關於愛的英語美文欣賞

　　通過誦讀經典美文,感受英語語言文字的典範和精華,體悟西方民族的精神和品格,開拓文化視野,提高人文素養,培養健全人格。下面是小編帶來的，歡迎閱讀!

　　篇一

　　A good heart to lean on

　　When I was growing up, I was embarrassed to be seen with my father. He was severely crippled and very short, and when we would walk together, his hand on my arm for balance, people would stare. I would inwardly squirm at the un¬wanted attention. If he ever noticed or was bothered, he never let on. It was difficult to coordinate our steps —— his halting, mine impatient —— and because of that, we didn't say much as we went along. But as we started out, he always said, "You set the pace. I will try to adjust to you. "

　　Our usual walk was to or from the subway, which was how he got to work. He went to work sick, and despite nasty weather. He almost never missed a day, and would make it to the office even if others could not. A matter of pride.

　　When snow or ice was on the ground, it was impossible for him to walk, even with help. At such times my sisters or I would pull him through the streets of Brooklyn, NY, on a child's sleigh to the sub¬way entrance. Once there, he would cling to the handrail until he reached the lower steps that the warmer tunnel air kept ice-free. In Manhattan the subway station was the basement of his office building, and he would not have to go outside again until we met him in Brooklyn' on his way home.

　　When I think of it now, I marvel at how much courage it must have taken for a grown man to subject himself to such indignity and stress. And at how he did it —— without bitterness or complaint .

　　He never talked about himself as an object of pity, nor did he show any envy of the more fortunate or able. What he looked for in others was a "good heart", and if he found one, the owner was good enough for him.

　　Now that I am older, I believe that is a proper standard by which to judge people, even though I still don' t know precisely what a "good heart" is. But I know the times I don’t have one myself.

　　Unable to engage in many activities, my father still tried to participate in some way. When a local sandlot baseball team found itself |without a manager, he kept it going. He was a knowledgeable baseball fan and often took me to Ebbets Field to see the Brooklyn Dodgers play. He liked to go to dances and parties, where he could have a good time just sitting and watching.

　　On one memorable occasion a fight broke out at a beach party, with everyone punching and shoving. He wasn't content to sit and watch, but he couldn't stand unaided on the soft sand. In frustration he began to shout, "I' ll fight anyone who will tit down with me!"

　　Nobody did. But the next day people kidded him by saying it was the first time any fighter was urged to take a dive even before the bout began.

　　I now know he participated in some things vicariously through me, his only son. When I played ball ***poorly***, he "played" too. When I joined the Navy he "joined" too. And when I came home on leave, he saw to it that " I visited his office. Introducing me, he was really saying, "This is my son, but it is also me, and I could have done this, too, if things had been different." Those words were never said aloud.

　　He has been gone many years now, but I think of him often. I wonder if he sensed my reluctance to be seen with him during our walks. If he did, I am sorry I never told him how sorry I was, how unworthy I was, how I regretted it. I think of him when I complain about trifles, when I am envious of another's good fortune, when I don't have a "good heart".

　　At such times I put my hand on his arm to regain my balance, and say, "You set the pace, I will try to adjust to you."

　　篇二

　　the best kind of love

　　I have a friend who is falling in love. She honestly claims the sky is bluer. Mozart moves her to tears. She has lost 15 pounds and looks like a cover girl.

　　"I'm young again!" she shouts exuberantly.

　　As my friend raves on about her new love, I've taken a good look at my old one. My husband of almost 20 years, Scott, has gained 15 pounds. Once a marathon runner, he now runs only down hospital halls. His hairline is receding and his body shows the signs of long working hours and too many candy bars. Yet he can still give me a certain look across a restaurant table and I want to ask for the check and head home.

　　When my friend asked me "What will make this love last?" I ran through all the obvious reasons: commitment, shared interests, unselfishness, physical attraction, communication. Yet there's more. We still have fun. Spontaneous good times. Yesterday, after slipping the rubber band off the rolled up newspaper, Scott flipped it playfully at me: this led to an all-out war. Last Saturday at the grocery, we split the list and raced each other to see who could make it to the checkout first. Even washing dishes can be a blast. We enjoy simply being together.

　　And there are surprises. One time I came home to find a note on the front door that led me to another note, then another, until I reached the walk-in closet. I opened the door to find Scott holding a "pot of gold" ***my cooking kettle*** and the "treasure" of a gift package. Sometimes I leave him notes on the mirror and little presents under his pillow.

　　There is understanding. I understand why he must play basketball with the guys. And he understands why, once a year, I must get away from the house, the kids—and even him-to meet my sisters for a few days of nonstop talking and laughing.

　　There is sharing. Not only do we share household worries and parental burdens—we also share ideas. Scott came home from a convention last month and presented me with a thick historical novel. Though he prefers thrillers and science fiction, he had read the novel on the plane. He touched my heart when he explained it was because he wanted to be able to exchange ideas about the book after I'd read it.

　　There is forgiveness. When I'm embarrassingly loud and crazy at parties, Scott forgives me. When he confessed losing some of our savings in the stock market, I gave him a hug and said, "It's okay. It's only money."

　　There is sensitivity. Last week he walked through the door with that look that tells me it's been a tough day. After he spent some time with the kids, I asked him what happened. He told me about a 60-year-old woman who'd had a stroke. He wept as he recalled the woman's husband standing beside her bed, caressing her hand. How was he going to tell this husband of 40 years that his wife would probably never recover? I shed a few tears myself. Because of the medical crisis. Because there were still people who have been married 40 years. Because my husband is still moved and concerned after years of hospital rooms and dying patients.

　　There is faith. Last Tuesday a friend came over and confessed her fear that her husband is losing his courageous battle with cancer. On Wednesday I went to lunch with a friend who is struggling to reshape her life after divorce. On Thursday a neighbor called to talk about the frightening effects of Alzheimer's disease on her father-in-law's personality. On Friday a childhood friend called long-distance to tell me her father had died. I hung up the phone and thought, This is too much heartache for one week. Through my tears, as I went out to run some errands, I noticed the boisterous orange blossoms of the gladiolus outside my window. I heard the delighted laughter of my son and his friend as they played. I caught sight of a wedding party emerging from a neighbor's house. The bride, dressed in satin and lace, tossed her bouquet to her cheering friends. That night, I told my husband about these events. We helped each other acknowledge the cycles of life and that the joys counter the sorrows. It was enough to keep us going.

　　Finally, there is knowing. I know Scott will throw his laundry just shy of the hamper every night; he'll be late to most appointments and eat the last chocolate in the box. He knows that I sleep with a pillow over my head; I'll lock us out of the house at a regular basis, and I will also eat the last chocolate.

　　I guess our love lasts because it is comfortable. No, the sky is not bluer: it's just a familiar hue. We don't feel particularly young: we've experienced too much that has contributed to our growth and wisdom, taking its toll on our bodies, and created our memories.

　　I hope we've got what it takes to make our love last. As a bride, I had Scott's wedding band engraved with Robert Browning's line "Grow old along with me!" We're following those instructions.

　　If anything is real, the heart will make it plain.

　　篇三

　　true love always prevails over all

　　True love is we stick together in "thick and thin";. Especially when it's thin, when it's troublesome. Then we should really bridge over the "troubled water". That's what they say in English. But most of us fail the test, to ourselves, not to our partners. He might leave you, he might stay with you, because you're nice or not nice. But you fail yourself. You leave yourself. You leave the most noble being that you really are. So we should check up on this to our family members or whomever that is beloved and dear to us. Most of the time in critical situations, we just turn our backs and that is no good.

　　Of course we have our anger, our frustrations, because our partners are not as loving as usual, or whomever that is; but he or she is in a different situation. At that time, she or he is in mental suffering. It's just as bad or even worse than physical suffering. Physical suffering you can take a pill or you can have an injection and it stops or at least temporarily stops, and you feel the effect right away; or at least if people are in physical suffering, everyone sympathizes with them.

　　But when they are in mental anguish, and we pound them more on that, and we turn our backs and become cold and indifferent, that is even more cruel, even worse. That person will be swimming alone in suffering. And especially they trust us as the next of kin, the next person, the one that they think they can rely on in times of need; and then at that time, we just turn around and are snobbish, because they didn't treat us nice so we just want to revenge. That's not the time. You can revenge later, when he's in better shape. Just slap him.

　　Actually, at that time, the person is not his usual self anymore. He was probably under very great pressure that he lost his own control. It's not really lost his own control, but for example, when you are in a hurry, your talk is different. Right? "Hand me that coat! Quick! Quick! Quick!" Things like that. But normally, you would say "Honey, please, can you give me that coat." Is that not so? ***Audience: Yes.*** Or when you're in pain -- for example stomach pain, heartache or whatever -- you scream loudly; and anyone who comes to talk to you, you don't talk in the usual way anymore, because you're in pain.

　　Similarly, when you are in a mental or psychological pain, you talk also in a very grouchy way, very cross. But that is understandable. So if we -- any so-called loving partner or family member -- do not understand even this very least, very basic concept, then we're finished. Then we are really in a bad situation. It's not that the partner will do anything to us. Whether he does anything to us later or not, that is no problem. The problem is us. The problem is we degrade ourselves, that we make less of a being of ourselves than we should be, than we are supposed to be, or that we really are. So do not make less of a being of yourselves.