全新版大学英语综合教程5翻译中英文对照

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2_全新版大学英语综合教程5课文原文及翻译

咱们吃素吧!如果有一件事，既能增进健康、减少患上食物引起的疾病的危险，又有助于保护环境、保护千万动物安全生存，你做不做？我说的这件事就是每次坐下来就餐时挑选菜肴。

一百多万加拿大人已经行动起来：他们决定不吃肉。

变化速度之快令人惊叹。

素食品的销售额大大增加，前所未有。

尤受欢迎的是无肉汉堡包和热狗，以及以蔬为主的印度、中国、墨西哥、意大利和日本的菜肴。

推动人们转向素食的是医学研究提出的关于如何增进健康的建议。

一项又一项的研究都揭示了同样的基本事实：果蔬降低患慢性病的危险；肉类食品则增加这种危险。

美国饮食学协会指出，“科学资料表明，素食与降低多种慢性变性疾病的患病危险肯定有关系。

”去年秋天，在检验了4500个饮食与癌症的研究报告之后，世界癌症研究基金会直截了当地指出：“我们一向利用不合适的养料来维持人类生理引擎的运转。

”据威尔夫大学营养科学教授布鲁斯·霍拉勃称，这一“不合适的养料”致使加拿大每年用于治疗变性疾病的费用高达4000亿（加）元。

肉类食品存在严重的营养缺陷：它们不含纤维，含有过多的饱和脂肪和胆固醇，甚至可能含有微量的激素、类固醇和抗菌素。

牛肉、猪肉、鸡肉或鱼肉都一样。

肉类食品也是越来越广为人知的大肠杆菌、弯曲菌以及其他致病细菌的孳生地。

据加拿大食品检验机构称，十分之六的鸡染有沙门氏菌。

吃肉无异于玩俄式轮盘赌，拿你的健康做赌资。

既然如此，政府为什么不采取任何措施？很遗憾，政府屈服于强有力的院外活动集团的压力，如牛肉信息中心、加拿大禽蛋营销公司、加拿大乳牛场场主协会等。

根据信息自由法案获得的有关文件记载，这些集团迫使加拿大最新食品指南在1993年公布前作出修改。

这并不奇怪。

即使建议动物蛋白质的摄入量减少一丁点儿都会给这些企业带来每年数十亿元的损失。

健康和食品安全是选择素食生活方式令人信服的理由，但此外还有更为重大的因素要考虑。

以饲养动物为基础的农业是世界上对环境破坏最严重的产业之一。

想一想培育、饲养、建牲畜栏、运输、加工和包装加拿大每年宰杀的5亿头牲畜所需的巨大资源。

全新版大学英语综合教程5 U5 heat wave 全文翻译

你说你是一个全球变暖的怀疑者？也许你不住在沿着海岸的弗洛里达洲或者希什马瑞芙洲，阿拉斯加州吧：住在那些地区的人们通常都相信全球变暖。

弗洛里达洲在2004年时遭遇了四场魔鬼般的飓风，在一年后，卡特里娜袭击了新奥尔良和密西西比州的沿岸地区。

许多科学家相信，这些飓风时节的超强破坏力应该归因于全球变暖。

大风暴加强了墨西哥州沿岸的暖流，一年一年，这些纬度地区变得越来越暖。

You say you’are a skeptic on global warming?至于，希什马瑞福州的一个小镇（人口600），它是一个因纽皮亚克的爱斯基摩小村庄，坐落于一个细长的屏障岛屿，在安克雷奇北边625英里处。

当《时代》记者Margot Roosevelt 在2004年参观它时，她发现在它正在“融入海洋”。

它已经少了100至300英尺的海岸线，而这数字中的一半发生在1997以后。

在沙滩下的永久冻土开始消融，海面上的冰也正不断减少，这使得居民对于凶猛的暴风雨来说，显得越来越脆弱。

一间房子倒了，18间其他的房子就得带着镇上大量的油桶，搬到更高的地方去。

巨浪冲走了学校的操场，毁灭了价值100000美元的船只，打猎与晒鱼的装备。

“这太可怕了，”村里的官员Luci Eningowuk告诉Roosevelt。

“每一年我们都非常害怕，下一场暴风雨会把我们都冲走。

”由于海面结冰得越来越晚，希什马瑞福州通常开始于10月的冰钓季，现在开始于12月。

浆果采摘开始于7月而非8月。

对于因纽皮亚克人来说最令人绝望的就是稀薄的冰面似的猎捕髯海豹变得非常困难，一种长胡须的海报，那是他们饮食和文化的重要组成部分。

什么正在继续？全球变暖，一部分是由石油和汽油的燃烧造成的，它使墨西哥沿岸甚至极地地区都受到创伤，而在极地地区，复杂的气候进程与雪、永久冻土和冰联系在一起，放大了全球变暖的影响。

2004年，在《科学》上出版的一篇文章发现，南极洲西部的冰川正以二十世纪九十年代两倍的速度消融。

全新版大学英语综合教程5翻译中英文对照

多数科学家不再怀疑世界正在变暖，也不再怀疑是人类改变了气候。

他们认为全球气候变暖对这个星球及其居住者的长期影响将是灾难的。

而且，气候变化不会平稳地过渡到一个较为暖和的世界。

一些地区将受到气候急速变化的严重影响。

人口密集的大片地区如佛罗里达沿海地带将无法居住。

千百万居民将不得不迁移到安全地区。

因此,全球变暖出现在世界领袖们的议事日程这上也就不足为奇了。

6罗伯特·李的父亲的生活一直为投资不当所困扰，他两次因欠债不还而入狱，最终被迫逃离美国。

李的母亲对李的个性影响最大。

面对丈夫那让人痛心的失败，她决心绝不让这个悲剧在孩子身上重演。

她将美德灌输给李，如自制力、责任心以及不屈不挠的精神。

1825年，怀着挽回家族荣誉的强烈愿望，李开始了在西点军校的学习。

这是他生活中的一个新篇章。

四年里，他门门功课名列前茅。

赌徒的家人经常付出高昂的代价。

他们不但要忍受一夜之间失去财富的痛苦，而且时常感到极度沮丧和无望。

一项全国性的调查发现，200多万成年人认为其配偶的赌博行为是他们先前离婚的重要原因。

密西西比州一个县的离婚数目在賭场出现后较从前几乎增加了两倍。

该县还见证了赌场出现后家庭暴力事件的攀升。

大量的事实表明，法律许可的赌博其蔓延之势毁灭了个人，葬送了家庭，增加了犯罪，最终给社会造成的损失远远大于政府从中征得的税收岁入。

8亨利，一个看上去体质虚弱的五十岁男子，比他那体魄强健的妻子玛丽年长20岁。

大家都认为他会死在他妻子前面，所以没有一个人，包括亨利自己在内，预见到玛丽会突然意想不到地去世。

有好几个星期，他都非常痛苦，人的样子也全都变了。

他甚至想到天堂与妻子重新团聚是不是会更好。

虽然我们每个人都表示了极大的同情，但考虑到他一家人的安宁和隐私，我们都认为在这个时候如果没有受到邀请而去打扰他们是不合适的。

Most scientists no longer doubt that the world agree that the long-term effects of global warming will be for the planet and its inhabitants. What is more, climate change won’t be a smooth by abrupt climate changes. Enormous areas of densely land like would become uninhabitable. Hundreds of millions of would have to to safer regions. Therefore, it is no surprise that global warming has made its way6Robert Lee’s father’s life had been plagued by poor financial investments. He was jailed twice for unpaid debts and in the end was forced to flee the country. Lee’s mother was the dominant force in shaping Lee’s personality. Against the poignant failure of her husband, she was determined that the tragedy should not be repeated in the life of her children. Self-control, a sense of obligation and an indomitable spirit were the virtues she taught Lee. In 1825, with an aspiration to win back the family honor, Lee began studying at West Point Military Academy. This began a new chapter of his life. Over the four years, he consistently finished near the top of every course.Gamblers’ family members always pay a steep price. They not only have to endure the pain of having their wealth wiped away overnight, but they are also frequently overwhelmed with feelings of depression and hopelessness.A nationwide survey found that over 2 million adults identified a spouse's gambling as a significant factor in a prior divorce. The number of divorces in a county in Mississippi has nearly tripled since the advent of casinos. The county has also witnessed increases in domestic violence since then.A considerable body of evidence showed that the expansion of legally sanctioned gambling destroys individuals, ruins families, increases crime, and ultimately costs society far more than the revenues government collects.8Henry, a frail-looking man of fifty, was older than his robust wife Marry by 20 years , Everyone assumed that she would outlive him.So no one, including Henry himself, had foreseen that Marry would die a sudden, unexpected death. For several weeks, he looked greatly distressed and became a completely changed person. He even speculated whether it would be better for him to rejoin his wife in paradise. Though each of us expressed our deep sympathy, no one thought it appropriate to intrude upon his family uninvited, in consideration of their need for peace and privacy at such a moment.。

《全新版大学英语》综合教程5课后翻译

Unit 1 Love of Reading我的祖母不识字，可是她有一箩筐的神话和传奇故事。

小时候我总是缠着她，要她给我讲故事。

而她在忙完家务后，总会把我抱在膝上，一边讲故事一边有节奏地晃动我。

我父母发现了我对故事的浓厚兴趣，不失时机地引导我进行阅读。

他们给我买了许多带插图的故事书，有空的时候就一遍遍地读给我听。

慢慢地我认识了很多字，能自行阅读了。

Although my grandmother was illiterate, she had a good stack of myths and legends. When I was young I gave her no peace, constantly asking her to tell me stories. After she had finished her housework, she would lift me onto her lap and tell stories, all the while rocking me in rhythm.Having noticed my interest in stories, my parents lost no time in initiating me into reading. They bought many storybooks with illustrations, and whenever free, they would read these stories to me over and over again. By and by I had a vocabulary large to read on my own .Unit 2 Diet一项又一项的研究发现，食物和一些慢性病之间有密切关系。

例如：某些慢性病危险的降低和多吃以食物为基本成分的食物是相关联的。

因此，在过去的十年中，美国饮食协会敦促美国人减少动物脂肪的摄取，增加水果、蔬菜和谷物的消费。

全新版大学英语5课文翻译

Going for BrokeMatea Gold and David Ferrell1 Rex Coile's life is a narrow box, so dark and confining he wonders how he got trapped inside, whether he'll ever get out.孤注一掷马泰娅·戈尔德戴维·费雷尔雷克斯·科勒好像生活在一个狭窄的箱子里，伸手不见五指，空间又狭小，他不知道自己是怎么陷进去的，也不知道自己还能不能走出来。

2 He never goes to the movies, never sees concerts, never lies on a sunny beach, never travels on vacation, never spends Christmas with his family. Instead, Rex shares floor space in cheap motels with other compulsive gamblers, comforting himself with delusional dreams of jackpots that will magically wipe away three decades of wreckage. He has lost his marriage, his home, his Cadillac, his clothes, his diamond ring. Not least of all, in the card clubs of Southern California, he has lost his pride.他从不看电影，从不听音乐会，从不躺在沙滩上晒太阳，从不在假日去旅游，从不和家人一起过圣诞节。

全新版大学英语综合教程5课文翻译

Unit1 One Writer's Beginnings作家起步时1.我从两三岁起就知道，家中随便在哪个房间里，白天无论在什么时间，都可以念书或听人念书。

母亲念书给我听。

上午她都在那间大卧室里给我念，两人一起坐在她那把摇椅里，我们摇晃时，椅子发出有节奏的滴答声，好像有只唧唧鸣叫的蟋蟀在伴着读故事。

冬日午后，她常在餐厅里烧着煤炭的炉火前给我念，布谷鸟自鸣钟发出“咕咕”声时，故事便结束了；晚上我在自己床上睡下后她也给我念。

想必我是不让她有一刻清静。

有时她在厨房里一边坐着搅制黄油一边给我念，故事情节就随着搅制黄油发出的抽抽搭搭的声响不断展开。

我的奢望是她念我来搅拌；有一次她满足了我的愿望，可是我要听的故事她念完了，她要的黄油我却还没弄好。

她念起故事来富有表情。

比如，她念《穿靴子的猫》时，你就没法不相信她对猫一概怀疑。

2 当我得知故事书原来是人写出来的，书本原来不是什么大自然的奇迹，不像草那样自生自长时，真是又震惊又失望。

不过，姑且不论书本从何而来，我不记得自己有什么时候不爱书——书本本身、封面、装订、印着文字的书页，还有油墨味、那种沉甸甸的感觉，以及把书抱在怀里时那种将我征服、令我陶醉的感觉。

还没识字，我就想读书了，一心想读所有的书。

3 我的父母都不是来自那种买得起许多书的家庭。

然而，虽然买书准得花去他不少薪金，作为一家成立不久的保险公司最年轻的职员，父亲一直在精心挑选、不断订购他和母亲认为儿童成长应读的书。

他们购书首先是为了我们的前程。

4 除了客厅里有一向被称作“图书室”的书橱，餐厅的窗子下还有几张摆放百科全书的桌子和一个字典架。

这里有伴随我们在餐桌旁争论着长大的《韦氏大词典》、《哥伦比亚百科全书》、《康普顿插图百科全书》、《林肯资料文库》，以及后来的《知识库》。

“图书馆”书橱里的书没过多久我就能读了——我的确读了，全都读了，按着顺序，一排接着一排读，从最上面的书架一直读到最下面的书架。

母亲读书最重要的不在获取信息。

全大学英语综合教程5课文翻译

全大学英语综合教程5课文翻译1Unit1One Writer's XXX作家起步时1.我从两三岁起就知道，家中随便在哪个房间里，白天无论在什么时间，都可以念书或听人念书。

母亲念书给我听。

上午她都在那间大卧室里给我念，两人一起坐在她那把摇椅里，我们摇晃时，椅子发出有节奏的滴答声，好像有只唧唧鸣叫的蟋蟀在伴着读故事。

冬日午后，她常在餐厅里烧着煤炭的炉火前给我念，XXX自XXX发出“咕咕”声时，故事便结束了；晚上我在自己床上睡下后她也给我念。

想必我是不让她有一刻清静。

有时她在厨房里一边坐着搅制黄油一边给我念，故事情节就随着搅制黄油发出的抽抽搭搭的声响不断展开。

我的奢望是她念我来搅拌；有一次她满足了我的愿望，可是我要听的故事她念完了，她要的黄油我却还没弄好。

她念起故事来富有表情。

比如，她念《穿靴子的猫》时，你就没法不相信她对猫一概怀疑。

2当我得知故事书原来是人写出来的，书本原来不是什么大自然的奇迹，不像草那样自生自长时，真是又震惊又失望。

还没识字，我就想读书了，一心想读所有的书。

3我的父母都不是来自那种买得起许多书的家庭。

然而，虽然买书准得花去他不少薪金，作为一家成立不久的保险公司最年轻的职员，父亲一直在精心挑选、不断订购他和母亲认为儿童成长应读的书。

他们购书首先是为了我们的前程。

5多亏了我的父母，我很早就接触了受人喜爱的XXX。

书橱里有一整套XXX文集和一套不全的XXX作品集，这些书最终将父母和孩子联结在一起。

6读摆在我面前的书，读着读着便发现一本又破又旧的书，是我父亲小时候的。

书名是《桑福徳与默顿》。

我不相信如今还有谁会记得这本书。

那是XXX.戴在18世纪80年代撰写的一本著名的进行道德教育的故事书，可该书的扉页上并没有提及他；上面写的是《桑福徳与默顿简易本》，XXX.XXX著。

全新版大学英语综合教程5课文翻译

Unit 3PartⅡTextA The Truth About Lying关于说谎的真相朱迪斯?维奥斯特我一直想写一个令我深感兴趣的话题：关于说谎的问题。

我觉得这个题目很难写。

所有我交谈过的人都对什么事情可以说谎——什么事情绝对不可以说谎——持有强烈的、常常不容别人分说的个人意见。

最后我得出结论，我不能下任何定论，因为这样做就会有太多的人立即反对。

我想我还是提出若干都与说谎有关的道义上的难题吧。

我将向读者阐明我对这些难题的个人看法。

你们觉得对吗？社交性谎言和我交谈过的大多数人都说，他们认为旨在促进社会交际的谎言是可以接受的，也是必要的。

他们认为这是一种文明的行为。

他们说，要不是这类无关紧要的谎言，人与人之间的关系就会变得粗野不快，无法持久。

他们说，如果你要做到十二分正直、十二分无畏，不由自主地用你的诚实使他人陷入不必要的窘境或痛苦之中，这只能说你是傲慢自大。

对此，我基本赞同。

你呢？你会不会跟人说：“我喜欢你的新发型，”“你气色好多了，”“见到你真高兴，”“我玩得很尽兴，”而实际上根本不是这么回事儿？你会不会对令人憎厌的礼物，或相貌平平的孩子称赞有加？你婉辞邀请时会不会说“那天晚上我们正好没空——真对不起，我们不能来，”而实际上你是宁肯呆在家里也不想跟某某夫妇一起进餐？虽然像我那样，你也想用“太丰盛了”这种委婉的托辞，而不是盛赞“那汤味道好极了”(其实味同重新热过的咖啡)，但如果你必须赞美那汤，你会说它鲜美吗?我认识一个人，他完全拒绝说这类社交性谎言。

“我不会那一套，”他说，“我生来就不会那一套。

”讲到对人家说几句好听的话并不失去什么，他的回答是：“不对，当然有损失——那会损害你的诚信度。

”因此你不问他，他不会对你刚买来的画发表意见，但除非你想听老实话，否则你也不会去问他的真实想法。

当我们这些说谎者轻声称赞着“多美啊”的时候，他的沉默往往是极能说明问题的。

我的这位朋友从来不讲他所说的“奉承话、虚假的赞美话和动听话”。

全新版大学英语综合教程（第二版）第五册（1-4单元）课后翻译

我的祖母不识字, 可是她有一箩筐的神话和传奇故事。

Although my grandmother was illiterate, she had a good stock of myths and legends.小时候我总是缠着她，一直要她给我讲故事。

When I was young I gave her no peace, constantly asking her to tell me stories.而她在忙完家务之后，总会把我抱到膝上，一边讲故事一边有节奏地晃动我。

After she had finished her housework, she would lift me onto her lap and tell stories, all the while rocking me in rhythm.我父母发现了我对故事的浓厚兴趣后，不失时机地引导我进行阅读。

Having noticed my interest in stories, my parents lost no time in initiating me into reading.他们给我买了许多带插图的故事书，有空的时候就一遍遍地读给我听。

They bought many storybooks with illustrations, and whenever free, they would read these stories to me over and over again.慢慢地我认识了很多字，能够自行阅读了。

By and by I had a vocabulary large enough to read on my own.Unit2一项又一项的研究发现,食物和一些慢性病之间有密切关系。

Study after study has uncovered the fact that there is a close correlation between food and a number of chronic diseases.某些慢性病危险的降低和多吃以植物为基本成分的食物是相联系的。

Unit-3-Lying全新版大学英语综合教程五课文翻译

Unit-3-Lying全新版大学英语综合教程五课文翻译Unit 3 LyingText A The Truth About Lying1. I've been wanting to write on a subject that intrigues and challenges me: the subject of lying. I've found it very difficult to do. Everyone I've talked to has a quite intense and personal but often rather intolerant point of view about what we can — and can never never —tell lies about. I've finally reached the conclusion that I can't present any ultimate conclusions, for too many people would promptly disagree. Instead, I'd like to present a series of moral puzzles, all concerned with lying. I'll tell you what I think about them. Do you agreeSocial Lies2. Most of the people I've talked with say that they find social lying acceptable and necessary. They think it's the civilized way for folks to behave. Without these little white lies, they say, our relationships would be short and brutish and nasty. It's arrogant, they say, to insist on being so incorruptible and so brave that you cause other people unnecessary embarrassment or pain by compulsively assailing them with your honesty. I basically agree. What about you%3. Will you say to people, when it simply isn't true, "I like your new hairdo," "You're looking much better," "it's so nice to see you," "I had a wonderful time"4. Will you praise hideous presents and homely kids5. Will you decline invitations with "We're busy that night —so sorry we can't come," when the truth is you'd rather stay home than dine with the So-and-sos6. And even though, as I do, you may prefer the polite evasion of "You really cooked up a storm "instead of "The soup" — which tastes like warmed-over coffee — "is wonderful," will you, if you must, proclaim it wonderful7. There's one man I know who absolutely refuses to tell social lies. "I can't play that game," he says; "I'm simply not made that way." And his answer to the argument that saying nice things to someone doesn't cost anything is, "Yes, it does —it destroys your credibility." Now, he won't, unsolicited, offer his views on the painting you just bought, but you don't ask his frank opinion unless you want frank, and his silence at those moments when the rest of us liars are muttering, "Isn't it lovely" is, for the most part, eloquent enough. My friend does not indulge in what he calls "flattery, false praise and mellifluous comments." When others tell fibs he will not go along. He says that social lying is lying, that little white lies are still lies. And he feels that telling lies is morally wrong. What about you~Peace-Keeping Lies8. Many people tell peace-keeping lies: lies designed to avoid irritation or argument, liesdesigned to shelter the liar from possible blame or pain; lies (or so it is rationalized) designed to keep trouble at bay without hurting anyone.9. I tell these lies at times, and yet I always feel they're wrong.I understand why we tell them, but still they feel wrong. And whenever I lie so that someone won't disapprove of me or think less of me or holler at me, I feel I'm a bit of a coward, I feel I'm dodging responsibility, I feel...guilty. What about you10. Do you, when you're late for a date because you overslept,say that you're late because you got caught in a traffic jam11. Do you, when you forget to call a friend, say that you called several times but the line was busy"12. Do you, when you didn't remember that it was your father's birthday, say that his present must be delayed in the mail13. And when you're planning a weekend in New York City and you're not in the mood to visit your mother, who lives there, do you conceal — with a lie, if you must — the fact that you'll be in New York Or do you have the courage — or is it the cruelty —to say, "I'll be in New York, but sorry — I don't plan on seeing you"14. (Dave and his wife Elaine have two quite different points of view on this very subject. He calls her a coward. She says she's being wise. He says she must assert her right to visit New York sometimes and not see her mother. To which she always patiently replies: "Why should we have useless fights My mother's too old to change. We get along much better when I lie to her.")15. Finally, do you keep the peace by telling your husband lies on the subject of money Do you reduce what you really paid for your shoes And in general do you find yourself ready, willing and able to lie to him when you make absurd mistakes or lose or break things16. "I used to have a romantic idea that part of intimacy was confessing every dumb thing that you did to your husband. But after a couple of years of that," says Laura, "have I changed my mind!",17. And having changed her mind, she finds herself telling peacekeeping lies. And yes, I tell them too. What about youProtective Lies18. Protective lies are lies folks tell — often quite serious lies —because they're convinced that the truth would be too damaging. They lie because they feel there are certain human values that supersede the wrong of having lied. They lie, not for personal gain, but because they believe it's for the good of the person they're lying to. They lie to those they love, to those who trust themmost of all, on the grounds that breaking this trust is justified.19. They may lie to their children on money or marital matters.20. They may lie to the dying about the state of their health.#21. They may lie to their closest friend because the truth about her talents or son or psyche would be — or so they insist — utterly devastating.22. I sometimes tell such lies, but I'm aware that it's quite presumptuous to claim I know what's best for others to know. That's called playing God . That's called manipulation and control. And we never can be sure, once we start to juggle lies, just where they'll land, exactly where they'll roll.23. And furthermore, we may find ourselves lying in order to back up the lies that are backing up the lie we initially told.24. And furthermore — let's be honest — if conditions were reversed, we certainly wouldn't want anyone lying to us.25. Yet, having said all that, I still believe that there are times when protective lies must nonetheless be told. What about you |Trust-Keeping Lies26. Another group of lies are trust-keeping lies, lies thatinvolve triangulation, with A (that's you) telling lies to B on behalf of C (whose trust you'd promised to keep). Most people concede that once you've agreed not to betray a friend's confidence, you can't betray it, even if you must lie. But I've talked with people who don't want you telling them anything that they might be called on to lie about.27. "I don't tell lies for myself," says Fran, "and I don't want to have to tell them for other people." Which means, she agrees, that if her best friend is having an affair, she absolutely doesn't want to know about it.28. "Are you saying," her best friend asks, "that you'd betray me"29. Fran is very pained but very adamant. "I wouldn't want to betray you, so…don't tell me anything about it."；30. Fran's best friend is shocked. What about you31. Do you believe you can have close friends if you're not prepared to receive their deepest secrets32. Do you believe you must always lie for your friends33. Do you believe, if your friend tells a secret that turns out to be quite immoral or illegal, thatonce you've promised to keep it, you must keep it34. And what if your friend were your boss — if you were perhaps one of the President's men — would you betray or lie for him over, say, Watergate<35. As you can see, these issues get terribly sticky.36. It's my belief that once we've promised to keep a trust, we must tell lies to keep it. I also believe that we can't tell Watergate lies. And if these two statements strike you as quitecontradictory, you're right — they're quite contradictory. But for now they're the best I can do. What about you37. There are those who have no talent for lying.38. "Over the years, I tried to lie," a friend of mine explained, "but I always got found out and I always got punished. I guess I gave myself away because I feel guilty about any kind of lying. It looks as if I'm stuck with telling the truth."39. For those of us, however, who are good at telling lies, for those of us who lie and don't get caught, the question of whether or not to lie can be a hard and serious moral problem. I liked the remark of a friend of mine who said, "I'm willing to lie. But just as a last resort —the truth's always better.">40. "Because," he explained, "though others may completely accept the lie I'm telling, I don't."41. I tend to feel that way too.42. What about you关于说谎的真相~朱迪斯·维奥斯特我一直想写一个令我深感兴趣的话题：关于说谎的问题。

全新版大学英语综合教程第五册-英语课文翻译

Take This Fish and Look at It1 It was more than fifteen years ago that I entered the laboratory of Professor Agassiz, and told him I had enrolled my name in the Scientific School as a student of natural history . He asked me a few questions about my object in coming, my antecedents generally, the mode in which I afterwards proposed to use the knowledge I might acquire, and, finally, whether I wished to study any special branch. To the latter I replied that while I wished to be well grounded in all departments of zoology, I purposed to devote myself especially to insects.把这条鱼拿去好好看看我是在15余年前进入阿加西兹教授的实验室的，告诉他我已在科学学院注册读博物学。

他略略询问了我来此的目的、我大致的经历、以后准备如何运用所学知识，最后问我是否希望修习某一特别学科。

对最后一个问题我回答说，我希望自己在动物学各个领域都具有一定的基础，但特别想研究昆虫。

2 "When do you wish to begin?" he asked.“你想什么时候开始呢？”他问。

3 "Now," I replied.“就现在，”我回答说。

Unit 1 Love of reading全新版大学英语综合教程五课文翻译

Unit 1 Love of readingText A One Writer's Beginnings1 I learned from the age of two or three that any room in our house, at any time of day, was there to read in, or to be read to. My mother read to me. She'd read to me in the big bedroom in the mornings, when we were in her rocker together, which ticked in rhythm as we rocked, as though we had a cricket accompanying the story. She'd read to me in the dining room on winter afternoons in front of the coal fire, with our cuckoo clock ending the story with "Cuckoo", and at night when I'd got in my own bed. I must have given her no peace. Sometimes she read to me in the kitchen while she sat churning, and the churning sobbed along with any story. It was my ambition to have her read to me while I churned; once she granted my wish, but she read off my story before I brought her butter. She was an expressive reader. When she was reading "Puss in Boots," for instance, it was impossible not to know that she distrusted all cats.2 It had been startling and disappointing to me to find out that story books had been written by people, that books were not natural wonders, coming up of themselves like grass. Yet regardless of where they came from, I cannot remember a time when I was not in love with them —with the books themselves, cover and binding and the paper they were printed on, with their smell and their weight and with their possession in my arms, captured and carried off to myself. Still illiterate, I was ready for them, committed to all the reading I could give them.3 Neither of my parents had come from homes that could afford to buy many books, but though it must have been something of a strain on his salary, as the youngest officer in a young insurance company, my father was all the while carefully selecting and ordering away for what he and Mother thought we children should grow up with. They bought first for the future .4 Besides the bookcase in the living room, which was always called "the library", there were the encyclopedia tables and dictionary stand under windows in our dining room. Here to help us grow up arguing around the dining room table were the Unabridged Webster, the Columbia Encyclopedia, Compton's Pictured Encyclopedia, the Lincoln Library of Information, and later the Book of Knowledge. In "the library", inside the bookcase were books I could soon begin on —and I did, reading them all alike and as they came, straight down their rows, top shelf to bottom. My mother read secondarily for information; she sank as a hedonist into novels. She read Dickens in the spirit in which she would have eloped with him. The novels of her girlhood that had stayed on in her imagination, besides those of Dickens and Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson, wereJane Eyre, Trilby, The Woman in White, Green Mansions, King Solomon's Mines.5 To both my parents I owe my early acquaintance with a beloved Mark Twain. There was a full set of Mark Twain and a short set of Ring Lardner in our bookcase, and those were the volumes that in time united us all, parents and children.6 Reading everything that stood before me was how I came upon a worn old book that had belonged to my father as a child. It was called Sanford and Merton. Is there anyone left who recognizes it, I wonder? It is the famous moral tale written by Thomas Day in the 1780s, but of him no mention is made on the title page of this book; here it is Sanford and Merton in Words of One Syllable by Mary Godolphin. Here are the rich boy and the poor boy and Mr. Barlow, their teacher and interlocutor, in long discourses alternating with dramatic scenes —anger and rescue allotted to the rich and the poor respectively. It ends with not one but two morals, both engraved on rings: "Do what you ought, come what may," and "If we would be great, we must first learn to be good."7 This book was lacking its front cover, the back held on by strips of pasted paper, now turned golden, in several layers, and the pages stained, flecked, and tattered around the edges; its garish illustrations had come unattached but were preserved, laid in. I had the feeling even in my heedless childhood that this was the only book my father as a little boy had had of his own. He had held onto it, and might have gone to sleep on its coverless face: he had lost his mother when he was seven. My father had never made any mention to his own children of the book, but he had brought it along with him from Ohio to our house and shelved it in our bookcase.8 My mother had brought from West Virginia that set of Dickens: those books looked sad, too — they had been through fire and water before I was born, she told me, and there they were, lined up — as I later realized, waiting for me.9 I was presented, from as early as I can remember, with books of my own, which appeared on my birthday and Christmas morning. Indeed, my parents could not give me books enough. They must have sacrificed to give me on my sixth or seventh birthday — it was after I became a reader for myself-the ten-volume set of Our Wonder World. These were beautifully made, heavy books I would lie down with on the floor in front of the dining room hearth, and more often than the rest volume 5, Every Child's Story Book, was under my eyes. There were the fairy tales —Grimm, Andersen, the English, the French, "Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves"; and there was Aesop and Reynard the Fox; there were the myths and legends, Robin Hood, King Arthur, and St. George and the Dragon, even the history of Joan of Arc; a whack of Pilgrim's Progress and a long piece of Gulliver. They all carried their classic illustrations. I located myself in these pages andcould go straight to the stories and pictures I loved; very often "The Yellow Dwarf" was first choice, with Walter Crane's Yellow Dwarf in full color making his terrifying appearance flanked by turkeys. Now that volume is as worn and backless and hanging apart as my father's poor Sanford and Merton. One measure of my love for Our Wonder World was that for a long time I wondered if I would go through fire and water for it as my mother had done for Charles Dickens; and the only comfort was to think I could ask my mother to do it for me.10 I believe I'm the only child I know of who grew up with this treasure in the house.I used to ask others, "Did you have Our Wonder World?" I'd have to tell them The Book of Knowledge could not hold a candle to it.11 I live in gratitude to my parents for initiating me —as early as I begged for it, without keeping me waiting — into knowledge of the word, into reading and spelling, by way of the alphabet. They taught it to me at home in time for me to begin to read before starting to school.12 Ever since I was first read to, then started reading to myself, there has never beena line read that I didn't hear. As my eyes followed the sentence, a voice was saying it silently to me. It isn't my mother's voice, or the voice of any person I can identify, certainly not my own. It is human, but inward, and it is inwardly that I listen to it. It is to me the voice of the story or the poem itself. The cadence, whatever it is that asks you to believe, the feeling that resides in the printed word, reaches me through the reader-voice: I have supposed, but never found out, that this is the case with all readers — to read as listeners — and with all writers, to write as listeners. It may be part of the desire to write. The sound of what falls on the page begins the process of testing it for truth , for me. Whether I am right to trust so far I don't know. By now I don't know whether I could do either one, reading or writing, without the other.13 My own words, when I am at work on a story, I hear too as they go, in the same voice that I hear when I read in books. When I write and the sound of it comes back to my ears, then I act to make my changes. I have always trusted this voice.作家起步时我从两三岁起就知道，家中随便在哪个房间里，白天无论在什么时间，都可以念书或听人念书。

全新版大学英语综合教程5课文翻译

全新版大学英语综合教程5课文翻译1Unit1 One Writer's Beginnings作家起步时1.我从两三岁起就知道，家中随便在哪个房间里，白天无论在什么时间，都可以念书或听人念书。

母亲念书给我听。

上午她都在那间大卧室里给我念，两人一起坐在她那把摇椅里，我们摇晃时，椅子发出有节奏的滴答声，好像有只唧唧鸣叫的蟋蟀在伴着读故事。

冬日午后，她常在餐厅里烧着煤炭的炉火前给我念，布谷鸟自鸣钟发出“咕咕”声时，故事便结束了;晚上我在自己床上睡下后她也给我念。

想必我是不让她有一刻清静。

有时她在厨房里一边坐着搅制黄油一边给我念，故事情节就随着搅制黄油发出的抽抽搭搭的声响不断展开。

我的奢望是她念我来搅拌;有一次她满足了我的愿望，可是我要听的故事她念完了，她要的黄油我却还没弄好。

她念起故事来富有表情。

比如，她念《穿靴子的猫》时，你就没法不相信她对猫一概怀疑。

2 当我得知故事书原来是人写出来的，书本原来不是什么大自然的奇迹，不像草那样自生自长时，真是又震惊又失望。

还没识字，我就想读书了，一心想读所有的书。

3 我的父母都不是来自那种买得起许多书的家庭。

然而，虽然买书准得花去他不少薪金，作为一家成立不久的保险公司最年轻的职员，父亲一直在精心挑选、不断订购他和母亲认为儿童成长应读的书。

他们购书首先是为了我们的前程。

4 除了客厅里有一向被称作“图书室”的书橱，餐厅的窗子下还有几张摆放百科全书的桌子和一个字典架。

“图书馆”书橱里的书没过多久我就能读了——我的确读了，全都读了，按着顺序，一排接着一排读，从最上面的书架一直读到最下面的书架。

Unit 6 Mrriage全新版大学英语综合教程五课文翻译

Unit 6 MrriageText A The Legacy1 'For Sissy Miller.' Gilbert Clandon, taking up the pearl brooch that lay among a litter of rings and brooches on a little table in his wife's drawing-room, read the inscription: 'For Sissy Miller, with my love.'2 It was like Angela to have remembered even Sissy Miller, her secretary. Yet how strange it was, Gilbert Clandon thought once more, that she had left everything in such order — a little gift of some sort for every one of her friends. It was as if she had foreseen her death. Yet she had been in perfect health when she left the house that morning, six weeks ago; when she stepped off the kerb in Piccadilly and the car had killed her.3 He was waiting for Sissy Miller. He had asked her to come; he owed her, he felt, after all the years she had been with them, this token of consideration. Yes, he went on, as he sat there waiting, it was strange that Angela had left everything in such order. Every friend had been left some little token of her affection. Every ring, every necklace, every little Chinese box —she had a passion for little boxes —had a name on it. To him, of course, she had left nothing in particular, unless it were her diary. Fifteen little volumes, bound in green leather, stood behind him on her writing table. Ever since they were married, she had kept a diary. Some of their very few — he could not call them quarrels, say tiffs — had been about that diary. When he came in and found her writing, she always shut it or put her hand over it. 'No, no, no,' he could hear her say, 'After I'm dead —perhaps.' So she had left it him, as her legacy. It was the only thing they had not shared when she was alive. But he had always taken it for granted that she would outlive him. If only she had stopped one moment, and had thought what she was doing, she would be alive now. But she had stepped straight off the kerb, the driver of the car had said at the inquest. She had given him no chance to pull up...Here the sound of voices in the hall interrupted him.4 'Miss Miller, Sir,' said the maid.5 She came in. She was terribly distressed, and no wonder. Angela had been much more to her than an employer. She had been a friend. To himself, he thought, as he pushed a chair for her and asked her to sit down, she was scarcely distinguishable from any other woman of her kind. There were thousands of Sissy Millers — drab little women in black carrying attaché cases. But Angela, with her genius for sympathy, had discovered all sorts of qualities in Sissy Miller. She was the soul of discretion, so silent, so trustworthy, one could tell her anything, and so on.6 Miss Miller could not speak at first. She sat there dabbing her eyes with her pockethandkerchief. Then she made an effort.7 'Pardon me, Mr Clandon,' she said.8 He murmured. Of course he understood. It was only natural. He could guess what his wife had meant to her.9 'I've been so happy here,' she said, looking round. Her eyes rested on the writing table behind him. It was here they had worked — she and Angela. For Angela had her share of the duties that fall to the lot of the wife of a prominent politician, she had been the greatest help to him in his career. He had often seen her and Sissy sitting at that table —Sissy at the typewriter, taking down letters from her dictation. No doubt Miss Miller was thinking of that, too. Now all he had to do was to give her the brooch his wife had left her.A rather incongruous gift it seemed. It might have been better to have left her a sum of money. Or even the typewriter. But there it was — 'For Sissy Miller, with my love.' And, taking the brooch, he gave it her with the little speech that he had prepared. He knew, he said, that she would value it. His wife had often worn it... And she replied, as she took it, almost as if she too had prepared a speech, that it would always be a treasured possession. ... She had, he supposed, other clothes upon which a pearl brooch would not look quite so incongruous. She was wearing the little black coat and skirt that seemed the uniform of her profession. Then he remembered — she was in mourning, of course. She too had had her tragedy — a brother, to whom she was devoted, had died only a week or two before Angela. In some accident, was it? He could remember only Angela telling him; Angela, with her genius for sympathy, had been terribly upset. Meanwhile Sissy Miller had risen. She was putting on her gloves. Evidently she felt that she ought not to intrude. But he could not let her go without saying something about her future. And so he added, as he pressed her hand. 'Remember, Miss Miller, if there's any way in which I can help you, it will be a pleasure....' Then he opened the door. For a moment, on the threshold, as if a sudden thought had struck her, she stopped.10 'Mr Clandon,' she said, looking straight at him for the first time, and for the first time he was struck by the expression, sympathetic yet searching, in her eyes. 'If at any time,' she was saying, 'there's anything I can do to help you, remember, I shall feel it, for your wife's sake, a pleasure....'11 With that she was gone. Her words and the look that went with them were unexpected. It was almost as if she believed, or hoped, that he would have need of her. A curious, perhaps a fantastic idea occurred to him as he returned to his chair. Could it be, that during all those years when he had scarcely noticed her, she, as the novelists say, had entertained a passion for him? He caught his own reflection in the glass as he passed. Hewas over fifty; but he could not help admitting that he was still, as the looking-glass showed him, a very distinguished-looking man.12 'Poor Sissy Miller!' he said, half laughing. How he would have liked to share that joke with his wife! He turned instinctively to her diary. 'Gilbert, ' he read, opening it at random, 'looked so wonderful....' It was as if she had answered his question. Of course, she seemed to say, you're very attractive to women. Of course Sissy Miller felt that too. He read on. 'How proud I am to be his wife!' And he had always been very proud to be her husband. How often when they dined out somewhere he had looked at her across the table and said to himself. She is the loveliest woman here! He read on. That first year he had been standing for Parliament . They had toured his constituency. 'When Gilbert sat down the applause was terrific. The whole audience rose and sang: "For he's a jolly good fellow." I was quite overcome.' He remembered that, too. She had been sitting on the platform beside him. He could still see the glance she cast at him, and how she had tears in her eyes. He read on rapidly, filling in scene after scene from her scrappy fragments. 'Dined at the House of Commons.... To an evening party at the Lovegroves. Did I realize my responsibility, Lady L. asked me, as Gilbert's wife?' Then as the years passed —he took another volume from the writing table — he had become more and more absorbed in his work. And she, of course, was more often alone. It had been a great grief to her, apparently, that they had had no children. 'How I wish,' one entry read, 'that Gilbert had a son!' Oddly enough he had never much regretted that himself. Life had been so full, so rich as it was. That year he had been given a minor post in the government. A minor post only, but her comment was: 'I am quite certain now that he will be Prime Minister!' Well, if things had gone differently, it might have been so. He paused here to speculate upon what might have been. Politics was a gamble, he reflected; but the game wasn't over yet. Not at fifty. He cast his eyes rapidly over more pages, full of the little trifles, the insignificant, happy, daily trifles that had made up her life.13 He took up another volume and opened it at random. 'What a coward I am! I let the chance slip again. But it seemed selfish to bother him about my own affairs, when he has so much to think about. And we so seldom have an evening alone.' What was the meaning of that? Oh here was the explanation — it referred to her work in the East End. 'I plucked up courage and talked to Gilbert at last. He was so kind, so good. He made no objection.' He remembered that conversation. She had told him that she felt so idle, so useless. She wished to have some work of her own. She wanted to do something — she had blushed so prettily, he remembered, as she said it sitting in that very chair — to help others. So every Wednesday she went to Whitechapel. He remembered how he hated the clothes she woreon those occasions. But she had taken it very seriously it seemed. The diary was full of references like this: 'Saw Mrs Jones.... She has ten children.... Husband lost his arm in an accident. ... Did my best to find a job for Lily.' He skipped on. His own name occurred less frequently. His interest slackened. Some of the entries conveyed nothing to him. For example: 'Had a heated argument about socialism with B. M.' Who was B. M.? He could not fill in the initials; some woman, he supposed, that she had met on one of her committees. 'B. M. made a violent attack upon the upper classes... . I walked back after the meeting with B. M. and tried to convince him. But he is so narrow-minded.' So B. M. was a man —no doubt one of those 'intellectuals' as they call themselves, who are so violent, as Angela said, and so narrow-minded. She had invited him to come and see her apparently. 'B. M. came to dinner. He shook hands with Minnie!' That note of exclamation gave another twist to his mental picture. B. M., it seemed, wasn't used to parlour-maids: he had shaken hands with Minnie. Presumably he was one of those tame workingmen who air their views in ladies' drawing-rooms. Gilbert knew the type, and had no liking for this particular specimen, whoever B. M. might be. Here he was again. 'Went with B. M. to the Tower of London.... He said revolution is bound to come. ... He said we live in a Fool's paradise.' That was just the kind of thing B. M. would say — Gilbert could hear him. He could also see him quite distinctly — a stubby little man, with a rough beard, red tie, dressed as they always did in tweeds, who had never done an honest day's work in his life. Surely Angela had the sense to see through him? He read on. 'B. M. said some very disagreeable things about. ...' The name was carefully scratched out. 'I would not listen to any more abuse of. ...' Again the name was obliterated. Could it have been his own name? Was that why Angela covered the page so quickly when he came in? The thought added to his growing dislike of B. M. He had had the impertinence to discuss him in this very room. Why had Angela never told him? It was very unlike her to conceal anything; she had been the soul of candour. He turned the pages, picking out every reference to B. M. 'B. M. told me the story of his childhood. His mother went out charring.... When I think of it, I can hardly bear to go on living in such luxury.... Three guineas for one hat! ' If only she had discussed the matter with him, instead of puzzling her poor little head about questions that were much too difficult for her to understand! He had lent her books. Karl Marx. 'The Coming Revolution.' The initials B. M., B. M., B. M., recurred repeatedly. But why never the full name? He read on. 'B. M. came unexpectedly after dinner. Luckily, I was alone.' That was only a year ago. 'Luckily' — why luckily? —'I was alone.' Where had he been that night? He checked the date in his engagement book. It had been the night of the Mansion House dinner. And B. M. andAngela had spent the evening alone! He tried to recall that evening. Was she waiting up for him when he came back? Had the room looked just as usual? Were there glasses on the table? Were the chairs drawn close together? He could remember nothing — nothing whatever. It became more and more inexplicable to him — the whole situation: his wife receiving an unknown man alone. Perhaps the next volume would explain. Hastily he reached for the last of the diaries — the one she had left unfinished when she died. There on the very first page was that cursed fellow again. 'Dined alone with B. M.... He became very agitated. He said it was time we understood each other.... I tried to make him listen. But he would not. He threatened that if I did not...' the rest of the page was scored over. He could not make out a single word; but there could be only one interpretation: the scoundrel had asked her to become his mistress. Alone in his room! The blood rushed to Gilbert Clandon's face. He turned the pages rapidly. What had been her answer? Initials had ceased. It was simply 'he' now. 'He came again. I told him I could not come to any decision.... I implored him to leave me.' He had forced himself upon her in this very house? But why hadn't she told him? How could she have hesitated for an instant? Then: 'I wrote him a letter.' Then pages were left blank. Then there was this: 'No answer to my letter.' Then more blank pages: and then this: 'He has done what he threatened.' After that — what came after that? He turned page after page. All were blank. But there, on the very day before her death, was this entry: 'Have I the courage to do it too?' That was the end.14 Gilbert Clandon let the book slide to the floor. He could see her in front of him. She was standing on the kerb in Piccadilly. Her eyes stared; her fists were clenched. Here came the car...15 He could not bear it. He must know the truth. He strode to the telephone.16 'Miss Miller!' There was silence. Then he heard someone moving in the room.17 'Sissy Miller speaking' — her voice at last answered him.18 'Who,' he thundered, 'is B. M.?'19 He could hear the cheap clock ticking on her mantelpiece: then a long drawn sigh. Then at last she said:20 'He was my brother.'21 He was her brother; her brother who had killed himself.22 'Is there,' he heard Sissy Miller asking, 'anything that I can explain?'23 'Nothing!' he cried. 'Nothing!'24 He had received his legacy. She had told him the truth. She had stepped off the kerb to rejoin her lover. She had stepped off the kerb to escape from him.遗赠物弗吉妮娅·伍尔芙“给西瑟·米勒。