高中英語美文摘抄
高中英語美文摘抄
美文是一種提倡寫真性情成大境界的散文體裁, 美文寫作中的審美和品味是為了培養(yǎng)學(xué)生根據(jù)散文的文學(xué)特質(zhì),真切自如地表達(dá)自己思想情感的教學(xué)策略。小編精心收集了高三英語美文，供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!
高三英語美文：Care your dream 呵護(hù)你的夢(mèng)想
My dream ended when I was born. Although I never knew it then, I just held on to something that would never come to pass. Dreams really do exist. But in the morning when you wake up, they are remembered just as a dream. That is what happened to me.
I always have the dream to dance like a beautiful ballerina twirling around and around and hearing people applaud for me. When I was young, I would twirling around and around in the fields of wildflowers that grew in my backyard. For hours I would dance as if people were watching me. I would dance so fast that I would forget where I was, until I would hear sounds that reminded me of where I really was. I thought that if I twirled faster everything would disappear and I would wake up in a new place. Reality woke me up when I heard a voice saying, "I don't know why you bother trying to dance. Ballerinas are pretty, slender little girls. Besides, you don't have the talent to even be a ballerina." I remember how those words paralyzed every feeling in my body. I feel to the ground and wept for hours.
We lived in the country by a nearby lake and I would sometimes go there to hide. My parents were never home anyway and I did not like to be at home where I could hear the walls talking of pain. When they were home, my mother just yelled and criticized because nothing was ever perfect in her life. She dreamed of a different life but ended up living in a country far away from the city where she believed her dreams would have come true.
I enjoyed hanging out by the water. I would sit there for hours and stare at my reflection. There I was, looked nothing like a pretty ballerina dancer. Reflections don't lie. Once the waves would come, my reflection was gone. Washed away just like my dream to dance. I sat there staring at the water, hoping that my reflection would reappear and be different.
As I grew older, I began to realize that the reason my dream was even born in the first place, was because it was something that was inside of me. The dream I had was never nurtured and cared for, so it slowly died. It's not that I wanted it to die, but I allowed it to die the day I started listening to the words, "You can't do it." When I finally woke up from many years of dreaming, I realized that you can't settle for dancing in the wildflowers, you have to move on to the platform. I still go to the lake sometimes and sit there. Looking at my reflection is different now too. When I was young, I looked at how others saw me, now that I am older and wiser; I look at how God sees me.
by Vanessa Sanchez
高三英語美文：Packaging A Person 人的包裝
A person, like a commodity, needs packaging. But going too far is absolutely undesirable. A little exaggeration, however, does no harm when it shows the person's unique qualities to their advantage. To display personal charm in a casual and natural way, it is important for one to have a clear knowledge of oneself. A master packager knows how to integrate art and nature without any traces of embellishment, so that the person so packaged is no commodity but a human being, lively and lovely.
A young person, especially a female, radiant with beauty and full of life, has all the favor granted by God. Any attempt to make up would be self-defeating. Youth, however, comes and goes in a moment of doze. Packaging for the middle-aged is primarily to conceal the furrows ploughed by time. If you still enjoy life's exuberance enough to retain self-confidence and pursue pioneering work, you are unique in your natural qualities, and your charm and grace will remain. Elderly people are beautiful if their river of life has been, through plains, mountains and jungles, running its course as it should. You have really lived your life which now arrives at a complacent stage of serenity indifferent to fame or wealth. There is no need to resort to hair-dyeing-the snow-capped mountain is itself a beautiful scene of fairyland. Let your looks change from young to old synchronizing with the natural ageing process so as to keep in harmony with nature, for harmony itself is beauty, while the other way round will only end in unpleasantness. To be in the elder's company is like reading a thick book of de luxe edition that fascinates one so much as to be reluctant to part with.
As long as one finds where one stands, one knows how to package oneself, just as a commodity establishes its brand by the right packaging.
[參考譯文]
人如商品要包裝，但切忌過分包裝?？鋸埌b，要善于展示個(gè)性的獨(dú)特品質(zhì)。在隨意與自然中表現(xiàn)人的個(gè)性美，重要的是認(rèn)識(shí)自己，包裝的高手在于不留痕跡，外在的一切應(yīng)與自身渾然一體，這時(shí)你不再是商品，而是活生生的人。
青年有著充盈的生命的底氣，她亮麗誘人，這是上帝賜予的神采，任何涂抹都是多余的敗筆，青春是個(gè)打個(gè)盹就過去的東西。中年的包裝主要是修復(fù)歲月的磨損，如果中年的生命依然有開拓豐滿與自信，便會(huì)成年人，如果你生命的河流正常地流過，流過了平原高山和叢林，那么你是美的。你的美充滿了安詳與淡泊，因?yàn)槟阏嬲厣钸^。老年人不要去染白發(fā)，老人的白發(fā)像高山的積雪，有種仙境之美。人該年輕時(shí)就年輕，該年老時(shí)就年老，這是與自然同步，這就是和諧。和諧就是美，反之就是丑。和老年人在一起就像讀一本厚厚的精裝書，魅力無窮，令人愛不釋手。
高三英語美文：The Blanket 一床雙人毛毯
The BlanketBy Floyd Dell
Floyd Dell, born June 28, 1887, Barry, Ill., U.S. died July 23, 1969, Bethesda, Md. novelist and radical journalist whose fiction examined the changing mores in sex and politics among American bohemians before and after World War I. A precocious poet, Dell grew up in an impoverished family and left high school at age 16 to work in a factory. Moving to Chicago in 1908, he worked as a newspaperman and soon was a leader of the city's advanced literary movement. He became assistant editor of the Friday Literary Review of the Evening Post in 1909 and editor in 1911, making it one of the most noted American literary supplements. As a critic, he furthered the careers of Sherwood Anderson and Theodore Dreiser. A socialist since his youth, he moved to New York in 1914 and was associate editor of the left-wing The Masses until 1917. Dell was on the staff of The Liberator, which succeeded The Masses, from 1918 to 1924. His first and best novel, the largely autobiographical Moon-Calf, appeared in 1920, and its sequel, The Briary-Bush, in 1921. Homecoming, an autobiography taking him to his 35th year, was published in 1933. His other novels on life among the unconventional include Janet March (1923), Runaway (1925), and Love in Greenwich Village (1926). His nonfiction includes Were You Ever a Child? (1919), on child-rearing; the biography Upton Sinclair: A Study in Social Protest (1927); and Love in the Machine Age (1930), which presented his views on sex. Little Accident, a play written with Thomas Mitchell and based on Dell's novel An Unmarried Father (1927), was successfully produced in 1928. Dell joined the Federal Writers Project and moved to Washington, D.C., in the late 1930s as an official for the project. He continued in government work after the project ended, until his retirement in 1947.Petey hadn’t really believed that Dad would be doing It — sending Granddad away. “Away” was what they were calling it.Not until now could he believe it of his father.
But here was the blanket that Dad had bought for Granddad, and in the morning he’d be going away. This was the last evening they’d be having together. Dad was off seeing that girl he was to marry. He would not be back till late, so Petey and Granddad could sit up and talk.
It was a fine September night, with a silver moon riding high. They washed up the supper dishes and then took their chairs out onto the porch. “I’ll get my fiddle,” said the old man, “and play you some of the old tunes.”
But instead of the fiddle he brought out the blanket. It was a big double blanket, red with black stripes.
“Now, isn’t that a fine blanket!” said the old man, smoothing it over his knees. “And isn’t your father a kind man to be giving the old fellow a blanket like that to go away with? It cost something, it did—look at the wool of it! There’ll be few blankets there the equal of this one!”
It was like Granddad to be saying that. He was trying to make it easier. He had pretended all along that he wanted to go away to the great brick building—the government place. There he’d be with so many other old fellows, having the best of everything. . . . But Petey hadn’t believed Dad would really do it, not until this night when he brought home the blanket.
“Oh, yes, it’s a fine blanket,” said Petey. He got up and went into the house. He wasn’t the kind to cry and, besides, he was too old for that. He’d just gone in to fetch Granddad’s fiddle.
The blanket slid to the floor as the old man took the fiddle and stood up. He tuned up for a minute, and then said, “This is one you’ll like to remember.”
Petey sat and looked out over the gully. Dad would marry that girl. Yes, that girl who had kissed Petey and fussed over him, saying she’d try to be a good mother to him, and all. . . .
The tune stopped suddenly. Granddad said, “It’s a fine girl your father’s going to marry. He’ll be feeling young again with a pretty wife like that. And what would an old fellow like me be doing around their house, getting in the way? An old nuisance, what with my talks of aches and pains. It’s best that I go away, like I’m doing. One more tune or two, and then we’ll be going to sleep. I’ll pack up my blanket in the morning.”
They didn’t hear the two people coming down the path. Dad had one arm around the girl, whose bright face was like a doll’s. But they heard her when she laughed, right close by the porch. Dad didn’t say anything, but the girl came forward and spoke to Granddad prettily: “I won’t be here when you leave in the morning, so I came over to say good-bye.”
“It’s kind of you,” said Granddad, with his eyes cast down. Then, seeing the blanket at his feet, he stooped to pick it up. “And will you look at this,” he said. “The fine blanket my son has given me to go away with.”
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