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　　優(yōu)秀范文1

　　Early Autumn

　　When Bill was very young, they had been in love. Many nights they had spent walking, talking together. Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn’t speak. Impulsively, she had married a man she thought she loved. Bill went away, bitter about women.

　　Yesterday, walking across Washington Square, she saw him for the first time in years.

　　“Bill Walker,” she said.

　　He stopped. At first he did not recognize her, to him she looked so old.

　　“Mary! Where did you come from?”

　　Unconsciously, she lifted her face as though wanting a kiss, but he held out his hand. She took it.

　　“I live in New York now,” she said.

　　“Oh” — smiling politely. Then a little frown came quickly between his eyes.

　　“Always wondered what happened to you, Bill.”

　　“I’m a lawyer. Nice firm, way downtown.”

　　“Married yet?”

　　“Sure. Two kids.”

　　“Oh,” she said.

　　A great many people went past them through the park. People they didn’t know. It was late afternoon. Nearly sunset. Cold.

　　“And your husband?” he asked her.

　　“We have three children. I work in the bursar’s office at Columbia.”

　　“You’re looking very . . .” (he wanted to say old) “. . . well,” he said.

　　She understood. Under the trees in Washington Square, she found herself desperately reaching back into the past. She had been older than he then in Ohio. Now she was not young at all. Bill was still young.

　　“We live on Central Park West,” she said. “Come and see us sometime.”

　　“Sure,” he replied. “You and your husband must have dinner with my family some night. Any night. Lucille and I’d love to have you.”

　　The leaves fell slowly from the trees in the Square. Fell without wind. Autumn dusk. She felt a little sick.

　　“We’d love it,” she answered.

　　“You ought to see my kids.” He grinned.

　　Suddenly the lights came on up the whole length of Fifth Avenue, chains of misty brilliance in the blue air.

　　“There’s my bus,” she said.

　　He held out his hand. “Good-bye.”

　　“When . . .” she wanted to say, but the bus was ready to pull off. The lights on the avenue blurred, twinkled, blurred. And she was afraid to open her mouth as she entered the bus. Afraid it would be impossible to utter a word.

　　Suddenly she shrieked very loudly. “Good-bye!” But the bus door had closed.

　　The bus started. People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn’t know. Space and people. She lost sight of Bill. Then she remembered she had forgotten to give him her address — or to ask him for his — or tell him that her youngest boy was named Bill too.

　　優(yōu)秀范文2

　　A Story of Hope

　　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 fluid 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.

　　The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And 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.

　　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 of the world outside.

　　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 of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

　　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. One warm afternoon 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 portrayed it with descriptive words. Days and weeks passed.

　　One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths 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.

　　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. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself.

　　He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.

　　The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

　　Epilogue. . . .There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that money can't buy. "Today is a gift, that's why it is called the present."