英语精美语句

The most loved place, for me, in this country has in fact been many places. It has changed throughout the years, as I and my circumstances have changed. I haven’t really lost any of the best places from the past, though. I may no longer inhabit them, but they inhabit me, portions of memory, presences in the mind… My best place at the memory is very different, although I guess it has some of the attributes of that long-ago place. It is a small cedar cabin on the Otonabee River in southern Ontario. I’ve lived three summers there, writing, birdwatching, riverwatching. I sometimes feel sorry for the people in speedboats who spend their weekends zinging up and down the river at about a million miles an hour. For all they’re able to see, the riverbanks might just as well be green concrete and the river itself flowing with molten plastic.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness; it was the spring of hope, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair; we had everything before us; we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.

The chess-board is the world: the pieces are the phenomena of the universe; the rules of the game are what we call the laws of nature. The player on the other side is hidden from us. We know that his play is always fair, just and patient. But also we know, to our cost, that he never overlooks a mistake, or makes the smallest allowance for ignorance.

It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweet and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again; because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumphs of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while darling greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

Remember, my son, you have to work. Whether you handle a pick of a pen, a wheelbarrow or a set of books, digging ditches or editing a paper, ringing an auction bell or writing funning things, you must work. If you look around you will see the man who are the most able to live the rest of their days without work are the men who work the hardest. Don’t be afraid of killing yourself with overwork. It is beyond your power to do that on the sunny side of thirsty. They die sometimes, but it is because they quit work at six in the evening, and do not go home until two in the morning. It’s the interval that kills, my son. The work gives you an appetite for your meals; it lends solidity to your slumbers, it gives you a perfect and grateful appreciation of a holiday.

There are young men who do not work, but the world is not proud of them. It does not know their names, even it simply speaks of them as “old So-and-So’s boy”. Nobody likes them; the great, busy world doesn’t know that they are there. So find out what you want to be and do, and take off your coat and make a dust in the world. The busier you are, the less harm you will be apt to get into, the sweeter will be your sleep, the brighter and happier your holidays, and the better satisfied will be the world be with you.