有哲理的英文文章

　　英文閱讀是很多人的閱讀習慣，有時候看一些是一種享受。下面就是小編給大家整理的，希望大家喜歡。

　　一：How To Be a Good Wife

　　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.

　　二：A True Gift of Love

　　"Can I see my baby?" the happy new mother asked.

　　When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window. The baby had been born without ears.

　　Time proved that the baby's hearing was perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred. When he rushed home from school one day and flung himself into his mother's arms, she sighed, knowing that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks.

　　He blurted out the tragedy. "A boy, a big boy...called me a freak."

　　He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. A favorite with his fellow students, he might have been class president, but for that. He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music.

　　"But you might mingle with other young people," his mother reproved him, but felt a kindness in her heart.

　　The boy's father had a session with the family physician... "Could nothing be done?"

　　"I believe I could graft on a pair of outer ears, if they could be procured," the doctor decided. Whereupon the search began for a person who would make such a sacrifice for a young man.

　　Two years went by. One day, his father said to the son, "You're going to the hospital, son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But it's a secret."

　　The operation was a brilliant success, and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius, and school and college became a series of triumphs.

　　Later he married and entered the diplomatic service. One day, he asked his father, “Who gave me the ears? Who gave me so much? I could never do enough for him or her.”

　　"I do not believe you could," said the father, "but the agreement was that you are not to know...not yet."

　　The years kept their profound secret, but the day did come. One of the darkest days that ever pass through a son. He stood with his father over his mother's casket. Slowly, tenderly, the father stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish brown hair to reveal the mother had no outer ears.

　　"Mother said she was glad she never let her hair be cut," his father whispered gently, "and nobody ever thought mother less beautiful, did they?"

　　REMEMBER...

　　Real beauty lies not in the physical appearance,

　　but in the heart.

　　Real treasure lies not in what can be seen,

　　but what cannot be seen.

　　Real love lies not in what is done and known,

　　but in what that is done but not known.

　　三：Fishing For Jasmine

　　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.

　　以上就是小編為你整理的，希望對你有幫助!