有關(guān)高考英語(yǔ)美文摘抄
閱讀經(jīng)典是通過(guò)文本與古今中外的作者進(jìn)行對(duì)話,并不斷汲取文化的營(yíng)養(yǎng)的最直接形式。閱讀經(jīng)典美文是拓寬思維、增長(zhǎng)見(jiàn)識(shí)、豐富情感、涵養(yǎng)素質(zhì)的最有效手段。學(xué)習(xí)啦小編整理了有關(guān)高考英語(yǔ)美文，歡迎閱讀!
有關(guān)高考英語(yǔ)美文：我還會(huì)選擇你做我的兒子
In the doorway of my home, I looked closely at the face of my 23-year-old son, Daniel, his backpack by his side. We were saying good-bye. In a few hours he would be flying to France. He would be staying there for at least a year to learn another language and experience life in a different country.
It was a transitional time in Daniel's life, a passage, a step from college into the adult world. I wanted to leave him some words that would have some meaning, some significance beyond the moment.
But nothing came from my lips. No sound broke the stillness of my beachside home. Outside, I could hear the shrill cries of sea gulls as they circled the ever changing surf on Long Island. Inside, I stood frozen and quiet, looking into the searching eyes of my son.
What made it more difficult was that I knew this was not the first time I had let such a moment pass. When Daniel was five, I took him to the school-bus stop on his first day of kindergarten. I felt the tension in his hand holding mine as the bus turned the corner. I saw colour flush his cheeks as the bus pulled up. He looked at me-as he did now.
What is it going to be like, Dad? Can I do it? Will I be okay? And then he walked up the steps of the bus and disappeared inside. And the bus drove away. And I had said nothing.
A decade or so later, a similar scene played itself out. With his mother, I drove him to William and Mary College in Virginia. His first night, he went out with his new schoolmates, and when he met us the next morning, he was sick. He was coming down with mononucleosis, but we could not know that then. We thought he had a hangover.
In his room, Dan lay stretched out on his bed as I started to leave for the trip home. I tried to think of something to say to give him courage and confidence as he started this new phase of life.
Again, words failed me. I mumbled something like, "Hope you feel better Dan." And I left.
Now, as I stood before him, I thought of those lost opportunities. How many times have we all let such moments pass? A boy graduates from school, a daughter gets married. We go through the motions of the ceremony, but we don't seek out our children and find a quiet moment to tell them what they have meant to us. Or what they might expect to face in the years ahead.
How fast the years had passed. Daniel was born in New Orleans, LA., in 1962, slow to walk and talk, and small of stature. He was the tiniest in his class, but he developed a warm, outgoing nature and was popular with his peers. He was coordinated and agile, and he became adept in sports.
Baseball gave him his earliest challenge. He was an outstanding pitcher in Little League, and eventually, as a senior in high school, made the varsity, winning half the team's games with a record of five wins and two losses. At graduation, the coach named Daniel the team's most valuable player.
His finest hour, though, came at a school science fair. He entered an exhibit showing how the circulatory system works. It was primitive and crude, especially compared to the fancy, computerized, blinking-light models entered by other students. My wife, Sara, felt embarrassed for him.
It turned out that the other kids had not done their own work-their parents had made their exhibits. As the judges went on their rounds, they found that these other kids couldn't answer their questions. Daniel answered every one. When the judges awarded the Albert Einstein Plaque for the best exhibit, they gave it to him.
By the time Daniel left for college he stood six feet tall and weighed 170 pounds. He was muscular and in superb condition, but he never pitched another inning, having given up baseball for English literature. I was sorry that he would not develop his athletic talent, but proud that he had made such a mature decision.
One day I told Daniel that the great failing in my life had been that I didn't take a year or two off to travel when I finished college. This is the best way, to my way of thinking, to broaden oneself and develop a larger perspective on life. Once I had married and begun working, I found that the dream of living in another culture had vanished.
Daniel thought about this. His friends said that he would be insane to put his career on hold. But he decided it wasn't so crazy. After graduation, he worked as a waiter at college, a bike messenger and a house painter. With the money he earned, he had enough to go to Paris.
The night before he was to leave, I tossed in bed. I was trying to figure out something to say. Nothing came to mind. Maybe, I thought, it wasn't necessary to say anything.
What does it matter in the course of a life-time if a father never tells a son what he really thinks of him? But as I stood before Daniel, I knew that it does matter. My father and I loved each other. Yet, I always regretted never hearing him put his feelings into words and never having the memory of that moment. Now, I could feel my palms sweat and my throat tighten. Why is it so hard to tell a son something from the heart? My mouth turned dry, and I knew I would be able to get out only a few words clearly.
“Daniel," I said, "if I could have picked, I would have picked you."
That's all I could say. I wasn't sure he understood what I meant. Then he came toward me and threw his arms around me. For a moment, the world and all its people vanished, and there was just Daniel and me in our home by the sea.
He was saying something, but my eyes misted over, and I couldn't understand what he was saying. All I was aware of was the stubble on his chin as his face pressed against mine. And then, the moment ended. I went to work, and Daniel left a few hours later with his girlfriend.
That was seven weeks ago, and I think about him when I walk along the beach on weekends. Thousands of miles away, somewhere out past the ocean waves breaking on the deserted shore, he might be scurrying across Boulevard Saint Germain, strolling through a musty hallway of the Louvre, bending an elbow in a Left Bank café.
What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite. It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.
有關(guān)高考英語(yǔ)美文：生命的過(guò)客
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, ex
plaining 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 felony.
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 bone china. That was what my life had been like, endless omissions of coffee granules, somehow never managing to make that cup of coffee.
Somehow when the kettle piped its finishing warning 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 getting all philosophical and sentimental about a mug of coffee. I must be getting old.
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 myself firmly. The lid goes back on the coffee just like closure on the whole Mike experience.
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 night 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 physical being. He has only, a little piece of me.
當(dāng)他告訴我他要離開(kāi)的時(shí)候，我感覺(jué)自己就像花瓶裂成了碎片，跌落在茶色瓷磚地板上。他一直在說(shuō)話，解釋著為什么要離開(kāi)，說(shuō)什么這是最好的，我可以做得更好，都是他的錯(cuò)，與我無(wú)關(guān)。雖然這些話我已經(jīng)聽(tīng)上好幾千遍了，可每次聽(tīng)完都讓我很受傷，或許在這樣巨大的打擊面前沒(méi)有人能做到無(wú)動(dòng)于衷。
他走了，我嘗試著繼續(xù)過(guò)自己的生活。我燒開(kāi)水，拿出紅色杯子，看著咖啡粉末一點(diǎn)點(diǎn)地落入骨灰瓷的杯子里。這正是我自己的鮮活寫照，不斷地往下掉咖啡粉末，卻從來(lái)沒(méi)有真正地泡成一杯咖啡。
水開(kāi)了，水壺發(fā)出警報(bào)聲，我假裝沒(méi)有聽(tīng)見(jiàn)。邁克的離去也是一樣，突如其來(lái)，并且無(wú)可挽回。要知道，我寧愿忍受分與不分的煎熬，也不愿意以這樣的方式被宣判“死刑”。想著想著我就啞然失笑，自己竟然為一杯咖啡有如此多的人生感懷，我自己一定是老了。
可是鏡子里回瞪著我的那個(gè)女孩還是那么年輕啊!明目皓齒，充滿了前途與希望，光明的未來(lái)在向她招手。沒(méi)關(guān)系的，反正我也從來(lái)沒(méi)有愛(ài)過(guò)邁克。何況，生命中還有比愛(ài)更重要的東西在等待著我，我對(duì)自己堅(jiān)持說(shuō)。我將咖啡罐的蓋子蓋好，也將所有關(guān)于邁克的記憶塵封起來(lái)。
那天晚上，出乎意料的是，他并沒(méi)有入到我的夢(mèng)中。在夢(mèng)里，我飛過(guò)田野和森林，俯瞰著大地。突然間，我掉了下來(lái)……醒來(lái)后才發(fā)現(xiàn)原來(lái)自己被獵人打中了，但是令我墜落的不是他的子彈，而是他的靈魂。我后來(lái)才漸漸明白，原來(lái)邁克就是那個(gè)使我墜落的獵人，而我是那只渴望飛翔的小鳥(niǎo)。到了第二天晚上，我仍然做了類似的夢(mèng)，但是獵人不見(jiàn)了，我一直在自由地飛翔，直到遇上另外一只小鳥(niǎo)和我比翼雙飛。我開(kāi)始意識(shí)到，總有那么一只鳥(niǎo)，那么一個(gè)人在前面等我，這個(gè)人可能是我的愛(ài)人，可能只是朋友，但一定是知我懂我的人，這令我感覺(jué)如釋重負(fù)。我想起曾經(jīng)覺(jué)得自己像花瓶一樣裂開(kāi)了，才意識(shí)到原來(lái)自己已經(jīng)把自己修理好了。邁克只是我生命過(guò)程中的小小過(guò)客，他僅僅了解我的表面，他僅僅是我生命中的小小一部分。
有關(guān)高考英語(yǔ)美文：哥哥的心愿
A friend of mine named Paul received an automobile from his brother as a Christmas present. On Christmas Eve when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiny new car, admiring it.
"Is this your car, Mister?" he said.
Paul nodded. "My brother gave it to me for Christmas." The boy was astounded. "You mean your brother gave it to you and it didn’t cost you nothing? Boy, I wish . . ." He hesitated.
Of course Paul knew what he was going to wish for. He was going to wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels.
"I wish," the boy went on, "That I could be a brother like that."
Paul looked at the boy in astonishment, then impulsively he added, "Would you like to take a ride in my car?"
"Oh yes, I’d love that."
After a short ride, the boy turned with his eyes aglow, said, "Mister, would you mind driving in front of my house?"
Paul smiled a little. He thought he knew what the lad wanted. He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile. But Paul was wrong again. "Will you stop where those two steps are?" the boy asked.
He ran up the steps. Then in a little while Paul heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his little crippled brother. He sat him down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up against him and pointed to the car.
"There she is, Buddy, just like I told you upstairs.
His brother gave it to him for Christmas and it didn’t cost him a cent. And some day I’m gonna give you one just like it . . . then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the Christmas windows that I’ve been trying to tell you about."
Paul got out and lifted the lad to the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed older brother climbed in beside him and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride. That Christmas Eve, Paul learned what Jesus meant when he said: "It is more blessed to give . . . "
圣誕節(jié)時(shí)，保羅的哥哥送他一輛新車。圣誕節(jié)當(dāng)天，保羅離開(kāi)辦公室時(shí)，一個(gè)男孩繞著那輛閃閃發(fā)亮的新車，十分贊嘆地問(wèn)：
"先生，這是你的車?"
保羅點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭："這是我哥哥送給我的圣誕節(jié)禮物。"男孩滿臉驚訝，支支吾吾地說(shuō)："你是說(shuō)這是你哥送的禮物，沒(méi)花你一分錢?天哪，我真希望也能……"
保羅當(dāng)然知道男孩他真想希望什么。他希望能有一個(gè)象那樣的哥哥。但是小男孩接下來(lái)說(shuō)的話卻完全出乎了保羅的意料。
"我希望自己能成為送車給弟弟的哥哥。"男孩繼續(xù)說(shuō)。
保羅驚愕地看著那男孩，沖口而出地說(shuō)："你要不要坐我的車去兜風(fēng)?"
"哦，當(dāng)然好了，我太想坐了!"
車開(kāi)了一小段路后，那孩子轉(zhuǎn)過(guò)頭來(lái)，眼睛閃閃發(fā)亮，對(duì)我說(shuō)："先生，你能不能把車子開(kāi)到我家門前?"
保羅微笑，他知道孩子想干什么。那男孩必定是要向鄰居炫耀，讓大家知道他坐了一部大轎車回家。但是這次保羅又猜錯(cuò)了。"你能不能把車子停在那兩個(gè)臺(tái)階前?"男孩要求道。
男孩跑上了階梯，過(guò)了一會(huì)兒保羅聽(tīng)到他回來(lái)了，但動(dòng)作似乎有些緩慢。原來(lái)把他跛腳的弟弟帶出來(lái)了，將他安置在第一個(gè)臺(tái)階上，緊緊地抱著他，指著那輛新車。
只聽(tīng)那男孩告訴弟弟："你看，這就是我剛才在樓上對(duì)你說(shuō)的那輛新車。這是保羅他哥哥送給他的哦!將來(lái)我也會(huì)送給你一輛像這樣的車，到那時(shí)候你就能自己去看那些在圣誕節(jié)時(shí)，掛窗口上的漂亮飾品了，就象我告訴過(guò)你的那樣。"
保羅走下車子，把跛腳男孩抱到車子的前座。興奮得滿眼放光的哥哥也爬上車子，坐在弟弟的身旁。就這樣他們?nèi)碎_(kāi)始一次令人難忘的假日兜風(fēng)。
那個(gè)圣誕夜，保羅才真正體會(huì)主耶穌所說(shuō)的"施比受更有福"的道理。
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