是一条双行道，而他并没有尽力，一切都取决于他自己。

　　He said he knew how hard my words had been to say and how proud he was of me.“I had the best teacher，”I said.“You can do whatever you have to do.”He smiled a little. And we shook hands，firmly，for the last time.

　　他说他明白要我说出这些话多不容易，他是多么为我自豪。“我有位最好的老师，”我说，“凡是你必须做的事你都能做到”。他微微一笑，之后我们握手，那是一次坚定的握手，也是最后的一次。

　　Several days later，at about 4 A.M.，my mother heard Dad shuffling[拖着] about their dark room.“I have some things I have to do，”he said. He paid a bundle of bills. He composed for my mother a long list of legal and financial what-to-do‘s“in case of emergency.”And he wrote me a note.

　　几天后，大约凌晨四点，母亲听到父亲拖着脚步在他们漆黑的房间里走来走去。他说：“有些事我必须得做。”他支付了一叠帐单，给母亲留了张长长的条子，上面列有法律及经济上该做的事，“以防不测”。接着他留了封短信给我。

　　Then he walked back to his bed and laid himself down. He went to sleep，naturally. And he did not wake up.

　　然后，他走回自己的床边，躺下。他睡了，十分安详，再也没有醒来。
　　英语优秀文章摘抄篇三
　　Picasso And Me (毕加索和我)

　　This is the 50th anniversary of the day I crossed paths with Pablo Picasso. It came about in a strange way. I had written a column showing how absurd some of my mail had become.

　　One letter was from Philadelphia. It was written by a Temple University student named Harvey Brodsky. Harvey said he was in love with a girl named Gloria Segall，and he hoped to marry her someday. She claimed to be the greatest living fan of Picasso. The couple went to a Picasso exhibit and，to impress her，Harvey told Gloria that he could probably get the artist‘s autograph.

　　Harvey‘s letter continued，“Since that incident，Gloria and I have stopped seeing each other. I did a stupid thing and she threw me out and told me she never wanted to see me again.

　　“I‘m writing to you because I’m not giving up on Gloria. Could you get Picasso‘s autograph for me?If you could，I have a feeling Gloria and I could get back together. The futures of two young people depend on it. I know she is miserable without me and I without her. Everything depends on you.”

　　At the end of the letter，he said，“I，Harvey Brodsky，do solemnly swear that any item received by me from Art Buchwald(namely，Pablo Picasso‘s autograph)will never be sold or given to anyone except Miss Gloria Segall.”

　　I printed the letter in my column to show how ridiculous my mail was. When it appeared，David Duncan，a photographer，was with Picasso in Cannes and Duncan translated it for Picasso.

　　Picasso was very moved，and he took out his crayons and drew a beautiful color sketch for Gloria Segall and signed it.

　　Duncan called and told me the good news.

　　I said，“The heck with Gloria Segall，what about me?”

　　David explained this to Picasso and in crayons he drew a picture of the two of us together，holding a glass of wine，and wrote on the top，“Pour Art Buchwald.”

　　By this time，the Associated Press had picked up the story and followed through on the delivery of the picture to Gloria Segall. When it arrived special delivery in Philadelphia，Gloria took one look and said，“Harvey and I will always be good friends.”

　　If you‘re wondering how the story ends，Harvey married somebody else，and so did Gloria. The Picasso hangs in Gloria’s living room.

　　It was a story that caught the imagination of people all over the world. I received lots of letters after the column was published. My favorite came from an art dealer in New York，who wrote：

　　“I can find you as many unhappy couples in New York City as you can get Picasso sketches. Two girls I know are on the verge of suicide if they don‘t hear from Picasso，and I know several couples in Greenwich Village who are in the initial stages of divorce. Please wire me how many you need. We both stand to make a fortune.”

　　Another letter，from Bud Grossman in London，said，“My wife threatens to leave me unless I can get her Khrushchev‘s autograph. She would like it signed on a Russian sable coat.”