英语阅读文章
英语阅读：ARoseForMarly
It was one week before high school graduation when I found the note。 I didn’t know it then， but by the end of that week， my life would be changed forever。
I had been cleaning out my locker， looking through old papers and taking down all the pictures I had taped to the door。 Everything seemed to hold memories from the past year， so I was careful not to throw away anything with sentimental value。 I found the note on the top shelf of my locker， laying on top of my biology book。 It had my name ， Marly， printed neatly at the top， and though I didn’t recognize the handwriting， I thought that it was probably from one of my friends。 But as I read it， I realized that it couldn’t be。 It was signed， 'from a secret admirer。' I knew I shouldn’t take it seriously， but I couldn’t stop my heart from beating fast or my face from turning red。
I kept thinking that it was just a prank。 But who could’ve written something so sweet and touching just for a good laugh？ I heard laughter from the end of the hall， but when I looked down there I saw that those laughing were paying no attention to me。
That evening I kept replaying the words of the note in my head。 I reread it so many times during my last hour class， I almost had it memorized。
We never spent any time together， it said， but in my mind we did。。。 In my mind we shared so much。。。 from our first kiss to popcorn at the movie theater on our first date。 We laughed at inside jokes that no one else got， you taught me how to dance in my backyard。 Of course， none of those things really happened。。。 I only imagined them。 Outside of my mind we never existed as a couple， you never even knew my true feelings for you。 And I’m afraid you never will if I don’t tell you now。 Please meet me Friday night after the prom， in the park。
I spent that entire evening thinking about the note and who could’ve written it。 It wasn’t every day I got a note from someone who had been admiring me from afar。
The next day at school， I showed the note to my best friend， Christy。 We sat down by our lockers， musing over who the mysterious person could be。 Every time a boy walked by I contemplated the question： Could it be him？ I tried to act like it wasn’t important to me。 After all， it could just be a cruel joke someone was playing on me and I would look stupid if I made a big deal out of it。
By the end of third hour， everyone knew about the note I had received。 At noon， a crowd had gathered around my locker。 Some wanted to see the note but I was cautious of who I let read it。 I guarded it as if it were some great treasure， and to me， it was。
"What if its him？" Diane Johansen said， pointing in his direction and laughing。 She started doing a dead—on impersonation of Jimmy。 I couldn’t help but laugh as Diane talked with a stutter and shook， as Jimmy often did。 I instantly regretted it。 I looked at him。 I didn’t see love or admiration in his eyes， I saw pain。
M—O—T—H—E—R6个字母读完母亲一生
“M” is for the million things she gave me，
“O” means only that she’s growing old，
“T” if for the tears she shed to save me，
“H” is for her heart of purest gold，
“E” is for her eyes， with love—light shinning，
“R” means right， and right she’ll always be。
Put them all together， they spell “Mother”，
A word that means the world to me。
译文：
M 代表她给予我百万样东西，
O 意味着她渐渐老去，
T 是她为育我成人而洒落的颗颗泪滴，
H 寓意她那金子般至纯至真的'心灵，
E 是她那双闪耀着慈爱之光的眼睛，
R 使我坚信她永远正确无误的言行。
把这些字幕拼在一起就是“母亲”，
一个于我犹如整个世界一样的词语。
赏析：
美国抒情诗人霍华德·约翰逊（1887 — 1941）的这首小诗将“母亲”的形象惟妙惟肖地刻画在读者眼前。作者巧妙地将“mother”一词中的每一个字母和单词联系起来，并描绘出母亲的典型特征，既寓意深刻又耐人寻味。正是平凡的母亲用青春、泪水、心血和关爱给了我们鲜活的生命、丰富的生活和广阔的世界，才使得我们在忙碌之余、在匆匆之中，时时被心中对母亲的牵挂、惦念和感恩温暖着、鼓舞着。
英语阅读：WaitingattheDoor
My grandmother became a widow in 1970。 Shortly after that， we went to the animal shelter to pick out a puppy to keep her company。 Grandma decided on a little terrier that had a reddish—brown spot above each eye。 Because of these spots， the dog was promptly named Penny。
Grandma and Penny quickly became very attached to each other， but that attachment grew much stronger about three years later when Grandma had a stroke。 Grandma could no longer work， so when she came home from the hospital， she and Penny were constant companions。
After her stroke， it became a real problem for Grandma to let Penny in and out because the door was at the bottom of a flight of stairs。 So a mechanism using a rope and pulley was installed from the back door to a handle at the top of the stairs。 Grandma just had to pull the handle to open and close the door。 If the store was out of Penny's favorite dog food， Grandma would make one of us cook Penny browned beef with diced potatoes in it。 I can remember teasing my grandmother that she loved that dog better than she loved her family。
As the years passed， Grandma and Penny became inseparable。 Grandma's old house could be filled to the brim with people， but if Grandma went to take her nap， Penny walked along beside her and stayed by her side until she awoke。 As Penny aged， she could no longer jump up on the bed to lay next to Grandma， so she laid on the rug beside the bed。 If Grandma went into the bathroom， Penny would hobble along beside her， wait outside the door and accompany her back to the bed or chair。 Grandma never went anywhere without her faithful companion by her side。
The time came when both my grandmother and Penny's health were failing fast。 Penny couldn't get around very well， and Grandma had been hospitalized several times。 My uncle and I lived with Grandma， so Penny was never left alone， even when Grandma was in the hospital。 During these times， Penny sat at the window looking out for the car bringing Grandma home and would excitedly wait at the door when Grandma came through it。 Each homecoming was a grand reunion between the two。
On Christmas Day in 1985， Grandma was again taken to the hospital。 Penny， as usual， sat watching out the window for the car bringing Grandma home。 Two mornings later when the dog woke up， she couldn't seem to work out the stiffness in her hips as she usually did。 The same morning， she began having seizures。 At age fifteen， we knew it was time。 My mother and aunt took her to the veterinarian and stayed with her until the end。
Now the big dilemma was whether to tell Grandma while she was still in the hospital or wait。 The decision was made to tell her while she was in the hospital because when we pulled up at the house， the first thing Grandma would look for was her beloved Penny watching out the window and then happily greeting her at the door。 Grandma shed some tears but said she knew that it had to be done so Penny wouldn't suffer。
That night while still in the hospital， Grandma had a massive heart attack。 The doctors frantically worked on her but could not revive her。 After fifteen years of loving companionship， Grandma and Penny passed away within a few hours of each other。 God had it all worked out – Penny was waiting at door when Grandma came Home。
英语阅读：OntheFeelingofImmortalityinyouth
No young man believes he shall ever die。 It was a saying of my brother's and a fine one。 There is a feeling of Eternity in youth which makes us amends for everything。 To be young is to be as one of the Immortals。 One half of time indeed is spent —— the other half remains in store for us will all its countless treasures， for there is no line drawn， and we see no limit to our hopes and wishes。 We make the coming age our own ——
"The vast， the unbounded prospect lies before us。"
Death， old age， are words without a meaning， a dream， a fiction， with which we have nothing to do。 Others may have undergone， or may still undergo them —— we "bear a charmed life，" which laughs to scorn all such idle fancies。 As， in setting out on a delightful journey， we strain our eager sight forward，
"Bidding the lovely scenes at distance hail，"
and see no end to prospect after prospect， new objects presenting themselves as we advance， so in the outset of life we see no end to our desires nor to the opportunities of gratifying them。 We have as yet found no obstacle， no disposition to flag， and it seems that we can go on so for ever。 We look round in a new world， full of life and motion， and ceaseless progress， and feel in ourselves all the vigour and spirit to keep pace with it， and do not foresee from any present signs how we shall be left behind in the race， decline into old age， and drop into the grave。 It is the simplicity and， as it were， abstractedness of our feelings in youth that （so to speak） identifies us with Nature and （our experience being weak and our passions strong） makes us fancy ourselves immortal like it。 Our short—lived connexion with being， we fondly flatter ourselves， is an indissoluble and lasting union。 As infants smile and sleep， we are rocked in the cradle of our desires， and hushed into fancied security by the roar of the universe around us —— we quaff the cup of life with eager thirst without draining it， and joy and hope seem ever mantling to the brain —— objects press around us， filing the mind with their magnitude and with the throng of desires that wait upon them so that there is no room for the thoughts of death。 We are too much dazzled by the gorgeousness and novelty of the bright waking dream about us to discern the dim shadow lingering for us in the distance。 Nor would the hold that life has taken of us permit us to detach our thoughts that way， even if we could。 We are too much absorbed in present objects and pursuits。 While the spirit of youth remains unimpaired， ere "the wine of life is drunk，" we are like people intoxicated or in a fever， who are hurried away by the violence of their own sensations： it is only as present objects begin to pall upon the senses， as we have been disappointed in our favourite pursuits， cut off from our closest ties that we by degrees become weaned from the world， that passion loosens its hold upon futurity， and that we begin to contemplate as in a glass darkly the possibility of parting with it for good。 Till then， the example of others has no effect upon us。 Casualties we avoid; the slow approaches of age we play at hide and seek with。 Like the foolish fat scullion in Sterne， who hears that Master Bobby is dead， our only reflection is， "So am not I！" The idea of death， instead of staggering our confidence， only seems to strengthen and enhance our sense of the possession and enjoyment of life。 Others may fall around us like leaves， or be mowed down by the scythe of Time like grass： these are but metaphors to the unreflecting， buoyant ears and overweening presumption of youth。 It is not till we see the flowers of Love， Hope and Joy withering around us， that we give up the flattering delusions that before led us on， and that the emptiness and dreariness of the prospect before us reconciles us hypothetically to the silence of the grave。
英语阅读：HowToBeaGoodWife
This is allegedly actual text from an American home economics text book， circa 1950。
Have dinner ready。 Plan ahead， even the night before， to have a delicious meal on time。 This is a way of letting him know you've been thinking about him and concerned about his needs。 Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed。
Prepare yourself。 Take fifteen minutes to rest so that you will be refreshed when he arrives。 Touch up your makeup， put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh looking。 He has just been with a lot of work—weary people。 Be a little gay and a little more interesting。 His boring day may need a lift。
Clear away the clutter。 Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives， gather up school books， toys， paper， etc。 Run a dust cloth over the tables。 Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order; and it will give you a lift too。
Prepare the children。 Take a few minutes to wash the children's hands and faces （if they're small）， comb their hair， and if necessary， change their clothes。 They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part。
Minimize all noise。 At the time of his arrival， eliminate all noise of the washer， dryer， dishwasher， or vacuum。 Try to encourage the children to be quiet。 Be happy to see him。 Greet him with a warm smile and be glad to see him。
Some Don'ts： Don't greet him with problems and complaints。 Don't complain if he is late for dinner。 Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through that day。 Make him comfortable。 Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or suggest that he lie down in the bedroom。 Have a cool drink ready for him。 Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes。 Speak in a low， soft， soothing and pleasant voice。 Allow him to relax and unwind。
Listen to him。 You may have a dozen things to tell him， but the moment of his arrival is not the time。 Let him talk first。
Make the evening his。 Never complain if he does not take you out to dinner or other pleasant entertainment。 Instead try to understand his world of strain and pressure， his need to unwind and relax。
The goal！ Try to make your home a place of peace and order where your husband can relax in body and spirit。
英语阅读：FishingForJasmine
The silent young woman in bed number six is called Jasmine。 So am I， but names are only superficial things， floats bobbing on the surface of the water， and we share deeper connections than that。 Which is why she fascinates me — why I spend my off—duty time sitting beside her。
Today is difficult。 The ward heaves with patients and I am kept busy emptying bed—pans， filling out forms， changing dressings。 Finally， late in the afternoon， I get a few moments to make coffee， to take it over to the orange plastic chair beside her bed。 I am thankful to be off my feet， glad to be in her company once again。
‘Hello， Jasmine，’ I say， as if greeting myself。
She does not reply。 Jasmine never replies。 She is down too deep。
Like me， she has been sea—damaged。 I too am the daughter of a fisherman， so I bait my words like fish—hooks， cast them into her ears， imagine them sinking down through cold， dark water。 Down to wherever she may be。
‘I have little time today，’ I tell her， touching her hair。
With Jasmine， it is always difficult not to touch。 She is that rare thing， a truly beautiful woman。 Because of this， people invent reasons to walk by。 I catch them looking， drinking her in， feeding on her。 They are barracuda， all of them。 Wheelchair—pushing porters who slow to a crawl when they near her bed。 Roaming visitors with greedy eyes。 Doctors who stop， draw the thin screen of curtain， and continually re—examine that which does not need examination。
Great beauty is something Jasmine and I do not share。 I am glad of it。
‘Your father may be here soon，’ I say。 ’Last week he said he would come。’
Jasmine says nothing。 Her left eyelid flickers， perhaps。
It is two months since the incident on her father’s fishing boat， since she fell overboard， sank， became entangled in the nets。 It was some time before anyone noticed， then there was panic。 Her father hauled her back on board and sailed for home。 When he finally arrived， he carried ashore what he thought was his daughter’s body。
‘Jasmine，’ I whisper。 I want her to take our baited name。 I want her to swallow it。
Fortunately， there was a doctor in the village that morning， a young man visiting relatives。 It was he who brought this drowned woman back from the brink， he who told me her story。 She opened her eyes， he said， looked up at her father and spoke a single word — then sank again， this time into coma。
Barracuda。 That is what Jasmine said。
When her father visits， he touches her hair， kisses her cheek， sits in the orange plastic chair at the side of her bed and holds her hand。 Like my own father， he has the big， brown， life—roughened hands of a fisherman。 He too smells of the sea， and pretends he is a good， simple man。
Jasmine。 We share so much， we are almost one。
I remember early mornings， my hair touched to wake me， my father lifting me half—asleep from my bed， carrying me， dropping me into his boat。 His voice rough in my ear， his hands rough on my skin。 I never wanted to go， but I was just a child。 He did as he wished。
I remember salt water， hot sun， my mother shrinking on the shore。 I remember the rocking of the boat， the screams of the gulls。
‘Jasmine， you have a life inside you。 Can’t you hear it calling？’
Nothing。
The ward door bangs， and I see Jasmine’s father walking towards us， carrying flowers。 He smiles at me。
Even in death， my own child had my father’s smile， and Jasmine’s will have this man’s。 I know it。
He stops by her bed and touches her hair。 Something stirs deep inside me。 I watch Jasmine’s eyelids， waiting for her to bite。
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