英语阅读文章汇编

The man cocked his rifle and directed it at my chest. I was just about to pull out my gun when I felt a sharp pain in my torso. I was trying to see where the man was, but ended up seeing nothing but my own blood...

"Joey, Joey," said a mysterious voice. I opened my eyes with a struggle.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You were shaking and sweating like crazy. And saying something like, 'No, please don't shoot me!' and stuff like that," said Steve.

"Uh," I groaned as I turned over and belched on Steve's shoes.

"Hey!" screamed Steve, "Those are my new Nike Air shoes!"

"where are we anyways?" I asked.

"We're waiting for our ship to get ready, duh!"

I nearly forgot. Both Steve and I were taking a cruise to Iceland.

"The Great White is to departure to Iceland!" shouted the P.A.

"That's our cue!" I shouted in excitement, "Iceland, here we come!"

"Toilet, here I come..." I groaned as I fumbled my way down the aisles of the ship.

"I told you not to eat too much food and then run around like a lunatic!" shouted Steve. "People these days," he mumbled, "what they do for attention."

"Passengers, we are just 1 hour away from reaching Iceland," said the P.A, "would all passengers please stay seated for the next hour."

"I hope they have a built in toilet in each seat," I said nervously, "because I feel another load coming on."

"Don't worry Joey, just keep thinking about-," he was cut short by a violent shake.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Evacuate! Evacuate! We've just hit an iceberg! Evacuate! Evacuate!" shouted the P.A. And in the blink of an eye, everyone was up on their feet and running towards the lifeboats at the sides of the ship.

"Come on Joey! Let's get out of here!" shouted Steve. I ran as fast as I could, while dodging all of the flying furniture coming towards me. I huffed and puffed as I ran up the platform of the ship, which was becoming more and more vertical with each passing second. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several tables tumbling towards Steve.

"Steve!" I shouted, "Watch out!" But it was too late. By the time Steve had turned around and faced me, the tables had already collided into him and sent him rolling down the platform. "Steve! No!" I shouted as I watched him being sucked down into the water. I stood there, helplessly, just staring after him. And then I remembered that I had to get out of this ship, or else I'd end up like Steve. So I jumped for my last chance at life. I grabbed a pole and held on fast. And then in a flash, my legs pushed me off of the pole and I splashed in the water. I surfaced, and watched as The Great White slowly sank into the unknown secrets of the Waterworld...

英语阅读：DoesLoveExist

Most of us long for relationships in which we are loved and accepted just the way we are. Our hearts' desire is to give and receive love in relationships that make us feel that even if others disagree with what we do or say, they still love us. They accept us. They appreciate our contributions to the world. While it would be wonder

ful to have these types of relationships with all people, we know that that's hard to do. We can, however, have them with some others, but only when we first have them with ourselves-and, ironically, this is often the hardest relationship of all.

One of the reasons many of us find it hard to love ourselves is because we do not realize that we are already loved in the most pine way. God loves us, totally and unconditionally.

It's hard for many of us to believe this fact because we know how imperfect we are, and we believe we have to be perfect before God will love us. The truth is that God's love makes us perfect, even with our imperfections. By knowing this truth intellectually and believing it spiritually, we not only love ourselves more; we love others more as well.

Do you love yourself? You may think you do, but do you really? There's only one way to find out-by taking a closer look at what you think, say, and do. You may not like some of what you find, but if you're serious about really loving yourself, you can use this insight to do some positive inner work.

Here are three ways I've found for gaining greater personal insight for deeper love.

Listen to your words and listen even more closely to your thoughts. Why? Because your words and your thoughts will determine your actions. One of the things that has helped me to listen to my thoughts has been to keep a journal. It is not necessary for you to write in it everyday, but it helps to record various insights you gain as you go about living your life. Instead of using a big notebook, you might use a small note pad that you can keep in your purse or pocket for easy access to record your thoughts as they occur to you. (I've found that if I don't immediately write down ideas and insights as they come, it's hard to remember them later, at least with the same degree of clarity.) Whichever method you choose, what's most important is that you write your thoughts down. It will help you know what's in your heart.

Be honest with yourself by paying attention to your actions. Actions speak louder than words, and they always tell the truth. What do your actions say about you? If you say you love your job, but your actions say otherwise, which do you think is more true - your words or your actions? On the other hand, if you say you're not good at a certain job, but your actions say otherwise, that's also important. What do you do with this insight? You can use it to make more beneficial choices in your life. By being honest with yourself based on your previous actions, your actions moving forward will be based on truth instead of just what you tell yourself.

英语阅读：women

The nice women are ugly.

The beautiful women are not nice.

The beautiful and nice women are general stupid.

The beautiful, nice and clever women are married.

The women who are not so beautiful but are nice women are born in poverty.

The women who are not so beautiful but are nice women born in noble think we areonly after their lordliness.

The beautiful women without lordliness are after our lordliness.

com The clever women, who are not so nice and somewhat beautiful don‘t think we are clever enough.

The women who think we are clever, that are nice, somewhat clever and have lordliness have a lot of pursuers.

The women who are somewhat beautiful, somewhat nice and have some lordliness and thank God are clever are ALWAYS MAINTAIN MANY CANDIDATES!!!!!

The women who always maintain many candidates, automatically complain us when westand off them.

NOW，WHO IN THE HELL UNDERSTANDS WOMEN?

英语阅读：ThreeDaystoSee

*作者海伦·凯勒(Helen Keller, 1980—1968),美国聋哑妇作家、教育家。

Suppose you set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had three more days to see. If with the oncoming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?

I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest long on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you in the night that loomed before you.

I should want to see the people whose kindness and gentleness and companionship have made my life worth living. First I should like to gaze long upon the face of my teacher, Mrs. Anne Sullivan Macy, who came to me when I was a child and opened the outer world to me. I should want not merely the outline of her face, so that I could cherish it in my memory, but to study that face and find in it the living evidence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which she accomplished the difficult task of my education. I should like to see in her eyes that strength of character which has enabled her to stand firm in the face of difficulties, and that compassion for all humanity which she has revealed to me so often.

Oh, the things that I should see if I had the power of sight for just three days!

英语阅读：AGoodTeacher,AGoodLuck

I have come to believe that a great teacher is a great artist and that there are as few as there are any other great artists. It might even be the greatest of the art since the medium is the human mind and spirit.

I shall speak only of my first teacher because in addition to the other things, she brought discovery.

She aroused us to shouting, bookwaving discussions. She had the noisiest class in school and she didn’t even seem to know it. We could never stick to the subject. She breathed curiosity into us so that we brought in facts or truths shielded in our hands like captured fireflies.

She was fired and perhaps rightly so, for failing to teach fundamentals. Such things must be learned. But she left a passion in us for the pure knowable world and she inflamed me with a curiosity which has never left. I could not do simple arithmetic but through her I sensed that abstract mathematics was very much like music.

When she was relieved, a sadness came over us but the light did not go out. She left her signature on us, the literature of the teacher who writes on minds. I suppose that to a lager extent I am the unsigned manuscript of the high school teacher. What deathless power lies in the hands of such a person.

I can tell my son who look s forward with horror to fifteen years of drudgery that somewhere in the dusty dark a magic may happen that will light up the years…if he is very lucky.

英语阅读：HumanLifeaPoem

Human Life a Poem

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 inpidual 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 inpidual 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.