英语名篇诵读菁华.doc

Table of Content1. Table of Content12. (Gone With the Wind) Despair33. A Beautiful Girl 134. A Beautiful Girl 245. A Gentleman46. A Kind Man57. A Vain Girl68. A Yearning Heart69. Advice to a young man710. Advice to Youth711. Art and life812. At Parting1113. Childhood1114. Dating1315. Did you deal with fotune fairly1416. Dream Children: A Reverie1517. Equality and greatness1618. Extreme Busyness1619. Feeling in Love1720. Fervent Love1821. Flattery on Women1922. Frankness2023. George Washington2024. Happiness2325. Happy Hours2426. Jane Eyre2527. Kant the Man2628. Life is a chess-board2829. Lovers2930. Lovers Dating3031. Man Is a Lonely Island3132. Music3233. My Mother3334. Of Avarice 13435. Of Avarice 23636. On Etiquette3737. On Getting Off to Sleep3838. On Looking Back3839. On Love (B Russell)3940. On Marriage and Single Life(F Bacon）4041. Passionate Proposing4242. Resentment4343. Reveries4444. Summer4445. The Americans4646. The Biographer4747. The Company Man4848. The doer of Deeds4949. The English and the Americans4950. The English character5051. The English humour5052. The First Sense of Sorrow5153. The French and the English5254. The Joys of Writing5555. The Lesson of a Tree5556. The meaning of life5657. The Politician5758. The rewards of living a solitary life6059. The study of words6160. Thoughts in a graveyard6261. Thoughts in an Abbey6362. Three periods of my youth6463. Unhappiness6564. Unrequited Love 16665. Unrequited Love 26666. Why I want a wife6767. William Godwin-To John Taylor6868. The Anatects(Excerpt)6969. Great Soliloquies of William Shakespeare7072(Gone With the Wind) DespairIn the dull twilight of the winter afternoon, she came to the end of the long road which had begun the night Atlanta fell. She had set her feet upon that road, a spoiled, selfish and untried girl, full of youth, warm of emotion, easily bewildered by life. Now at the end of the road, there was nothing left of that girl. Hunger and hard labor, fear and constant strain, the terrors of war and the terrors of reconstruction had taken away all warmth, and youth, and softness. About the core of her being, a shell of hardness had formed. And little by little, layer by layer, the shell had thickened during the endless month. But until this very day, two hopes had been left to sustain her. She had hoped that the war being over; life would gradually resume its old face. She had hoped that Ashleys return would bring back some meaning into life. Now both hopes were gone. The sight of Jonas Wilkerson in the front walk of Tara had made her realize that for her, for the whole south, the war would never end. The bitterest fighting, the most brutal retaliations were just beginning. And Ashley was imprisoned forever by words, which were stronger than any jail. Peace had failed her and Ashley had failed her, both in the same day. And it was as if the last crevice裂缝 in the shell had been sealed. The final layer hardened. She had become what grandma Fountaine had counseled against, a woman who had seen the worst and so had nothing else to fear. Not life, not mother nor loss of love nor public opinion. Only hunger and her nightmare dream of hunger could make her afraid. By Margaret Mitchell A Beautiful Girl 1She was a very pretty figure of a girl, after our fashion of girls, round and slim and flexible, and her face was admirably regular. But her great beauty and it was very great was in her colouring. This was of an effect for which there is no word but delicious, as we use it of fruit or flowers. She had red hair, like her father in his earlier days, and the tints of her cheeks and temples were such as suggested May-flowers and apple-blossoms and peaches. Instead of the grey that often dulls this complexion, her eyes were of a blue at once intense and tender, and they seemed to burn on what they looked at with a soft, lambent闪烁的 flame. From The Rise of Silas Lapham by William Dean HowellsA Beautiful Girl 2Her form was the perfection of childish beauty, without its usual chubbiness and squareness of outline. There was about it an undulating and aerial grace, such as one might dream of for some mythical and allegorical being. Her face was remarkable less for its perfect beauty of feature than for a singular and dreamy earnestness of expression, which made the ideal start when they looked at her, and by which the dullest and most literal were impressed, without exactly knowing why. The shape of her head and the turn of her neck and bust were peculiarly noble, and the long golden-brown hair that floated like a cloud around her face, the deep spiritual gravity of her violet blue eyes, shaded by heavy fringes刘海 of golden brown,-all marked her out from other children, and made every one turn and look after her, as she glided hither and thither on the boat. Nevertheless, the little one was not what you would have called either a grave child or a sad one. On the contrary, an airy and innocent playfulness seemed to flicker like the shadow of summer leaves over her childish face, and around her buoyant figure. She was always in motion, always with a half smile on her rosy mouth, flying hither and thither, with an undulating and cloud-like tread, singing to herself as she moved as in a happy dream. From Uncle Toms Cabin（Chapter 14）Harriet Beecher StoweA GentlemanIt is almost a definition of a gentleman to say he is one who never inflicts pain. This description is both refined and, as far as it goes, accurate. He is mainly occupied in merely removing the obstacles which hinder the free and unembarassed action of those about him, and he concurs with their movements rather than takes the initiative himself.The true gentleman in like manner carefully avoids whatever may cause ajar不和谐 or a jolt in the minds of those with whom he is cast;-all clashing of opinion, or collision of feeling, all restraint, or suspicion, or gloom, or resentment; his great concern being to make every one at their ease and at home.He has his eyes on all his company; he is tender towards the bashful, gentle towards the distant, and merciful towards the absurd; he can recollect to whom he is speaking; he guards against unseasonable不合时宜的 allusions, or topics which may irritate; he is seldom prominent in conversation, and never wearisome. He makes light of 不在乎favours while he does them and seems to be receiving when he is conferring.He never speaks of himself except when compelled, never defends himself by a mere retort, he has no ears for slander or gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who interfere with him, and interprets everything for the best.He is never mean or little in his disputes, never takes unfair advantage, never mistakes personalities or sharp saying for arguments, or insinuates evil which he dare not say out. From a long-sighted prudence, he observes the maxim of the ancient sage, that we should ever conduct ourselves towards our enemy as if he were one day to be our friend.He has too much good sense to be affronted at insults, he is too well employed to remember injuries, and too indolent to bear malice. He is patient, forbearing宽容的, and resigned on philosophical principles. He submits to pain, because it is inevitable, to bereavement, because it is irreparable, and to death, because it is destiny. If he engages in controversy of any kind, his disciplined intellect preserves him from the blunder. John Henry Newman (later a Catholic cardinal)A Kind ManI think the chief thing that struck me about Burton was his kindliness. There was something very pleasing in his mild blue eyes. His voice was gentle; you could not imagine that he could raise it in anger; his smile was benign. Here was a man who attracted you because you felt in him a real love for his fellow. He had charm, but there was nothing gawky笨拙的，腼腆的 in him. He liked his game of cards and his cocktail, he could tell with point a good and spicy story, and in his youth he had been something of an athlete. He was a rich man and he had made every penny himself. I suppose one thing that made you like him was that he was so small and frail; he aroused your instincts of protection. You felt that he could not bear to hurt a fly. Excerpt from A Friend in Need by William Somerset MaughamA Vain GirlShe was a nymph to whom mens admiration was the greater part of life. By day, whenever she went into the streets, she was conscious that no man passed her without a stare; and this consciousness gave a sharp zest to her outings. Sometimes she was followed to her door-crude flattery which she was too innocent to fear. Even when she went into the haberdashers缝纫用品商人 to make some little purchase of tape or riband, or into the grocers-for she was an epicure讲究饮食的人 in her humble way-to buy a tin of potted meat for her supper, the homage of the young men behind the counter did flatter and exhilarate her. As the homage of men became for her, more and more, a matter of course, the more subtly necessary was it to her happiness. The more she won of it, the more she treasured it. She was alone in the world, and it saved her from any moment of regret that she had neither home nor friends. For her the streets that lay around her had no squalor肮脏, since she paced them always in the gold nimbus光轮 of her fascinations. Her bedroom seemed not mean nor lonely to her, since the little square of glass, nailed above the wash-stand盥洗盆, was ever there to reflect her face. Indeed, she was ever peering. She would smile and frown. Though Zuleika had never given her heart, strong in her were the desire and need that it should be given. Whenever she went, she saw nothing but youths fatuously 愚蠢地prostrate拜倒 to hernot one upright figure which she could respect. There were the middle-aged men, the old men, who did not bow down to her; but to the middle-aged, as to the old, she had a sanguine aversion. She could love none but a youth, nor could she love one who fell prone before her. And before her all youths always did fall prone. She was an empress, and all youths were her slaves. Their bondage delighted her, as I have said. But no empress who has any pride can adore one of her slaves. Whom, then, could proud Zuleika adore?Zuleika Dobson by Max BeerbohmA Yearning HeartAnd that was what he said. He told her all and wept on her bosom, wept and moaned and begged for her forgiveness. It was a profound shock and she staggered under the blow. But he was her own, the core of her heart, the blessing of her eyes, her all and all. She could deny him nothing and she forgave him. She felt that he could never again be quite to her what he had been before. She knew that he could only repent and not reform. Yet all morally defaced and decayed as he was, was he not her own, her very own, the idol of her deathless worship. She said she was his serf, his slave, and she opened her yearning heart and took him in. Mark TwainAdvice to a young manBy Robert Jones BurdetteRemember, my son, you have to work. Whether you handle a pick or a pen, a wheel-barrow or a set of books, digging ditches or editing a paper, ringing an auction bell or writing funny things, you must work. If you look around you will see the men who are the most able to live the rest of their days without work are the men who work the hardest. Dont be afraid of killing yourself with overwork. It is beyond your power to do that on the sunny side of thirty. They die sometimes, but it is because they quit work at six in the evening, and do not go home until two in the morning. Its the interval that kills, my son. The work gives you an appetite for your meals; it lends solidity to your slumbers, it gives you a perfect and grateful appreciation of a holiday.There are young men who do not work, but the world is not proud of them. It does not know their names, even it simply speaks of them as “old So-and-Sos boy”. Nobody likes them; the great, busy world doesnt know that they are there. So find out what you want to be and do, and take off your coat and make a dust in the world. The busier you are, the less harm you will be apt to get into, the sweeter will be your sleep, the brighter and happier your holidays, and the better satisfied will the world be with you.Advice to YouthMark Twain Being told I would be expected to talk here, I inquired what sort of talk I ought to make. They said it should be something suitable to youth-something didactic教学的, instructive, or something in the nature of good advice. Very well. I have a few things in my mind which I have often longed to say for the instruction of the young; for it is in ones tender early years that such things will best take root and be most enduring and most valuable. First, then, I will say to you my young friendsand I say it beseechingly, urgingly Always obey your parents, when they are present. This is the best policy in the long run, because if you dont, they will make you. Most parents think they know better than you do, and you can generally make more by humoring迎合 that superstition than you can by acting on your own better judgment. Be respectful to your superiors, if you have any, also to strangers, and sometimes to others. If a person offends you and you are in doubt as to whether it was intentional or not, do not resort to extreme measures; simply watch your chance and hit him with a brick. That will be sufficient. If you shall find that he had not intended any offense, come out frankly and confess yourself in the wrong when you struck him; acknowledge it like a man and say you didnt mean to. Yes, always avoid violence; in this age of charity and kindliness, the time has gone by for such things. Leave dynamite to the low and unrefined. Go to bed early, get up early- this is wise. Some authorities say get up with the sun; some say get up with one thing, others with another. But a lark is really the best thing to get up with. It gives you a splendid reputation with everybody to know that you get up with the lark; and if you get the right kind of lark, and work at him right, you can easily train him to get up at half past nine, every timeits no trick at all. Art and lifeMy parents owned six books between them. Two of those were Bibles and the third was a concordance to the Old and New Testaments. The fourth was The House at Pooh Corner. The fifth，The Chatterbox Annual 1923 and the sixth, Malorys Morte dArthur. 我父母两人共有六本书。其中两本是圣经、第三本是新旧约用语索引、第四本是噗噗熊街角的屋子（The House at Pooh Corner）、第五本是1923年话匣子年鉴（The Chatterbox 1923 Annual），而第六本是马洛礼（Malory）的阿瑟王之死（Morte dArthur）。 I found it necessary to smuggle books in and of the house and I cannot claim too much for the provision of an outside toilet when there is no room of ones own. It was on the toilet that I first read Freud and D. H. Lawrence, and perhaps that was the best place, after all. We kept a rubber torch hung on the cistern, and I had to divide my money from a Saturday job, between buying books and buying batteries. My mother knew exactly how long her Ever Readys would last if used only to illuminate the hap that separated the toilet paper from its function. 我发现有必要把书偷运进出家里，而且没有属于自己的房间时，对于屋外厕所的供应品，我不能要求太多。我第一次读到弗洛依德和D. H. 劳伦斯，是坐在马桶上的，而或许，那终究是最佳之处。我们在马桶水箱上悬吊了一个橡胶手电筒，而我必须将周六那份工作赚来的钱，平分花在买书和买电池上面。我母亲清楚知道，她那些永备牌电池，如果光是用来照明区分卫生纸和其功能的空隙，可以维持多久。 Once I had tucked the book back down my knickers女用内裤 to get it indoors again, I find somewhere to hide it, and anyone with a single bed, standard size, and paperbacks, standard size, will discover that seventy seven can be accommodated per layer under the mattress. But as my collection grew, I began to worry that my mother might notice that her daughters bed was rising visibly. One day she did. She burned everything. 有一回我又把书塞在内裤里，好带进屋里。我必须找个地方把书藏起来，而任何人，若拥有一张单人床，标准尺寸的，以及平装书籍，标准尺寸的，就会发现，床垫底下每一层可容纳七十七本。可是当我的收集品增加时，便开始担心母亲会注意到，用眼睛就看得出女儿的床正逐渐升高。有一天她真的发现了。她全给烧了。 I had been brought up to memorize very long Bible passages, and when I left home and was supporting myself so that I could continue my education, I fought off loneliness and fear by reciting. In the funeral parlor I whispered Donne to the embalming fluids and Marvell to the corpses. Later, I found that Tennyson s Lady of Shallot had a soothing, because rhythmic, effect on the mentally disturbed. Among the disturbed I numbered myself at that time. 我成长过程中，必须背下很长的圣经段落。到我离开家庭，自己赚钱以便继续求学时，便靠背诵来抵挡寂寞和恐惧。在殡仪馆里，我对着防腐香料液念约翰多恩（Donne）、对着尸体念安德鲁?马维尔（Marvel）。后来，我发现丁尼生（Tennyson）的夏洛特（“Lady of Shallot”），因为有节奏感，对于心智失衡者具有一种安抚作用。在那个时候我把自己也算在失衡者之列。 The healing power of art is not a rhetorical fantasy. Fighting to keep language, language became my sanity and my strength. It still is, and I know of no pain that art cannot assuage缓和. For some, music, for some, pictures, for me, primarily, poetry, whether found in poems or in prose, cuts through noise and hurt, opens the wound to clean it, and then gradually teaches it to heal itself. Wounds need to be taught to heal themselves. 艺术的疗愈力量并非夸大其词的幻想。我奋力留住语言，语言因而让我心智正常，具有力量。到现在仍是如此，而且我所知道的痛苦，无一不透过艺术而得到舒缓。对某此人来说，是音乐，另一些人，是绘画，对我来说，是主要的是，不论出现在诗歌或散文中，诗能够切穿嘈杂和伤痛，将伤口打开以清理之，然后逐渐教导它自我疗愈。 The psyche and the spirit do not share the instinct of damaged body. Healing is automatically triggered nor is danger usually avoided. Since we put ourselves in the way of hurt it seems logical to put ourselves in the way of healing. Art has more work to do than ever before but it can do that work. In a self-destructive society like our own, it is unsurprising that art as a healing force is