高考經典英語美文摘抄

　　利用英語經典美文開展閱讀教學,是培養學生閱讀能力的有效形式。教師在教學中充分利用豐富多彩、題材多樣、富有典型性的英語美文為載體優化閱讀教學過程,對指引學生參與、體驗、賞析、領悟等閱讀活動,提高英語閱讀技能,培養英語閱讀能力具有重要意義。 下面是小編帶來的，歡迎閱讀!

　　篇一

　　A Friend‘s PrayerA voyaging ship was wrecked during a storm at sea and only two of the men aboard were able to swim to a small, desert-like island. Not knowing what else to do, the two survivors agreed that they had no other recourse than to pray to God.

　　However, to find out whose prayers were more powerful, they agreed to divide the territory between them and stay on opposite sides of the island.

　　The first thing they prayed for was food. The next morning, the first man saw a fruit-bearing tree on his side of the island, and he was able to eat its fruit. But the other man's parcel of land remained barren貧瘠的 .

　　After a week, the first man became lonely and decided to pray for a wife. The next day, another ship was wrecked and the only survivor was a woman who swam to his side of the island. But on the other side of the island, there was nothing.

　　Soon thereafter自那時以後 the first man prayed for a house, clothes and more food. The next day, like magic, all of these things were given to him. However, the second man still had nothing.

　　Finally, the first man prayed for a ship so that he and his wife could leave the island, and in the morning he found a ship docked at his side of the island.

　　The first man boarded the ship with his wife and decided to leave the second man on the island, considering the other man unworthy to receive God's blessings since none of his prayers had been answered.

　　As the ship was about to leave, the first man heard a voice from Heaven booming, "Why are you leaving your companion on the island?"

　　"My blessings are mine alone since I was the one who prayed for them," the first man answered. "His prayers were all unanswered and so he doesn't deserve anything."

　　"You are mistaken!" the voice rebuked指責，非難 him. "He had only one prayer, which I answered. If not for that, you would not have received any of my blessings."

　　"Tell me," the first man asked the voice, "what did he pray for that I should owe him anything?"

　　"He prayed that all your prayers would be answered."

　　篇二

　　Just Listen To Your HeartHow often do you have a really strong gut instinct and it proves to be wrong? How often do you override推翻，踐踏 that instinct and then kick yourself later on? My guess would be that if you're anything like the people that come to me for life coaching the answers are hardly ever and always.

　　Everybody knows intuitively that they have solid instincts. I have never met anybody either professionally or socially that says. "My gut feeling is terrible, I'm always getting in a mess by listening to myself, what can I do about it?" How weird is that? It seems to me it's a universal truth.

　　Although at this point I have to confess I only know a small percentage of people when we look at it from a global perspective. In fact, we are probably talking about 0.000005% of the population; so statistically speaking it's about as accurate as a blind baseball pitcher投手 with Meniere's disease.

　　Having said that, I'm prepared to bet that you don't disagree with me. In fact, I'll go as far to say that if you can honestly say you believe your gut instinct lets you down on a regular basis, drop me an e-mail and I'll mail you a copy of my book with instructions on how to operate it, because you're going to need them.

　　The conscious human mind can only deal with 7+ or –2 pieces of information at once. Until you read this sentence you almost certainly aren't aware of your left foot. But hey, presto, now you are! Way to go on shifting your awareness like a Zen Master. If you lost your foot in a freak fairground accident last week I apologize for my lack of tact. I hope you can forgive me and please accept my best wishes for a speedy recovery hoppy.

　　The fact is, you have to constantly delete information from your conscious mind, otherwise you'd go into sensory overload. Try and do it now if you have any doubt. Place your awareness in your right hand, now your left hand too. Now move to your feet and remain aware of your hands. Easy? Maybe, but that's still only 4, so try thinking about what your lower back feels like without letting your attention move from your hands. By now you will be starting to struggle, but if you're not keep going and you soon will be.

　　Think of your conscious mind as being like the RAM on your computer. It does lots of good stuff and it's nice to have around and all that, but hey c'mon, it's no hard drive! That is like the difference between your conscious and unconscious mind.

　　Your unconscious mind can do lots of stuff easily without you ever having to intervene. I presume your heart is beating, your food is being digested, and you do not have to remember to blink your eyes or maintain your blood pressure, right? If not you maybe dead, so stop reading now and call for an ambulance and/or an undertaker.

　　What happens when you get a strong gut feeling is that your unconscious mind is trying to tell you what it thinks in the only way it knows how, with feelings. It can't talk to you because it's unconscious, hence the rather obvious name. It has done lots of calculations, looked at all the permutations, given it serious consideration and is now shouting “Whoa there big fella, it aint a great idea to poke that skunk with a stick” Of course the 'shout' can manifest itself in any number of ways. You may get sweaty palms, a nauseous feeling or just a sense of something not being quite right.

　　So what do most people do when they get a strong gut feeling?

　　That's right, they override it. Because it doesn't make logical sense on the surface, skunk poking notwithstanding, it tends to get dismissed. A feeling is just that, a feeling, it can be hard to put into words. When we can't explain logically why we think something is a bad or even for that matter a good idea, we can tend to either ignore it completely or use faulty logic to dismiss it out of hand.

　　Some people find to very easy to tune into their feelings, but truly kinesthetic people account for less than 15% of the population. If you're not one of the lucky few then you'll have to pay extra special attention. Tune in to your body more often and start to recognize the patterns an when it's trying to tell you something.

　　If your unconscious is saying don't take that job, go on that date, poke that skunk - take heed. It knows what it's talking about and it has your best interests at heart. The alternative it to disregard it as some weird nebulous feeling that's come out of nowhere and almost certainly live to regret it.

　　篇三

　　Selling My Mother‘s Dresses

　　I like to think that a bit of her laughter, sense of wonder and fun travels with them and that any tears or sadness are long since washed away.

　　I moved from Chicago to Brooklyn in July of 2004, just in time to watch my mother die. That wasn't why I moved back. She was supposed to be getting better; thechemo化療 was working. I came because I'd rented an apartment with Jay, this cute guy I'd started dating, who was originally from New York too. But a week after pulling up in a U-Haul, I found myself cleaning out my childhood home with my siblings. Our parents were both gone now; anything that we couldn't take with us had to fit in a 20-cubic-yard Dumpster.

　　I could barely squeeze the little I saved into the one-bedroom Jay and I shared. I didn't even try to unpack the boxes of my parents' books, the bags of my mom's dresses. Jay had to shimmy搖動，振動 sideways to get between my father's easy chair and my mother's broken desk. I was claustrophobic幽閉恐怖症患者 from the mountains of photos and misplaced knickknacks, and yet I found myself drawn to someone else's castoffs. We hadn't lived there more than a month and already I was claustrophobic from the mountains of photos and misplaced knickknacks. So it made no sense when, out walking one Saturday later that summer, something caught my eye — a pale green scrap of fabric — and suddenly I was steering Jay toward someone else's castoffs. My first stoop sale.

　　Laid out on the pavement was a batik scarf with dangling earrings, glass candle-holders, a small wooden jewelry box, books from Heidegger to Nora Ephron, a videotape of "Risky Business." Draped on the wrought iron fence behind: a tan knit shawl, a few pairs of jeans, a green cotton dress with buttons that looked like the inside of a seashell. I'd never owned anything green, but I had to feel those buttons between my fingers, the cotton so thin it was maybe two washes away fromdisintegration瓦解，崩潰 .

　　"You can try it on if you want. There's a mirror over by the tree."

　　I looked up to find her face. I'd inspected all of her things without even saying hello.

　　I saw a smile that was working hard. Her skin was pale; her shoulders thin and her hair cut very short. Or was it new peach fuzz, just growing in?

　　I was at once embarrassed and humbled. I'd thought people who hosted stoop sales just had too many clothes or were looking to cash in on some scratched records. But there was something else happening here. This woman looked like she was getting rid of a past she didn't need or want. A dress that was too big for her. A chest of drawers that took up too much space, space she needed, maybe, to heal or grow.

　　"Thanks," I whispered. I wasn't planning on buying anything really, but now I needed to, to show her that I appreciated her things and would give them a safe home. I paid her 20 bucks for her green dress, her wooden jewelry box and her blue candle-holder.

　　From that day on, I became devoted to stoop sales. Some of my favorite things — including the sundress I'm wearing today and the Winnie the Pooh car that Jay is pushing our daughter in — are from someone else's life. I find no joy in shopping at regular stores anymore. I've been known to break down in cranky暴躁的，古怪的tears by the checkout of Ikea. I'd love to say I'm trying to speak out against sweatshop conditions or conserve thread. But it's much more selfish than that. I love trying to sniff out a memory from a bud vase or a favorite song from a case of L.P.'s. The stains and broken switches, the bend in the knee of an old pair of jeans. Sometimes I just want to look at how many Mason jars one person can collect and imagine what they might've held. It's comforting to know that someone has breathed and laughed inside a sweater before me. That I am part of a continuum.

　　I have great respect for people who organize stoop sales. It must be an emotional way to spend your weekend. Arranging your history on a card table so strangers can snoop and evaluate. There's also a certain freedom and recklessness to putting a price tag on an ex's mix CD or "The Marx-Engels Reader" you never read in college and are finally ready to admit you never will.

　　I am very big on purging my own things. Every few weeks I drop off a load of clothes at the resale shop around the corner or cart a stack of books to the curb. The more I read about Buddhism while the stock market dips and flips, the more I feel like I have to practice non-attachment. Maybe it has to do with losing my parents at a young age. Maybe I can't bond with anyone or anything without also seeing us eventually separated. Whatever the cause, I know that once I love a scarf or shirt too dearly, it needs to find a new home. Even that green dress — which I turned into a blouse after deciding it made me look like a celery stalk — is long gone by now.

　　The one thing I haven't been able to do is manage my own stoop sale. I've come close. A few weeks ago, I carried the last of my mother's dresses to a friend's stoop. These were Mom's best items — strong taffetas塔夫綢 and feathered collars, cream brocade and lavender chiffon. My mother was elegant, whether she was in a tailored suit or her limp blue bathrobe. I tried to remind myself of this as I watched, from the park across the way, for hours, those dresses wilt on the cement stair. The sidewalks were crowded with iced coffees and farmers' market gladioluses劍蘭 . Nobody even glanced at my mother's finery.

　　"C'mon," I finally said to my 2-year-old daughter. I pulled her out of the swings. "I'm going to show you Grandma Joanie's dresses."

　　Grandma Joanie is just a name to my daughter. Even when I show her pictures, there is no perfumed hug or ice cream afternoon to make her a real person. And those dresses were equally meaningless to her. Empty pieces of hot fabric that were once worn by the most important person in my life. For all my hours with Thich Nhat Hanh's teachings on letting go, I still hold on tightly sometimes, whether I want to or not. I still think her stuff is as sacred as her memory.

　　I did not buy back my mother's things.

　　I did not pick up her skirt that was dusting the sidewalk.

　　Instead, I bought a new/used raincoat for $10, put my daughter on my shoulders, and walked us a new route home.