英语经典美文home

we have only one home-earth A study warns that the earth's temperature is approaching a level not seen in a million years,implying that we are getting close to "dangerous" levels of human pollution,so the most serious problem is Global warming! There are so many things cause this problem,such as the increase in the number of cars,lots of trees ware cut for furniture,the increasing of human being is also one cause. How to save earth? I think we have many things to do.For example,we can planting trees as many as possible,we can by bus rather than by private car when we want to go out. 参考一下吧

摘抄要真正提高习作水平,必须做到多读精思,多思多写。我分享超经典英语美文，希望可以帮助大家!

The summer before fifth grade, my world was turned upside down when my family moved from the country town where I was born and raised to a town near the beach. When school began, I found it difficult to be accepted by the kids in my class who seemed a little more sophisticated, and who had been in the same class together since first grade.

I also found this Catholic school different from the public school I had attended. At my old school, it was acceptable to express yourself to the teacher. Here, it was considered outrageous to even suggest a change be made in the way things were done.

My mom taught me that if I wanted something in life, I had to speak up or figure out a way to make it happen. No one was going to do it for me. It was up to me to control my destiny.

I quickly learned that my classmates were totally intimidated by the strict Irish nuns who ran the school. My schoolmates were so afraid of the nuns' wrath that they rarely spoke up for themselves or suggested a change.

Not only were the nuns intimidating(吓人的), they also had some strange habits. The previous year, my classmates had been taught by a nun named Sister Rose. This year, she came to our class to teach music several times a week. During their year with her, she had earned the nickname Pick-Her-Nose-Rose. My classmates swore that during silent reading, she'd prop her book up so that she could have herself a booger-picking session without her students noticing. The worst of it, they told me, was that after reading was over, she'd stroll through the classroom and select a victim whose hair would be the recipient of one of her prize boogers. She'd pretend to be praising one of her students by rubbing her long, bony(骨的) fingers through their hair! Well, to say the least, I did not look forward to her sort of praise.

One day during music, I announced to Sister Rose that the key of the song we were learning was too high for our voices. Every kid in the class turned toward me with wide eyes and looks of total disbelief. I had spoken my opinion to a teacher - one of the Irish nuns!

That was the day I gained acceptance with the class. Whenever they wanted something changed, they'd beg me to stick up for them. I was willing to take the punishment for the possibility of making a situation better and of course to avoid any special attention from Pick-Her-Nose-Rose. But I also knew that I was being used by my classmates who just couldn't find their voices and stick up for themselves.

Things pretty much continued like this through sixth and seventh grades. Although we changed teachers, we stayed in the same class together and I remained the voice of the class.

At last, eighth grade rolled around and one early fall morning our new teacher, Mrs. Haggard - not a nun, but strict nevertheless - announced that we would be holding elections for class representatives. I was elected Vice President.

That same day, while responding to a fire drill, the new president and I were excitedly discussing our victory when, suddenly, Mrs. Haggard appeared before us with her hands on her hips. The words that came out of her mouth left me surprised and confused. "You're impeached!" she shouted at the two of us. My first reaction was to burst out laughing because I had no idea what the word "impeached" meant. When she explained that we were out of office for talking during a fire drill, I was devastated.

Our class held elections again at the beginning of the second semester. This time, I was elected president, which I took as a personal victory. I was more determined than ever to represent the rights of my oppressed classmates.

My big opportunity came in late spring. One day, the kids from the other eighth grade class were arriving at school in "free dress," wearing their coolest new outfits, while our class arrived in our usual uniforms: the girls in their pleated wool skirts and the boys in their salt and pepper pants. "How in the world did this happen?" we all wanted to know. One of the eighth graders from the other class explained that their teacher got permission from our principal, Sister Anna, as a special treat for her students.

We were so upset that we made a pact to go in and let our teacher know that we felt totally ripped off. We agreed that when she inevitably gave us what had become known to us as her famous line, "If you don't like it, you can leave," we'd finally do it. We'd walk out together.

Once in the classroom, I raised my hand and stood up to speak to our teacher. About eight others rose to show their support. I explained how betrayed we felt as the seniors of the school to find the other eighth graders in free dress while we had to spend the day in our dorky uniforms. We wanted to know why she hadn't spoken on our behalf and made sure that we weren't left out of this privilege.

For years I wanted a flower garden. I'd spend hours thinking of different things I could plant that would look nice together.

But then we had Matthew. And Marvin. And the twins, Alisa and Alan. And then Helen. Five children. I was too busy raising them to grow a garden.

Money was tight, as well as time. Often when my children were little, one of them would want something that cost too much, and I'd have to say, "Do you see a money tree outside? Money doesn't grow on trees, you know."

Finally, all five got through high school and college and were off on their own. I started thinking again about having a garden.

I wasn't sure, though. I mean, gardens do cost money, and after all these years I was used to living on a pretty lean(贫乏的) , no-frills budget.

Then, one spring morning, on Mother's Day, I was working in my kitchen. Suddenly, I realized that cars were tooting(吹奏，狂欢) their horns as they drove by. I looked out the window and there was a new tree, planted right in my yard. I thought it must be a weeping willow(垂柳) , because I saw things blowing around on all its branches. Then I put my glasses on - and I couldn't believe what I saw.

There was a money tree in my yard!

I went outside to look. It was true! There were dollar bills, one hundred of them, taped all over that tree. Think of all the garden flowers I could buy with one hundred dollars! There was also a note attached: "IOU eight hours of digging time. Love, Marvin."

Marvin kept his promise, too. He dug up a nice ten-by-fifteen foot bed for me. And my other children bought me tools, ornaments(装饰品) , a trellis(格子，框架) , a sunflower stepping stone and gardening books.

That was three years ago. My garden's now very pretty, just like I wanted. When I go out and weed(除草，铲除) or tend my flowers, I don't seem to miss my children as much as I once did. It feels like they're right there with me.

I live up in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, where winters are long and cold, and summers are way too short. But every year now, when winter sets in, I look out my window and think of the flowers I'll see next spring in my little garden. I think about what my children did for me, and I get tears in my eyes - every time.

I'm still not sure that money grows on trees. But I know love does!

"If I never saw this kid again, Lord, I wouldn't be sorry!" I thought. Tears clouded my eyes as I stood in our laundry room(洗衣间) . Clenched(紧握的) in both hands were new jeans and a shirt belonging to my 16-year-old stepson, Brett. The clothing was already destroyed from burn holes and vomit stains(污点) after a drunken binge(狂欢，放纵) .

Exhausted and defeated, I sank to the floor. The clothes were just one more thing Brett had ruined. He had already kicked a large hole in his bedroom wall; his bedcovers(床罩) were torn. Numerous windows in our house needed repair due to his breaking in to steal money when he chose to live on the street. Yet none of this could compare to the emotional damage Brett had inflicted(遭受，给予) on our once quiet home.

I knew that Brett's needs were deep, and I had often prayed for wisdom and love. The second greatest commandment, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself," had taken on new meaning when Brett came to live with us when he was 12 years old. If I were to love my neighbor, was I not to love my own troubled stepson even more?

During those four years I had dealt with Brett as patiently as possible, but inside I was churning. "I don't want him in my house another day, Lord," I cried as I knelt on the laundry room floor. "I just can't stand him!"

Chest heaving, I poured out my despair. Then God tenderly spoke to me in my weakness. Matthew 25:35-40 rose in my thoughts---Jesus' declaration that when we invite a stranger, feed the hungry, clothe the naked or visit those in prison, we are doing it as unto Him. For the first time I saw this story in light of the action words. Jesus was saying, "Act. Meet these people's needs. Through your actions you are loving them and Me."

God's encouragement to me that day helped me to gather strength and continue parenting Brett. Still, Brett did not change his behavior.

When Brett was nearly 18, he landed again in Juvenile Hall, this time on suicide watch. Through prayer, my husband, Dave, and I sensed God's leading to send Brett to a boarding school(寄宿学校) with a high success rate for helping troubled teens.

The psychological training at Brett's school was rigorous(严格的，严酷的) . Out of more than 20 people in his class, Brett was one of only five graduates.

At the graduation ceremony the graduates stood one by one to thank those who had helped them. Each graduate held a long-stemmed, white rosebud to give to the person who had meant the most to him or her.

Brett spoke lovingly to his mother and father and for the first time took responsibility for the heartaches he had caused.

Finally Brett spoke to me. "You did so much," he said. "You were always there, no matter what. My mom and dad, I was their kid. But you just got stuck with me. All the same you always showed me such love. And I want you to know that I love you for it."

Stunned, I stood as Brett placed the white rosebud in my hand and hugged me hard.

At that moment I realized the truth in God's words to me. Although I had struggled with silent anger toward my stepson, Brett had seen only my actions.

Love is action. We may not always have positive feelings about certain people in our lives. But we can love them.

英语美文阅读：Going Home 回家

1971年10月14日《纽约邮报》刊登了一篇关于用黄丝带欢迎被囚禁过的人回家的小说，使得黄丝带传遍了全世界。下面是我分享的这篇文章的英语原文，欢迎大家阅读!

I first heard this story a few years ago from a girl I had met in New York's Greenwich Village. Probably the story is one of those mysterious bits of folklore that reappear every few years, to be told a new in one form or another. However, I still like to think that it really did happen, somewhere, sometime.

几年前我在纽约的格林尼治村从一位遇到的姑娘那儿第一次听到这个故事。它也许是那种隔几年就会改头换面地被重新传播一次的神奇的民间传说。然而我仍然愿意想象它是个某地某时真正发生过的事。

They were going to Fort Lauderdalethree boys and three girls and when they boarded the bus, they were carrying sandwiches and wine in paper bags, dreaming of golden beaches as the gray cold of New York vanished behind them.

三个男孩和三个女孩带着纸袋装的三明治与葡萄酒，登车前往佛罗里达的劳德达拉要塞。他们向往着金色的海滩，将灰蒙蒙的寒冷的纽约甩在了身后。

As the bus passed through New Jersey, they began to notice Vingo. He sat in front of them, dressed in a plain, ill-fitting suit, never moving, his dusty face masking his age. He kept chewing the inside of his lip a lot, frozen into some personal cocoon of silence.

当他们穿过新泽西州时，坐在前排的一个叫温格的男人引起他们的注意。他穿着一套不起眼亦很不合身的衣服，一动不动，满脸灰尘掩盖了他的年龄，他不停地咬着下嘴唇，陷入沉思中。

Deep into the night, outside Washington, the bus pulled into Howard Johnson's, and everybody got off except Vingo. He sat rooted in his seat, and the young people began to wonder about him, trying to imagine his life: perhaps he was a sea captain, a runaway from his wife, an old soldier going home. When they went back to the bus, one of the girls sat beside him and introduced herself.

夜深了，汽车停在华盛顿郊外的霍华德约翰逊连锁餐馆，除了温格，其他人都下了车，他仍一丝不动地坐在那里。他引起这班年轻人的猜想：也许他是个船长，也许是从家出走的，或者是一个归家的老兵。当他们又回到车上时，他们中的一个女孩坐到温格的身边，并向他作了自我介绍。

“We're going to Florida,” she said brightly.“ I hear it's really beautiful.”

“我们都是去佛罗里达的，”那个女孩轻快地说。“我听说那里很美。”

“It is, ” he said quietly, as if remembering something he had tried to forget.

“是的，”他静静地回答道，他似乎记起了过去曾试图忘却的往事。

“Want some wine?” she said. He smiled and took a swig. He thanked her and retreated again into his silence. After a while, she went back to the others, and Vingo nodded in sleep.

“来点葡萄酒吧?”那个女孩说。他微笑着喝了一大口，说声谢谢后又回到他的沉默中。后来她回到那班人中，温格则低着头睡着了。

In the morning, they awoke outside another Howard Johnson's,and this time Vingo went in. The girl insisted that he join them. He seemed very shy, and ordered black coffee and smoked nervously as the young people chattered about sleeping on beaches. When they returned to the bus, the girl sat with Vingo again, and after a while, slowly and painfully, he told his story. He had been in jail in New York for the past four years, and now he was going home.

早上，他们醒来时汽车停在另一个约翰逊连锁餐馆前，这回温格也进去了。那个女孩极力邀请他参加他们的团体。但他看起来很腼腆，当那班年轻人谈论着在海滨该怎么过夜时，他则独自一人呆在一边喝黑咖啡，还不停地抽烟，显得有些局促不安。当他们回到车上时，那个女孩又坐到他身边，过了一会儿，温格才缓慢而且痛楚地诉说起他的经历。他在纽约的监狱里呆了四年，现在他假释回家了。

“Are you married?”

“你结婚了吗?”

“I don't know.”

“我不知道。”

“You don't know?” she said.

“你不知道?”那女孩很奇怪。

“Well, when I was in jail I wrote to my wife,” he said. “ I told her that I was going to be away a long time, and that if she couldn't stand it, if the kids kept asking questions, if it hurt too much, well, she could just forget me, I'd understand. Get a new guy, I saidshe‘s a wonderful woman,really somethingand forget about me. I told her she didn't have to write me for nothing. And she didn‘t. Not for three and a half years.”

“是这样，我在狱中时曾给我妻子写过一封信”他说，“告诉她我要离开很长一段时间，如果她忍受不了，如果孩子不断追问，如果这使她非常痛苦，那么她可以忘了我，我会理解的。我叫她重新嫁人，我知道她是个很不错的女人，真的不一般。我让她忘了我，我让她别给我写回信，因为这没有用，她也真没回信，我已有三年半没有她的'音信了。”

“And you're going home now, not knowing?”

“那么你就这样盲目地回家去?”

“Yeah,” he said shyly. “ Well, last week, when I was sure the parole was coming through, I wrote her again. We used to live in Brunswick, just before Jacksonville, and there's a big oak tree just as you come into town. I told her that if she'd take me back, she should put a yellow handkerchief on the tree, and I'd get off and come home. If she didn't want me, forget itno handkerchief, and I'd go on through.”

“也不是，”他略带腼腆地说：“上周当我确知假释得到批准时，我又给她写过一封信。过去我们住在布伦斯威克，就在杰克逊维尔前面，在进城去的路上有一棵高大的橡树。我告诉她，如果她愿意我回来就在树上挂一方黄手帕，我就下车回家。如果她不要我就忘掉这件事，看不见手帕，我也就不下车了。”

“Wow,” the girl exclaimed. “Wow.”

“噢，是吗?”那个女孩惊讶极了。

She told the others, and soon all of them were in it, caught up in the approach of Brunswick, looking at the pictures Vingo showed them of his wife and three children. The woman was handsome in a plain way, the children still unformed in the much-handled snapshots.

她把这事告诉了同伴们，于是他们都盼着快点到伦斯威克。温格又给他们看了一张他妻子与三个孩子的照片。这是一张被摸旧了的照片：一个面容端庄的妇女与三个年岁还小的孩子。

Now they were 20 miles from Brunswick, and the young people took over window seats on the right side, waiting for the approach of the great oak tree. The bus acquired a dark, hushed mood, full of the silence of absence and lost years. Vingo stopped looking, tightening his face into the ex-con's mask, as if fortifying himself against still another disappointment.

现在他们离布伦斯威克只有20英里了，那班年轻人占据了车右边靠窗的座位，等待着那棵橡树的出现。汽车里一片阴暗和肃静。充满着所失去的岁月的沉重的气氛。温格则低下头，一副囚犯们所特有的绷紧的面容，不敢往外看，好象是防备着又一次失望的打击。

Then Brunswick was ten miles, and then five. Then,suddenly, all of the young people were up out of their seats, screaming and shouting and crying, doing small dances of joy. All except Vingo.

离布伦斯威克只有十英里了，五英里了，突然，那班年轻人全都叫着从座位上跳了起来，高兴得手舞足蹈，只有温格例外。

Vingo sat there stunned, looking at the oak tree. It was covered with yellow handkerchiefs20 of them, 30 of them, maybe hundreds, a tree that stood like a banner of welcome billowing in the wind. As the young people shouted, the old con rose and made his way to the front of the bus to go home.

温格目瞪口呆地坐在那儿，望着窗外的橡树，那上面挂满了黄手帕。20块，30块，也许有好几百块，这棵树站在那儿，就象一面欢迎的大旗，在风中飘扬。在年轻人的叫喊声中，那个往日的囚徒站起来，走到车门前，然后向家走去。