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英语晨读经典美文：窗口
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the ftuid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.
两个病重的男人住在同一间病房。其中一个每天下午需要在床上坐起来一个小时，以便排出肺部的流质食物。他的床靠着这间房子的唯一一扇窗户。另一个人则只能平躺在床上度日。
The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military anda whole lot of things. Every afternoon, when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
他们能连续说上好几个小时的话。他们谈论各自的妻子和家人、他们的家、他们的工作、他们参军的经历，还有好多其他的事情。每天下午，当靠着窗户的那个人能坐起来的时候，他总是向他的室友描绘他看到的窗外发生的所有事情。
The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color ofthe world outside.
睡在另一张床上的人开始盼望着那些—小时的生活。每当那时，他的生活就会因窗外的一切活动和多姿多彩而感到开阔和愉快。
The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.
从窗口望去是一个公园，里面有一个可爱的池塘。鸭子和天鹅在水中嬉戏，孩子们则在划模型船，年轻的恋人手挽手在绚丽多彩的花丛中散步，远处是城市地平线上美丽的风景。
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.
靠窗的这个人用优美的语言详细描绘这些的时候，房子另一端的那个人就会闭上眼睛想象那些栩栩如生的情景。
One warm aftemoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window pojrtrayed it with descriptive words.
一个温和的下午，窗口的那个人描绘了经过此处的阅兵。尽管另一个人听不到乐队演奏，但他却能看到。当窗口那个人用生动的语言描绘的时候，他则用心在看。
Days and weeks passed. one morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for theirbaths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.
一天天过去了’一周周过去了。一天早晨，当值白班的护士为他们提来洗澡水，看到的却是窗口那个男人的尸体，他已经在睡梦中安然去世了.她很悲伤，便叫医院的值班人员把尸体抬走了。
As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.
一到合适的时机，另一个人便问他能否搬到窗口那儿去。护士很乐意为他作了调换，在确信他觉得舒适后，就离开了。
Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside. He strained to slowly tum to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.
缓慢地痛苦地，他用一个胳膊肘支撑着自己起来，想第一次亲眼看看外面的真实世界。他竭尽全力慢慢地朝床边的窗口望去看到的却只是一面墙。
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate to have described such wonderful things outside this window.The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see thewall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."
这个人问护士是什么促使他过世的室友描绘出窗外那么丰富的世界的。护士回答说，那个人是个盲人，甚至连墙都看不见。她说：“也许他只是想鼓励你。”
英语晨读经典美文：生命中小小的一部分
When he told me he was leaving I felt like a vase which has just smashed. There were pieces of me all over the tidy, tan tiles. He kept talking, telling me why he was leaving, explaining it was for the best, I could do better, it was his fault and not mine. I had heard it before many times and yet somehow was still not immune; perhaps one did not become immune to such blow.
当他告诉我他要离开的时候，我感觉自己就像花瓶裂成了碎片，跌落在干净的茶色瓷砖地板上。他一直在说话，解释着为什么要离开，说什么这是最好的选择，我可以做得更好，都是他的错，与我无关。虽然这些话我已经听上好几千遍了，可每次听完都让我很受伤，或许在这样巨大的打击面前没有人能做到无动于衷。
He left and I tried to get on with my life, I filled the kettle and put it on to boil, I took out my old red mug and filled it with coffee watching as each coffee granule slipped in to the mug. That was what my life had been like, endless omissions of coffee granules, somehow never managing to make that cup of coffee.
他走了，我尝试着继续过自己的生活。我把水壶装满水烧上，取出我那只红色的旧马克杯，倒入咖啡，看着咖啡粉末一点点地落A杯子里。这正是我现在生活的鲜活写照，不断地往下掉咖啡粉末，却从来没有真正地泡成一杯咖啡。
Somehow when the kettle piped its finishing waming I pretended not to hear it. That's what Mike's leaving had been like, sudden and with an awful finality. I would rather just wallow in uncertainty than have things finished.I laughed at myself. Imagine geffing all philosophical and sentimental about a mug of coffee. I must be getting old.
水开了，水壶发出警报声，我假装没有听见。迈克的离去也是一样，突如其来，并且无可挽回。要知道，我宁愿忍受分与不分的煎熬，也不愿意以这样的方式被宣判“死刑”。想着想着我就哑然失笑，自己竟然为一杯咖啡有如此多的人生感怀，我自己一定是老了。
And yet it was a young woman who stared back at me from the mirror. A young woman full of promise and hope, a young woman with bright eyes and full lips just waiting to take on the world. I never loved Mike anyway. Besides there are more important things. More important than love, I insist to myselffirmly. The lid goes back on the coffee just like closure on the whole Mike experience.
可镜子里回瞪着我的那个女孩还是那么年轻啊!她明目皓齿，充满了前途与希望，光明的未来在向她招手。没关系的，反正我也从来没有爱过迈克。何况，生命中还有比爱更重要的东西在等待着我，我对自己坚持说。我将咖啡罐的盖子盖好，也将所有关于迈克的记忆尘封起来。
He doesn't haunt my dreams as I feared that night. Instead I am flying far across fields and woods, looking down on those below me.Suddenly I fall to the ground and it is only when I wake up that I realize I was shot by a hunter, brought down by the burden of not the bullet but the soul of the man who shot it. I realize later, with some degree of understanding, that Mike was the hunter holding me down and I am the bird that longs to fly. The next rught my dream is similar to the previous
nights, but without the hunter.I fly free until I meet another bird who flies with me in perfect harmony. I realize with some relief that there is a bird out there for me, there is another person, not necessarily a lover perhaps just a friend, but there is someone out there who is my soul mate. I think about being a broken vase again and realize that I have glued myself back together, what Mike has is merely a little part of my time in earth, a little understanding of my physicalbeing. He has only, a little piece ofme.
那天晚上，出乎意料的是，他并没有进入到我的梦中。在梦里，我飞过田野和森林，俯瞰着大地。突然间，我掉了下来……醒来后才发现原来自己被猎人打中了，但是令我坠落的不是他的子弹，而是他的灵魂。我后来才渐渐明白，原来迈克就是那个使我坠落的猎人，而我是那只渴望飞翔的小鸟。到了第二天晚上，我仍然做了类似的梦，但是猎人不见了，我—直在自由地飞翔，直到遇上另外一只小鸟和我比翼双飞。我开始意识到，总有那么一只鸟，那么一个人在前面等我，这个人可能是我的爱人，可能只是朋友，但一定是知我懂我的人，这令我感觉如释重负。我想起自己曾经觉得像花瓶一样裂开了，这才意识到原来自己已经把自己修理好了.迈克只是我生命过程中的小小过客，他仅仅了解我的表面而已，他仅仅是我生命中小小的一部分
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In this crisis I think I may be pardoned if I do not address the House at any length today, and I hope that any of my friends and colleagues or former colleagues who are affected by the political reconstruction will make all allowances for any lack of ceremony with which it has been necessary to act. I say to the House as I said to Ministers who have joined this government, I have nothing to offer but blood, toil,
sweat and tears. We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many months of struggle and suffering. You ask, what is our policy? I say it is to wage war by land, sea and air. War with all our might and with all the strength God has given us, and to wage war against a monstrous tyranny never surpassed in the dark and unpleasant catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word. It is victory. Victory at all costs—victory in spite of all terrors—victory, however long and hard the road may be,
for without victory there is no survival. Let that be realized. No survival for the British Empire, no survival for all that the British Empire has stood for, no survival for the urge, the impulse of the ages, that mankind shall move forward toward his goal. I take up my task in light heart and hope. I feel sure that our cause will not be suffered to fail among men. I feel entitled at this juncture, at this time, to claim the aid of all and to say, “Come then, let us go forward together with our united strength.”
My house is perfect. By great good fortune I have found a housekeeper no less to my mind, a low-voiced, light-footed woman of discreet age, strong and deft enough to render me all the service I require,
and not afraid of loneliness. She rises very early. By my breakfast-time there remains little to be done under the roof save dressing of meals. Very rarely do I hear even a clink of crockery; never the closing of a door or window. Oh, blessed silence! My house is perfect. Just large enough to allow the grace of order in domestic circumstance; just that superfluity of inner space,
to lack which is to be less than at one's ease. The fabric is sound; the work in wood and plaster tells of a more leisurely and a more honest age than ours. The stairs do not creak under my step; I am attacked by no unkindly draught; I can open or close a window without muscle-ache. As to such trifles as the color and device of wall-paper,
I confess my indifference; be the walls only plain, and I am satisfied. The first thing in one's home is comfort; let beauty of detail be added if one has the means, the patience, the eye. To me, this little book-room is beautiful, and chiefly because it is home. Through the greater part of life I was homeless. Many places have I lived, some which my soul disliked, and some which pleased me well; but never till now with that sense of security which makes a home. At any moment I might have been driven forth by evil accident, by disturbing necessity. For all that time did I say within myself: Some day, perchance, I shall have a home;
yet the "perchance" had more and more of emphasis as life went on, and at the moment when fate was secretly smiling on me, I had all but abandoned hope. I have my home at last. This house is mine on a lease of a score of years. So long I certainly shall not live; but, if I did, even so long should I have the money to pay my rent and buy my food. I am no cosmopolite. Were I to think that I should die away from England, the thought would be dreadful to me. And in England, this is the place of my choice; this is my home.
One of the pleasantest things in the world is going a journey: but I like to go by myself. I can enjoy society in a room; but out of doors, nature is company enough for me. I am then never less alone than when alone. “The fields his study, nature was his book.” I cannot see the wit of walking and talking at the same time.
When I am in the country I wish to vegetate like the country. I am not for criticizing hedges and black cattle. I go out for town in order to forget the town and all that is in it. There are those who for this purpose go to watering places, and carry the metropolis with them. I like more space and fewer obstacles. I like solitude, when I give myself up to it, for the sake of solitude; nor do I ask for “a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper solitude is sweet.” The soul of journey is liberty, perfect liberty, to think, feel,
do, just as one pleases. We go a journey chiefly to be free of all obstacles and all inconveniences; to leave ourselves behind, much more to get rid of others. It is because I want a little breathing space to ponder on indifferent matters, where contemplation “May plume her feathers and let grow her wings, that in the various bustle of resort were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired.” I absent myself from the town for a while, without feeling at a loss the moment I am left by myself. Instead of a friend in a post chaise or in a carriage, to exchange good things with, and vary the same stale topics over again, for once let me have a time free from manners.
Give me the clear blue sky over my head, and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and the three hours' march to dinner—and then to thinking! It is hard if I cannot start some game on these lone heaths. I laugh, I run, I leap, I sing for joy! From the point of yonder rolling cloud I plunge into my past being, and revel there as the sun-burnt Indian plunges headlong into the wave that wafts him to his native shore. Then long-forgotten things like “sunken wrack and sumless treasuries,” burst upon my eager sight, and I begin to feel, think, and be myself again. Instead of an awkward silence, broken by attempts at wit or dull commonplaces, mine is that undisturbed silence of the heart which alone is perfect eloquence.
Half the people on our streets look as though life was a sorry business. It is hard to find a happy looking man or woman. Worry is the cause of their woebegone appearance. Worry makes the wrinkles; worry cuts the deep, down-glancing lines on the face; worry is the worst disease of our modern times. Care is contagious; it is hard work being cheerful at a funeral, and it is a good deal harder to keep the frown from your face when you are in the throng of the worry worn ones. Yet, we have no right to be dispensers of gloom; no matter how heavy our loads may seem to be we have no right to throw their burden on others nor even to cast the shadow of them on other hearts.
Anxiety is instability. Fret steals away force. He who dreads tomorrow trembles today. Worry is weakness. The successful men may be always wide-awake, but they never worry. Fret and fear are like fine sand, thrown into life's delicate mechanism; they cause more than half the friction; they steal half the power. Cheer is strength. Nothing is so well done as that which is done heartily, and nothing is so heartily done as that which is done happily. Be happy, is an injunction not impossible of fulfillment. Pleasure may be an accident; but happiness comes in definite ways. It is the casting out of our foolish fears that we may have room for a few of our common joys. It is the telling our worries to wait until we get through appreciating our blessings.
Take a deep breath, raise your chest, lift your eyes from the ground, look up and think how many things you have for which to be grateful, and you will find a smile growing where one may long have been unknown. Take the right kind of thought—for to take no thought would be sin—but take the calm, unanxious thought of your business, your duties, your difficulties, your disappointments and all the things that once have caused you fear, and you will find yourself laughing at most of them.
