大学英语精读(第三版)课文原文

Unit 1 Some Strategies for Learning EnglishLearning English is by no means easy. It takes great diligence and prolonged effort. Nevertheless, while you cannot expect to gain a good command of English without sustained hard work, there are various helpful learning strategies you can employ to make the task easier. Here are some of them.1. Do not treat all new words in exactly the same way. Have you ever complained about your memory because you find it simply impossible to memorize all the new words you are learning? But, in fact, it is not your memory that is at fault. If you cram your head with too many new words at a time, some of them are bound to be crowded out. What you need to do is to deal with new words in different ways according to how frequently they occur in everyday use. While active words demand constant practice and useful words must be committed to memory, words that do not often occur in everyday situations require just a nodding acquaintance. You will find concentrating on active and useful words the most effective route to enlarging your vocabulary.2. Watch out for idiomatic ways of saying things. Have you ever wondered why we say, “I am interested in English”, but “I am good at French”? And have you ever asked yourself why nati ve English speakers say, “learn the news or secret”, but “learn of someone’s success or arrival”? These are all examples of idiomatic usage. In learning English, you must pay attention not only to the meaning of a word, but also to the way native speakers use it in their daily lives.3. Listen to English every day. Listening to English on a regular basis will not only improve your ear, but will also help you build your speaking skills. In addition to language tapes especially prepared for your course, you can also listen to English radio broadcasts, watch English TV, and see English movies. The first time you listen to a taped conversation or passage in English, you may not be able to catch a great deal. Try to get its general meaning first and listen to it over and over again. You will find that with each repetition you will get something more.4. Seize opportunities to speak.It is true that there are few situations at school where you have to communicate in English, but you can seek out opportunities to practice speaking the language. Talking with your classmates, for example, can be an easy and enjoyable way to get some practice. Also try to find native speakers on your campus and feel free to talk with them. Perhaps the easiest way to practice speaking is to rehearse aloud, since this can be done at any time, in any place, and without a partner. For instance, you can look at pictures or objects around you and try to describe them in detail. You can also rehearse everyday situations. After you have made a purchase in a shop or finished a meal in a restaurant and paid the check, pretend that all this happened in an English-speaking country and try to act it out in English.5. Read widely.It is important to read widely because in our learning environment, reading is the main and most reliable source of language input. When you choose reading materials, look for things that you find interesting, that you can understand without relying too much on a dictionary. A page a day is a good way to start. As you go on, you will find that you can do more pages a day and handle materials at a higher level of difficulty.6. Write regularly. Writing is a good way to practice what you already know. Apart from compositions assigned by your teacher, you may find your own reasons for writing. A pen pal provides good motivation; you will learn a lot by trying to communicate with someone who shares your interests, but comes from a different culture. Other ways to write regularly include keeping a diary, writing a short story and summarizing the daily news.Language learning is a process of accumulation. It pays to absorb as much as you can from reading and listening and then try to put what you have learned into practice through speaking and writing.Unit 2 Sailing Round the WorldBefore he sailed round the world single-handed, Francis Chichester had already surprised his friends several times. He had tried to fly round the world but failed. That was in 1931.The years passed. He gave up flying and began sailing. He enjoyed it greatly. Chichester was already 58 years old when he won the first solo transatlantic sailing race. His old dream of going round the world came back, but this time he would sail. His friends and doctors did not think he could do it, as he had lung cancer. But Chichester was determined to carry out his plan. In August, 1963, at the age of nearly sixty-five, an age when many men retire, he began the greatest voyage of his life. Soon, he was away in this new 16-metre boat, Gipsy Moth.Chichester followed the route of the great nineteenth century clipper ships. But the clippers had had plenty of crew. Chicheater did it all by himself, even after the main steering device had been damaged by gales. Chichester covered 14, 100 miles before stopping in Sydney, Australia. This was more than twice the distance anyone hadpreviously sailed alone.He arrived in Australia on 12 December, just 107 days out from England. He received a warm welcome from the Australians and from his family who had flown there to meet him. On shore, Chichester could not walk without help. Everybody said the same thing: he had done enough; he must not go any further. But he did not listen.After resting in Sydney for a few weeks, Chichester set off once more in spite of his friends' attempts to dissuade him. The second half of his voyage was by far the more dangerous part, during which he sailed round the treacherous Cape Horn.On 29 January he left Australia. The next night, the blackest he had ever known, the sea became so rough that the boat almost turned over. Food, clothes, and broken glass were all mixed together. Fortunately, bed and went to sleep. When he woke up, the sea had become calm the nearest person he could contact by radio, unless there was a ship nearby, Wild be on an island 885 miles away.After succeeding in sailing round Cape Horn, Chichester sent the following radio message to London:" I feel as if I had wakened from a nightmare. Wild horses could not drag me down to Cape Horn and that sinister Southern Ocean again."Just before 9 o'clock on Sunday evening 28 May, 1967, he arrived back in England, where a quarter of a million people were waiting to welcome him. Queen Elizabeth II knighted him with the very sword that Queen Elizabeth I had sailed round the world for the first time. The whole voyage from England and back had covered 28, 500 miles. It had taken him nine months, of which the sailing time was 226 days. He had done what he wanted to accomplish.Like many other adventurers, Chichester had experienced fear and conquered it. In doing so, he had undoubtedly learnt something about himself. Moreover, in the modern age when human beings depend so much on machines, he had given men throughout the world new pride.Unit 3 The PresentIt was the old lady's birthday.She got up early to be ready for the post. From the second floor flat she could see the postman when he came down the street, and the little boy from the ground floor brought up her letters on the rare occasions when anything came.Today she was sure the would be something. Myra wouldn't forget her mother's birthday, even if she seldom wrote at other times. Of course Myra was busy. Her husband had been made Mayor, and Myra herself had got a medal for her work the aged.The old lady was proud of Myra, but Enid was the daughter she loved. Enid had never married, but had seemed content to live with her mother, and teach in a primary school round the corner.One evening, however, Enid said, "I've arranged for Mrs. Morrison to look after you for a few days, Mother. Tomorrow I have to go into hospital--just a minor operation, I'll soon be home."In the morning she went, but never came back--she died on the operating table. Myra came to the funeral, and in her efficient way arranged for Mrs. Morrison to come in and light the fire and give the old lady her breakfast.Two years ago that was, and since then Myra had been to see her mother three times, but her husband never.The old lady was eight today. She had put on her best dress. Perhaps--perhaps Myra might come. After all, eighty was a special birthday, another decade lined or endured just as you chose to look at it.Even if Myra did not come, she would send a present. The old lady was sure of that. Two spots of colour brightened her cheeks. She was excited--like a child. She would enjoy her day.Yesterday Mrs. Morrison had given the flat an extra clean, and today she had brought a card and a bunch of marigolds when she came to do the breakfast. Mrs. Grant downstairs had made a cake, and in the afternoon she was going down there to tea. The little boy, Johnnie, had been up with a packet of mints, and said he wouldn't go out to play until the post had come."I guess you'll get lots and lots of presents," he said, "I did last were when I was six."What would she like? A pair of slippers perhaps. Or a new cardigan. A cardigan would be lovely. Blue's such a pretty colour. Jim had always liked her in blue. Or a table lamp. Or a book, a travel book, with pictures, or a little clock, with clear black numbers. So many lovely things.She stood by the window, watching. The postman turned round the corner on his bicycle. Her heart beat fast. Johnnie had seen him too and ran to the gate.Then clatter, clatter up the stairs. Johnnie knocked at her door."Granny, granny," he shouted, "I've got your post."He gave her four envelopes. Three were unsealed cards from old friends. The fourth was sealed, in Myra's writing. The old lady felt a pang of disappointment."No parcel, Johnnie?""No, granny."Maybe the parcel was too large to come by letter post. That was it. It would come later by parcel post. She must be patient.Almost reluctantly she tore the envelope open. Folded in the card was a piece of paper. Written on the card was a message under the printed Happy Birthday -- Buy yourself something nice with the cheque, Myra and Harold.The cheque fluttered to the floor like a bird with a broken wing. Slowly the old lady stooped to pick it up. Her present, her lovely present. With trembling fingers she tore it into little bits.Unit 4 Turning off TV: a Quiet HourI would like to propose that for sixty to ninety minutes each evening, right after the early evening news, all television broadcasting in the United States be prohibited by law.Let us take a serious, reasonable look at what the results be if such a proposal were accepted. Families might use the time for a real family hour. Without the distraction of TV, they might sit around together after dinner and actually talk to one another. It is well known that many of our problems -- everything, in fact, from the generation gap to the high divorce rate to some forms of mental illness -- are caused at least in part by failure to communicate. We do not tell each other what is disturbing us. The result is emotional difficulty of one kind or another. By using the quiet family hour to discuss our problems, we might get to know each other better, and to like each other better.On evenings when such talk is unnecessary, families could rediscover more active pastimes. Freed from TV, forced to find their own activities, they might take a ride together to watch the sunset. Or they might take a walk together (remember feet?) and see the neighborhood with fresh, new eyes.With free time and no TV, children and adults might rediscover reading. There is more entertainment in a good book than in a month of typical TV programming. Educators report that the generation growing up with television can barely write an English sentence, even at the college level. Writing is often learned from reading. A more literate new generation could be a product of the quiet hour.A different form of reading might also be done, as it was in the past: reading aloud. Few pastimes bring a family closer together than gathering around and listening to mother or father read a good story. The quiet hour could become the story hour. When the quiet hour ends, the TV networks might even be forced to come up with better shows in order to get us back from our newly discovered activities.At first glance, the idea of an hour without TV seems radical. What will parents do without the electronic baby-sitter? How will we spend the time? But it is not radical at all. It has been only twenty-five years since television came to control American free time. Those of us thirty-five and older can remember childhoods without television, spent partly with radio -- which at least involved the listener's imagination -- but also with reading, learning, talking, playing games, inventing new activities. It wasn't that difficult. Honest. The truth is we had a ball.Unit 5 I never write rightWhen I was 15, I announced to my English class that I was going to write and illustrate my own books. Half the students sneered; the rest nearly fell out of their chairs laughing."Don't be silly. Only geniuses can become writers," the English teacher saidsmugly. "And you are getting a D this semester."I was so humiliated I burst into tears. That night I wrote a short, sad poem about broken dreams and mailed it to the Capper's Weekly newspaper. To my astonishment they published it, and sent me two dollars. I was a published and paid writer! I showed my teacher and fellow students. They laughed."Just plain dumb luck," the teacher said.I'd tasted success. I'd sold the first thing I'd ever written. That was more than any of them had done, and if it was "just dumb luck," that was fine with me.During the next two years I sold dozens of poems, letters, jokes and recipes. By the time I graduated from high school (with a C-minus average), I had scrapbooks filled with my published work. I never mentioned my writing to my teachers, friends or my family again. They were dream killers, and if people must choose between their friends and their dreams, they must always choose their dreams.But sometimes you do find a friend who supports your dreams. "It's easy to write a book," that new friend told me. "You can do it.""I don't know if I'm smart enough," I said, suddenly feeling 15 again and hearing echoes of laughter."Nonsense!" she said. "Anyone can write a book if they want to."I had four children at the time, and the oldest was only four. We lived on a goat farm in Oklahoma, miles from anyone. All I had to do each day was take care of four kids, milk goats, and do the cooking, laundry and gardening. No problem.While the children napped, I typed on my ancient typewriter. I wrote what I felt. It took nine months, just like a baby.I chose a publisher at random and put the manuscript in an empty Pampers diapers package, the only box I could find (I'd never heard of manuscript boxes). The letter Ienclosed read: "I wrote this book myself, I hope you like it. I also drew the illustrations. Chapters 6 and 12 are my favorites. Thank you."I tied a string around the diaper box and mailed it without a self-addressed stamped envelope, and without making a copy of the manuscript. A month later I received a contract, an advance on royalties and a request to start working on another book.Crying Wind became a bestseller, was translated into 15 languages and Braille, and sold worldwide. I appeared on TV talk shows during the day and changed diapers at night. I traveled from New York to California and Canada on promotional tours. My first book also became required reading in Native American schools in Canada.It took six months to write my next book. I mailed it in an empty Uncle Wiggley game box (I still hadn't heard of manuscript boxes). My Searching Heart also became a bestseller. I wrote my next novel, When I Give My Heart, in only three weeks.The worst year I ever had as a writer, I earned two dollars (I was 15, remember?). In my best year, I earned $36,000. Most years I earn between $5,000 and $10,000. No, it isn't enough to live on, but it's still more than I'd make working part-time, and it's $5,000 to $10,000 more than I'd make if I didn't write at all.People ask what college I attended, what degrees I have, and what qualifications I have to be a writer. The answer is none. I just write. I'm not a genius, I'm not gifted and I don't write right. I'm lazy, undisciplined, and spend more time with my children and friends than I do writing.I didn't own a thesaurus until four years ago and I use a small Webster's dictionary that I bought at Kmart for 89 cents. I use an electric typewriter that I paid $129 for six years ago. I've never used a word processor. I do all the cooking, cleaning andlaundry for a family of six and fit my writing in a few minutes here and there. I write everything in longhand on yellow tablets while sitting on the sofa with my four kids, eating pizza and watching TV. When the book is finished, I type it and mail it to the publisher.I've written eight books. Four have been published, and three are still out with the publishers. One stinks.To all those who dream of writing, I'm shouting at you, "Yes, you can! Yes, you can! Don't listen to them!" I don't write right, but I've beaten the odds. Writing is easy, it's fun, and anyone can do it. Of course, a little dumb luck doesn't hurt.Unit 6 Sam Adams, Industrial EngineerIf you ask my mother how I happened to become an industrial engineer, she'll tell you that I have always been one.She means that I have always wanted everything to be well organized and neat. When I was still in elementary school, I liked to keep my socks in the upper left-hand drawer of my bureau, my underwear in the upper right drawer, shirts in the middle drawer, and pants, neatly folded, in the bottom drawer.In fact, I was the efficiency expert for the whole family. I used to organize my father's tools, my mother's kitchen utensils, my sister's boyfriends.I needed to be efficient. I wanted to be well organized. For me, there was a place for everything and everything was always in its place. These qualities gave me a good foundation for a career in industrial engineering.Unfortunately, I was also a bit bossy and I wasn't a very good listener. You'll see what I mean when I tell you about the first project I ever did after I finished my bachelor's degree at the university.After graduation I returned home to my small town in Indiana. I didn't have a job yet. Mr. Hobbs, a friend of my father's, owned a small shirt factory in town. Withinthe past five years it had grown from twenty to eighty workers. Mr. Hobbs was worried that his plant was getting too big and inefficient, so he asked me to come in on a short-term basis as a consultant.I went to the plant and spent about a week looking around and making notes. I was really amazed at what I saw.Most curious of all, there was no quality control whatsoever. No one inspected the final product of the factory. As a result some of the shirts that were put in boxes for shipment were missing one or two buttons, the collar, even a sleeve sometimes!The working conditions were poor. The tables where the workers sat were very high and uncomfortable. Except for a half hour at lunchtime, there were no breaks in the day to relieve the boring work. There was no music. The walls of the workrooms were a dull gray color. I was amazed that the workers hadn't gone on strike.Furthermore, the work flow was irregular. There was one especially absent-minded young man in the assembly line who sewed on buttons. After a while I recognized him as "Big Jim," who used to sit behind me in math class in high school. He was very slow and all the shifts were held up at his position. Workers beyond him in line on his shift had to wait with nothing to do; therefore, a great deal of time and efficiency were lost as Big Jim daydreamed while he worked. All week I wondered why he wasn't fired.After I made observations for a week, Mr. Hobbs asked me for an oral report of my findings. I covered my major points by telling him the following: "If you have a quality control inspection, you will greatly improve your finished product.""If the assembly line is redesigned, a smooth work flow can be achieved and time and energy can be saved.""If you decrease the height of the worktables, the machine operators will work more comfortably.""If the management provides pleasant background music and beautifies the dull setting, the factory will be much more productive.""If the workers have a fifteen-minute coffee break in the morning and afternoon,they will be more efficient.""If excellent work results in frequent pay increases or promotions, the workers will have greater incentive to produce."Mr. Hobbs thanked me for this report and told me he would talk over my suggestions with his brother, the co-owner and manager of the factory. "We're interested in progress here," he said. "We want to keep up with the times."He also gave me a check for $ 100 and a box of shirts with his compliments.Unit 7 The SamplerIn a certain store where they sell puddings, a number of these delicious things are laid out in a row during the Christmas season. Here you may select the one which is most to your taste, and you are even allowed to sample them before coming to a decision.I have often wondered whether some people, who had no intention of making a purchase, would take advantage of this privilege. One day I asked this question of the shop girl, and I learned it was indeed the case."Now there's one old gentleman, for instance," she told me, "he comes here almost every week and samples each one of the puddings, though he never buys anything, and I suspect he never will. I remember him from last year before that, too. Well, let him come if he wants it, and welcome to it. And what's more, I hope there are a lot more stores where he can go and get his share. He looks as if he needed it all right, and I suppose they can afford it."She was still speaking when an elderly gentleman limped up to the counter and began looking closely at the row of puddings with great interest."Why, that's the very gentleman I've been telling you about," whispered the shop girl." Just watch him now." And then turning to him:" Would you like to sample them, sir? Here's spoon for you to use."The elderly gentleman, who was poorly but neatly dressed, accepted the spoon and began eagerly to sample one after another of the puddings, only braking off occasionally to wipe his red eyes with a large torn handkerchief."This is quite good.""This is not bad either, but a little too heavy."All the time it was quite evident that he sincerely believed that he might eventually buy one of these puddings, and I am positive that he did not for a moment feel that he was in any way cheating the store. Poor old chap! Probably he had come down in the world and this sampling was all that was left him from the time when he could afford to come and select his favorite pudding.Amidst the crowd of happy, prosperous looking Christmas shoppers, the little black figure of the old man seemed pitiful and out of place, and in a burst of benevolence, I went up to him and said:"Pardon me, sir, will you do me a favor? Let me purchase you one of these puddings. It would give me such pleasure."He jumped back as if he had been stung, and the blood rushed into his wrinkled face."Excuse me," he said, with more dignity than I would have thought possible considering his appearance, "I do not believe I have the pleasure of knowing you. Undoubtedly you have mistaken me for someone else." And with a quick decision he turned to the shop girl and said in a loud voice, "Kindly pack me up this one here. Iwill take it with me." He pointed at one of the largest and most expensive of the puddings.The girl took down the pudding from its stand and started to make a parcel of it, while he pulled out a worn little black pocketbook and began counting out shillings and pennies on to the counter. To save his "honour" he had been forced into a purchase which he could not possibly afford. How I longed for the power to unsay my tactless words! It was too late though, and I felt that the kindest thing I could do now would be walk away."You pay at the desk," the shop girl was telling him, but he did not seem to understand and kept trying to put the coins into her hand. And that was the last I saw or the old man. Now he can never go there to sample pudding any more.Unit 8 A Magician at Stretching a Dollar1.That December, with Christmas approaching, she was out at workand Doris was in the kitchen when I let myself into her bedroom one afternoon in search of a safety pin. Since her bedroom opened onto a community hallway, she kept the door locked, but needing the pin, I took the key from its hiking place, unlocked the door and stepped in.Standing against the wall was a big, black bicycle with balloon tires. I recognized it instantly. It was the same second-hand bike I'd beenadmiring in a Baltimore Street shop window. I'd even asked about the price. It was a shock. Something like $15. Somehow my mother had scraped together enough for a down payment and meant to surprise me with the bicycle on Christmas morning.2.I was deeply moved by the discovery and yet sickened by theknowledge that, bursting into her room like this, I had robbed her of the pleasure of seeing me astonished and delighted on Christmas day. I hadn't wanted to know her lovely secret; still coming upon it like this made me feel as though I'd struck a blow against her happiness. Ibacked out, put the key back in its hiding place, and thought over whatto do.3.I decided that between now and Christmas I must do nothing,absolutely nothing, to reveal the slightest hint of my terribleknowledge. I must avoid the least word that night reveal mypossession of her secret. Nothing must deny her the happiness ofseeing me completely amazed on Christmas day.4.In the privacy of my bedroom I began composing and testingexclamations of delight: “Wow!” “A bike with ballo on tires! I don't believe it!” “I'm the luckiest boy alive!” And so on. They all owed a lot to movies in which boys like Mickey Rooney had seen their wildest dreams come true. I soon realized that, with my lack of acting talent, all of them were going to sound false at the critical moment when I wanted to cry out my love spontaneously from the heart. Maybe it would be better to say nothing but appear to be shocked into such deep pleasure that speech had escaped me/ I wasn't sure, though. I'd seen speechless gratitude in the movies too, and it never really worked until the actors managed to cry a few quiet tears. I doubted I could cry on cue, so I began thinking about other expressions of speechlessamazement. In front of a hand-held mirror in my bedroom I tried the whole range of expressions; mouth open and eyes wide; hands slapped firmly against both cheeks to keep the jaw from falling off; ear-to-ear grin with all teeth fully exposed while hugging myself with both arms.These and more I practiced for several days without acquiringconfidence in any of them. I decided to wait until Christmas morning and see if anything came naturally...5.That Christmas morning she woke up early, “to see what SantaClaus brought,” she said with just the right tone of voice to indicate we were all old enough to know who Santa Claus was. I came out of my bedroom with my present for her and Doris, and Doris came with hers. My mother's has been placed under the tree during the night.There were a few small brightly wrapped packages, a big doll forDoris, but no bicycle. I must have looked disappointed.6.“It looks like Santa Claus didn't do too well by you this year,Buddy,” she said, as I opened packages. A shirt. A necktie. I said。