英语阅读范文（通用16篇）

　　阅读理解回答问题要针对文章的问题，回答时能用原文整合作答的不用自己的话答，这是一条黄金法则。以下是小编帮大家整理的英语阅读，仅供参考，希望能够帮助到大家。

英语阅读范文（通用16篇）

　　英语阅读 1

　　Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, like great winds, have blown me hither and thither, in a wayward course, over a great ocean of anguish, reaching to the very verge of despair.

　　I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy - ecstasy so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of life for a few hours of this joy. I have sought it, next, because it relieves loneliness--that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the world into the cold unfathomable lifeless abyss. I have sought it finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what--at last--I have found.

　　With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of men. I have wished to know why the stars shine. And I have tried to apprehend the Pythagorean power by which number holds sway above the flux. A little of this, but not much, I have achieved.

　　Love and knowledge, so far as they were possible, led upward toward the heavens. But always pity brought me back to earth. Echoes of cries of pain reverberate in my heart. Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a burden to their sons, and the whole world of loneliness, poverty, and pain make a mockery of what human life should be. I long to alleviate this evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer.

　　This has been my life. I have found it worth living, and would gladly live it again if the chance were offered me.

　　英语阅读 2

　　The significant inscription found on an old key---“If I rest, I rust”---would be an excellent motto for those who are afflicted with the slightest bit of idleness. Even the most industrious person might adopt it with advantage to serve as a reminder that, if one allows his faculties to rest, like the iron in the unused key, they will soon show signs of rust and, ultimately, cannot do the work required of them.

　　Those who would attain the heights reached and kept by great men must keep their faculties polished by constant use, so that they may unlock the doors of knowledge, the gate that guard the entrances to the professions, to science, art, literature, agriculture---every department of human endeavor.

　　Industry keeps bright the key that opens the treasury of achievement. If Hugh Miller, after toiling all day in a quarry, had devoted his evenings to rest and recreation, he would never have become a famous geologist. The celebrated mathematician, Edmund Stone, would never have published a mathematical dictionary, never have found the key to science of mathematics, if he had given his spare moments to idleness, had the little Scotch lad, Ferguson, allowed the busy brain to go to sleep while he tended sheep on the hillside instead of calculating the position of the stars by a string of beads, he would never have become a famous astronomer.

　　Labor vanquishes all---not inconstant, spasmodic, or ill-directed labor; but faithful, unremitting, daily effort toward a well-directed purpose. Just as truly as eternal vigilance is the price of liberty, so is eternal industry the price of noble and enduring success.

　　英语阅读 3

　　When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you, yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you, believe in him, though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

　　For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, so shall he descend to our roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

　　But if, in your fear, you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure, then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor, into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears. Love gives naught but it self and takes naught but from itself. Love possesses not, nor would it be possessed, for love is sufficient unto love.

　　Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. But if you love and must have desires, let these be your desires:

　　To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

　　To know the pain of too much tenderness.

　　To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

　　And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

　　To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

　　To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;

　　To return home at eventide with gratitude;

　　And then to sleep with a payer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

　　英语阅读 4

　　He was driving home one evening, on a two lane country road. Work in this small mid-western community, was almost as slow as his beat-up Pontiac. But he never quit looking. Ever since the factory closed, he'd been unemployed, and with winter raging on, the chill had finally hit home. It was a lonely road. Not very many people had a reason to be on it, unless they were leaving. Most of his friends had already left. They had families to feed and dreams to fulfil.

　　But he stayed on. After all, this was where he buried his mother and father. He was born here and he knew the country. He could go down this road blind, and tell you what was on either side, and with his headlights not working, which came in handy. It was starting to get dark and light snow flurries were coming down. He'd better get a move on.

　　You know, he almost didn't see the old lady, stranded on the side of the road. But even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her. Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so.

　　Was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe, he looked poor and hungry. He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you. He said, "I'm here to help you ma'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan".

　　Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt. As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid. Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. She asked him how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She had already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped.

　　Bryan never thought twice about the money. This was not a job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty who had given him a hand in the past... He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way. He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance that they needed, and Bryan added "...and think of me". He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight.

　　A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The cash register was like the telephone of an out of work actor - it didn't ring much. Her waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed that the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude.

　　The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan. After the lady finished her meal, and the waitress went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, the lady slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. She wondered where the lady could be, then she noticed something written on the napkin under which were 4 more $100 bills. There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote. It said:

　　"You don't owe me anything, I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do: Do not let this chain of love end with you".

　　Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard. She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, "Everything's gonna be all right; I love you, Bryan."

　　英语阅读 5

　　I watched through blurred vision as my husband, Chuck, walked away with his ex-wife.

　　The heaviness in all our hearts was almost unbearable. Turning back to my stepson"s casket I somehow helped my children pluck a rose from the brother spray to press in their Bibles. With tears streaming down my face, I rested my hand on the son spray. I no longer knew my place.

　　God, I silently screamed, how did I fit in Conan"s life?

　　From the moment I"d met my stepson, I was in awe of this angelic little boy whose bright, blond hair seemed to glow with a heavenly radiance. At only a year-and-a-half, he was built like a three-year-old. Solid and stocky, sleeping curled in my lap, his tiny heart beat against mine, and a maternal bonding began stirring inside me.

　　Within a year I became a stepmother to Conan and his older sister, Lori. Soon after that, a visit to the doctor revealed some disheartening news.

　　"You have an infertility disease," the doctor had said. "You might not ever have children of your own."

　　At twenty-two, that news was shattering. I had

　　always wanted to be a mother. Suddenly, I realized being a stepmother might be as close as I would get, and I became even more involved in their lives.

　　But thankfully, four years later we joyfully discovered I was pregnant. Chase was born, then two years later we were blessed with our daughter, Chelsea.

　　I loved being both a mom and a stepmother, but as in any blended family, it had its ups and downs. Chuck"s ex-wife had custody of his kids and gave them more freedom than we gave our children. Needing to be consistent with our rules, I"m certain we appeared overly strict to his kids. On their weekend visitations, I usually felt like an old nag.

　　As a second wife, I was jealous of my stepchildren"s mother. I complained about her and her husband within earshot of my stepkids, and even grumbled about buying my stepchildren extras on top of paying child support. Somehow I overlooked the important fact that my stepchildren were the innocent ones thrust into a blended family.

　　Then one day at a gathering of my own family, I watched as my mother went up to my stepmother and gave her a hug. I turned and saw my father and stepfather laughing together. Having always appreciated the cooperative relationship my parents and stepparents had, it occurred to me that Chuck"s children longed for the same. So Chuck and I decided to work hard at bridging gaps instead of creating them.

　　It wasn"t easy, and changes didn"t come overnight, but they did come. By the time Conan was fifteen, a peace had settled between parents and stepparents. Instead of griping about child-support payments, we voluntarily increased them. And finally Conan"s mom gave us copies of his report cards and football schedules.

　　I was proud of my kids and stepkids. After graduation, my stepdaughter married, and she and her husband built a house together. At seventeen, Conan had become a sensible, intelligent young man. With rugged good looks and a deep, baritone voice, I wondered what fortunate girl would snatch him up.

　　英语阅读 6

　　Abundance is a life style, a way of living your life. It isn’t something you buy now and then or pull down from the cupboard, dust off and use once or twice, and then return to the cupboard.

　　Abundance is a philosophy; it appears in your physiology, your value system, and carries its own set of beliefs. You walk with it, sleep with it, bath with it, feel with it, and need to maintain and take care of it as well.

　　Abundance doesn’t always require money. Many people live with all that money can buy yet live empty inside. Abundance begins inside with some main self-ingredients, like love, care, kindness and gentleness, thoughtfulness and compassion. Abundance is a state of being. It radiates outward. It shines like the sun among the many moons in the world.

　　Being from the brightness of abundance doesn’t allow the darkness to appear or be in the path unless a choice to allow it to. The true state of abundance doesn’t have room for lies or games normally played. The space is too full of abundance. This may be a challenge because we still need to shine for other to see.

　　Abundance is seeing people for their gifts and not what they lack or could be. Seeing all things for their gifts and not what they lack.

　　Start by knowing what your abundances are, fill that space with you, and be fully present from that state of being. Your profession of choice is telling you of knowing and possibilities. That is their gift. Consultants and customer service professionals have the ministrative assistants and virtual assistants have an abundance of coordination and time management. Abundance is all around you, and all within. See what it is; love yourself for what it is, not what you’re missing, or what that can be better, but for what it is at this present moment.

　　Be in a state of abundance of what you already have. I guarantee they are there; it always is buried but there. Breathe them in as if they are the air you breathe because they are yours. Let go of anything that isn’t abundant for the time being. Name the shoe boxes in your closet with your gifts of abundance; pull from them every morning if needed. Know they are there.

　　Learning to trust in your own abundance is required. When you begin to be within your own space of abundance, whatever you need will appear whenever you need it. That’s just the way the higher powers set this universe up to work. Trust the universal energy. The knowing of it all will humble you to its power yet let the brightness of you shine everywhere it needs to. Just by being from a state of abundance, it is being you.

　　英语阅读 7

　　A man may usually be known by the books he reads as well as by the company he keeps; for there is a companionship of books as well as of men; and one should always live in the best company, whether it be of books or of men.

　　A good book may be among the best of friends. It is the same today that it always was, and it will never change. It is the most patient and cheerful of companions. It does not turn its back upon us in times of adversity or distress. It always receives us with the same kindness; amusing and instructing us in youth, and comforting and consoling us in age.

　　Men often discover their affinity to each other by the mutual love they have for a book just as two persons sometimes discover a friend by the admiration which both entertain for a third. There is an old proverb, ‘Love me, love my dog.” But there is more wisdom in this:” Love me, love my book.” The book is a truer and higher bond of union. Men can think, feel, and sympathize with each other through their favorite author. They live in him together, and he in them.

　　A good book is often the best urn of a life enshrining the best that life could think out; for the world of a man’s life is, for the most part, but the world of his thoughts. Thus the best books are treasuries of good words, the golden thoughts, which, remembered and cherished, become our constant companions and comforters.

　　Books possess an essence of immortality. They are by far the most lasting products of human effort. Temples and statues decay, but books survive. Time is of no account with great thoughts, which are as fresh today as when they first passed through their author’s minds, ages ago. What was then said and thought still speaks to us as vividly as ever from the printed page. The only effect of time have been to sift out the bad products; for nothing in literature can long survive e but what is really good.

　　Books introduce us into the best society; they bring us into the presence of the greatest minds that have ever lived. We hear what they said and did; we see the as if they were really alive; we sympathize with them, enjoy with them, grieve with them; their experience becomes ours, and we feel as if we were in a measure actors with them in the scenes which they describe.

　　The great and good do not die, even in this world. Embalmed in books, their spirits walk abroad. The book is a living voice. It is an intellect to which on still listens.

　　英语阅读 8

　　I think that, from a biological standpoint, human life almost reads like a poem. It has its own rhythm and beat, its internal cycles of growth and decay. It begins with innocent childhood, followed by awkward adolescence trying awkwardly to adapt itself to mature society, with its young passions and follies, its ideals and ambitions; then it reaches a manhood of intense activities, profiting from experience and learning more about society and human nature; at middle age, there is a slight easing of tension, a mellowing of character like the ripening of fruit or the mellowing of good wine, and the gradual acquiring of a more tolerant, more cynical and at the same time a kindlier view of life; then In the sunset of our life, the endocrine glands decrease their activity, and if we have a true philosophy of old age and have ordered our life pattern according to it, it is for us the age of peace and security and leisure and contentment; finally, life flickers out and one goes into eternal sleep, never to wake up again.

　　One should be able to sense the beauty of this rhythm of life, to appreciate, as we do in grand symphonies, its main theme, its strains of conflict and the final resolution. The movements of these cycles are very much the same in a normal life, but the music must be provided by the individual himself. In some souls, the discordant note becomes harsher and harsher and finally overwhelms or submerges the main melody. Sometimes the discordant note gains so much power that the music can no longer go on, and the individual shoots himself with a pistol or jump into a river. But that is because his original leitmotif has been hopelessly over-showed through the lack of a good self-education. Otherwise the normal human life runs to its normal end in kind of dignified movement and procession. There are sometimes in many of us too many staccatos or impetuosos, and because the tempo is wrong, the music is not pleasing to the ear; we might have more of the grand rhythm and majestic tempo o the Ganges, flowing slowly and eternally into the sea.

　　No one can say that life with childhood, manhood and old age is not a beautiful arrangement; the day has its morning, noon and sunset, and the year has its seasons, and it is good that it is so. There is no good or bad in life, except what is good according to its own season. And if we take this biological view of life and try to live according to the seasons, no one but a conceited fool or an impossible idealist can deny that human life can be lived like a poem. Shakespeare has expressed this idea more graphically in his passage about the seven stages of life, and a good many Chinese writers have said about the same thing. It is curious that Shakespeare was never very religious, or very much concerned with religion. I think this was his greatness; he took human life largely as it was, and intruded himself as little upon the general scheme of things as he did upon the characters of his plays. Shakespeare was like Nature itself, and that is the greatest compliment we can pay to a writer or thinker. He merely lived, observed life and went away.

　　译文：

　　我以为，从生物学角度看，人的一生恰如诗歌。人生自有其韵律和节奏，自有内在的生成与衰亡。人生始于无邪的童年，经过少年的青涩，带着激情与无知，理想与雄心，笨拙而努力地走向成熟;后来人到壮年，经历渐广，阅人渐多，涉世渐深，收益也渐大;及至中年，人生的紧张得以舒缓，人的性格日渐成熟，如芳馥之果实，如醇美之佳酿，更具容忍之心，处世虽更悲观，但对人生的态度趋于和善;再后来就是人生迟暮，内分泌系统活动减少，若此时吾辈已经悟得老年真谛，并据此安排残年，那生活将和平，宁静，安详而知足;终于，生命之烛摇曳而终熄灭，人开始永恒的长眠，不再醒来。

　　人们当学会感受生命韵律之美，像听交响乐一样，欣赏其主旋律、激昂的高潮和舒缓的尾声。这些反复的乐章对于我们的生命都大同小异，但个人的乐曲却要自己去谱写。在某些人心中，不和谐音会越来越刺耳，最终竟然能掩盖主曲;有时不和谐音会积蓄巨大的能量，令乐曲不能继续，这时人们或举枪自杀或投河自尽。

　　这是他最初的主题被无望地遮蔽，只因他缺少自我教育。否则，常人将以体面的运动和进程走向既定的终点。在我们多数人胸中常常会有太多的断奏或强音，那是因为节奏错了，生命的乐曲因此而不再悦耳。我们应该如恒河，学她气势恢弘而豪迈地缓缓流向大海。

　　人生有童年、少年和老年，谁也不能否认这是一种美好的安排，一天要有清晨、正午和日落，一年要有四季之分，如此才好。人生本无好坏之分，只是各个季节有各自的好处。如若我们持此种生物学的观点，并循着季节去生活，除了狂妄自大的傻瓜和无可救药的理想主义者，谁能说人生不能像诗一般度过呢。莎翁在他的.一段话中形象地阐述了人生分七个阶段的观点，很多中国作家也说过类似的话。奇怪的是，莎士比亚并不是虔诚的宗教徒，也不怎么关心宗教。我想这正是他的伟大之处，他对人生秉着顺其自然的态度，他对生活之事的干涉和改动很少，正如他对戏剧人物那样。莎翁就像自然一样，这是我们能给作家或思想家的最高褒奖。对人生，他只是一路经历着，观察着，离我们远去了。

　　英语阅读 9

　　Observe a child; any one will do. You will see that not a day passes in which he does not find something or other to make him happy, though he may be in tears the next moment. Then look at a man; any one of us will do. You will notice that weeks and months can pass in which day is greeted with nothing more than resignation1, and endure with every polite indifference. Indeed, most men are as miserable as sinners, though they are too bored to sin-perhaps their sin is their indifference2. But it is true that they so seldom smile that when they do we do not recognize their face, so distorted is it from the fixed mask we take for granted3. And even then a man can not smile like a child, for a child smiles with his eyes, whereas a man smiles with his lips alone. It is not a smile; but a grin; something to do with humor4, but little to do with happiness. And then, as anyone can see, there is a point (but who can define that point?) when a man becomes an old man, and then he will smile again.

　　It would seem that happiness is something to do with simplicity, and that it is the ability to extract pleasure form the simplest things-such as a peach stone, for instance.

　　It is obvious that it is nothing to do with success. For Sir Henry Stewart was certainly successful. It is twenty years ago since he came down to our village from London, and bought a couple of old cottages, which he had knocked into one. He used his house a s weekend refuge5. He was a barrister. And the village followed his brilliant career with something almost amounting to paternal pride.

　　I remember some ten years ago when he was made a King's Counsel6, Amos and I, seeing him get off the London train, went to congratulate him. We grinned with pleasure; he merely looked as miserable as though he'd received a penal sentence. It was the same when he was knighted; he never smiled a bit, he didn't even bother to celebrate with a round of drinks at the "Blue Fox"7. He took his success as a child does his medicine. And not one of his achievements brought even a ghost of a smile to his tired eyes.

　　I asked him one day, soon after he'd retired to potter about his garden,8 what is was like to achieve all one's ambitions. He looked down at his roses and went on watering them. Then he said "The only value in achieving one's ambition is that you then realize that they are not worth achieving." Quickly he moved the conversation on to a more practical level, and within a moment we were back to a safe discussion on the weather. That was two years ago.

　　I recall this incident, for yesterday, I was passing his house, and had drawn up my cart just outside his garden wall. I had pulled in from the road for no other reason than to let a bus pass me. As I set there filling my pipe, I suddenly heard a shout of sheer joy come from the other side of the wall.

　　I peered over. There stood Sir Henry doing nothing less than a tribal war dance9 of sheer unashamed ecstasy. Even when he observed my bewildered face staring over the wall he did not seem put out10 or embarrassed, but shouted for me to climb over.

　　英语阅读 10

　　All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live. Sometimes it was as long as a year, sometimes as short as 24 hours. But always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed hero chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak, of course, of free men who have a choice, not condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.

　　Such stories set us thinking, wondering what we should do under similar circumstances. What events, what experiences, what associations should we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings, what regrets?

　　Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with gentleness, vigor and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the Epicurean motto of “Eat, drink, and be merry”. But most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.

　　In stories the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune, but almost always his sense of values is changed. He becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It has often been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do.

　　Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly aware of our listless attitude toward life.

　　The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not being conscious of health until we are ill.

　　I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would teach him the joys of sound.

　　译文：

　　我们都读过震撼人心的故事，故事中的主人公只能再活一段很有限的时光，有时长达一年，有时却短至一日。但我们总是想要知道，注定要离世人的会选择如何度过自己最后的时光。当然，我说的是那些有选择权利的自由人，而不是那些活动范围受到严格限定的死囚。

　　这样的故事让我们思考，在类似的处境下，我们该做些什么?作为终有一死的人，在临终前的几个小时内我们应该做什么事，经历些什么或做哪些联想?回忆往昔，什么使我们开心快乐?什么又使我们悔恨不已?

　　有时我想，把每天都当作生命中的最后一天来边，也不失为一个极好的生活法则。这种态度会使人格外重视生命的价值。我们每天都应该以优雅的姿态，充沛的精力，抱着感恩之心来生活。但当时间以无休止的日，月和年在我们面前流逝时，我们却常常没有了这种子感觉。当然，也有人奉行“吃，喝，享受”的享乐主义信条，但绝大多数人还是会受到即将到来的死亡的惩罚。

　　在故事中，将死的主人公通常都在最后一刻因突降的幸运而获救，但他的价值观通常都会改变，他变得更加理解生命的意义及其永恒的精神价值。我们常常注意到，那些生活在或曾经生活在死亡阴影下的人无论做什么都会感到幸福。

　　然而，我们中的大多数人都把生命看成是理所当然的。我们知道有一天我们必将面对死亡，但总认为那一天还在遥远的将来。当我们身强体健之时，死亡简直不可想象，我们很少考虑到它。日子多得好像没有尽头。因此我们一味忙于琐事，几乎意识不到我们对待生活的冷漠态度。

　　我担心同样的`冷漠也存在于我们对自己官能和意识的运用上。只有聋子才理解听力的重要，只有盲人才明白视觉的可贵，这尤其适用于那些成年后才失去视力或听力之苦的人很少充分利用这些宝贵的能力。他们的眼睛和耳朵模糊地感受着周围的景物与声音，心不在焉，也无所感激。这正好我们只有在失去后才懂得珍惜一样，我们只有在生病后才意识到健康的可贵。

　　我经常想，如果每个人在年轻的时候都有几天失时失聪，也不失为一件幸事。黑暗将使他更加感激光明，寂静将告诉他声音的美妙。

　　英语阅读 11

　　If you have ever been discouraged because of failure, please read on.

　　For often, achieving what you set out to do is not the important thing. Let me explain.

　　Two brothers decided to dig a deep hole behind their house. As they were working, a couple of older boys stopped by to watch.

　　"What are you doing?" asked one of the visitors.

　　"We plan to dig a hole all the way through the earth!" one of the brothers volunteered excitedly.

　　The older boys began to laugh, telling the younger ones that digging a hole all the way through the earth was impossible.

　　After a long silence, one of the diggers picked up a jar full of spiders, worms and a wide assortment of insects. He removed the lid and showed the wonderful contents to the scoffing visitors.

　　Then he said quietly and confidently, "Even if we don't dig all the way through the earth, look what we found along the way!"

　　Their goal was far too ambitious, but it did cause them to dig. And that is what a goal is for-to cause us to move in the direction we have chosen; in other words, to set us to digging!

　　But not every goal will be fully achieved. Not every job will end successfully. Not every relationship will endure. Not every hope will e to pass. Not every love will last. Not every endeavor will be pleted. Not every dream will be realized.

　　But when you fall short of your aim, perhaps you can say, "Yes, but look at what I found along the way! Look at the wonderful things which have e into my life because I tried to do something!"

　　It is in the digging that life is lived. And I believe it is joy in the journey, in the end, that truly matters.

　　英语阅读 12

　　Once upon a time, a man punished his 5-year-old daughter for using up the family's only roll of expensive gold wrapping paper. Money was tight, and he became even more upset when on Christmas Eve, he saw that the child had pasted the gold paper so as to decorate a shoebox to put under the Christmas tree.

　　Nevertheless, the next morning the little girl, filled with excitement, brought the gift box to her father and said, "This is for you, Daddy!"

　　As he opened the box, the father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction.

　　But when he opened it, he found it was empty and again his anger flared. "Don't you know, young lady, " he said harshly, "when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something inside the package!"

　　The little girl looked up at him with tears rolling from her eyes and said: "Daddy, it's not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was all full."

　　The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his precious little girl. He begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.

　　An accident took the life of the child only a short time later. It is told that the father kept that little gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. Whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems he would open the box, take out an imaginary kiss, and remember the love of this beautiful child who had put it there.

　　In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given an invisible golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends and God.

　　There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.

　　英语阅读 13

　　I live in Hollywood. You may think people in such a glamorous, fun-filled place are happier than others. If so, you have some mistaken ideas about the nature of happiness.

　　Many intelligent people still equate happiness with fun. The truth is that fun and happiness have little or nothing in mon. Fun is what we experience during an act. Happiness is what we experience after an act. It is a deeper, more abiding emotion.

　　Going to an amusement park or ball game, watching a movie or television, are fun activities that help us relax, temporarily forget our problems and maybe even laugh. But they do not bring happiness, because their positive effects end when the fun ends.

　　I have often thought that if Hollywood stars have a role to play, it is to teach us that happiness has nothing to do with fun. These rich, beautiful inpiduals have constant access to glamorous parties, fancy cars, expensive homes, everything that spells "happiness".

　　But in memoir after memoir, celebrities reveal the unhappiness hidden beneath all their fun: depression, alcoholism, drug addiction, broken marriages, troubled children, profound loneliness.

　　The way people cling to the belief that a fun-filled, pain-free life equates happiness actually diminishes their chances of ever attaining real happiness. If fun and pleasure are equated with happiness, then pain must be equated with unhappiness. But, in fact, the opposite is true: More times than not, things that lead to happiness involve some pain.

　　As a result, many people avoid the very endeavors that are the source of true happiness. They fear the pain inevitably brought by such things as marriage, raising children, professional achievement, religious mitment, civic or charitable work, and self-improvement.

　　英语阅读 14

　　Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room‘s only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end.

　　They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window. The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

　　The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

　　One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn‘t hear the band - he could see it in his mind‘s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

　　Days and weeks passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

　　As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was fortable, she left him alone. Slowly and painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.

　　The man asked the nurse what could have pelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

　　英语阅读 15

　　A young man was getting ready to graduate from college. For many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told him that was all he wanted.

　　As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the morning of his graduation, his father called him into his private study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son a beautiful wrapped gift box. Curious, but somewhat disappointed, the young man opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible, with the young man's name embossed in gold.

　　Angrily, he raised his voice to his father and said, "With all your money you give me a Bible?" He then stormed out of the house, leaving the Bible.

　　Many years passed and the young man was very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and a wonderful family, but realizing his father was very old, he thought perhaps he should go to see him. He had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make the arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to e home immediately and take care of things.

　　When he arrived at his father's house, sudden sadness and regret filled his heart. He began to search through his father's important papers and saw the still new Bible, just as he had left it years ago.

　　With tears, he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. As he was reading, a car key dropped from the back of the Bible. It had a tag with the dealer's name, the same dealer who had the sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation, and the words… "PAID IN FULL".

　　How many times do we miss blessings because they are not packaged as we expected? I trust you enjoyed this. Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; but remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for. Sometimes we don't realize the good fortune we have or we could have because we expect "the packaging" to be different. What may appear as bad fortune may in fact be the door that is just waiting to be opened.

　　英语阅读 16

　　Once upon a time there was a baby eagle living in a nest perched on a cliff overlooking a beautiful valley with waterfalls and streams, trees and lots of little animals, scurrying about enjoying their lives.

　　The baby eagle liked the nest. It was the only world he had ever known. It was warm and fortable, had a great view, and even better, he had all the food and love and attention that a great mother eagle could provide. Many times each day the mother would swoop down from the sky and land in the nest and feed the baby eagle delicious morsels of food. She was like a god to him, he had no idea where she came from or how she worked her magic.

　　The baby eagle was hungry all the time, but the mother eagle would always e just in time with the food and love and attention he craved. The baby eagle grew strong. His vision grew very sharp. He felt good all the time.

　　Until one day, the mother stopped ing to the nest.

　　The baby eagle was hungry. "I'm sure to die," said the baby eagle, all the time.

　　"Very soon, death is ing," he cried, with tears streaming down his face. Over and over. But there was no one there to hear him.

　　Then one day the mother eagle appeared at the top of the mountain cliff, with a big bowl of delicious food and she looked down at her baby. The baby looked up at the mother and cried "Why did you abandon me? I'm going to die any minute. How could you do this to me?"

　　The mother said, "Here is some very tasty and nourishing food, all you have to do is e get it."

　　"Come get it!" said the baby, with much anger. "How?"

　　The mother flew away.

　　The baby cried and cried and cried.

　　A few days later, "I'm going to end it all," he said. "I give up. It is time for me to die."

　　He didn't know his mother was nearby. She swooped down to the nest with his last meal.

　　"Eat this, it's your last meal," she said.

　　The baby cried, but he ate and whined and whined about what a bad mother she was.

　　"You're a terrible mother," he said. Then she pushed him out of the nest.

　　He fell.

　　Head first.

　　Picked up speed.

　　Faster and faster.

　　He screamed. "I'm dying I'm dying," he cried. He picked up more speed.

　　He looked up at his mother. "How could you do this to me?"

　　He looked down.

　　The ground rushed closer, faster and faster. He could visualize his own death so clearly, ing so soon, and cried and whined and plained. "This isn't fair!" he screamed.

　　Something strange happens.

　　The air caught behind his arms and they snapped away from his body, with a feeling unlike anything he had ever experienced. He looked down and saw the sky. He wasn't moving towards the ground anymore, his eyes were pointed up at the sun.

　　"Huh?" he said. "What is going on here!"

　　"You're flying," his mother said.

　　"This is fun!" laughed the baby eagle, as he soared and ped and swooped.

　　"Yes it is!" said the mother.

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