大学英语精读第二册1-6单元课文原文
大学英语精读2课文原文
大学英语精读2课文原文大学英语精读2课文原文Beneath my clenched fingers the alder was wriggling like a small, frightened snake. My father saw that I was about to drop it."Hang on to it!"“The branch is squirming," I repeated. "And I hear something that sounds like a river!""Open your eyes," my father ordered.I was stunned, as though he'd awakened me while I was dreaming."What does it mean?" I asked my father."It means that underneath us, right here, there's a little freshwater spring. If we dig, we could drink from it. I've just taught you how to find a spring. It's something my own father taught me. It isn't something you learn in school. And it isn't useless: a man can get along without writing andarithmetic, but he can never get along without water."Much later, I discovered that my father was famous in the region because of what the people called his "gift": before digging a well they always consulted him; they would watch him prospecting the fields or the hills, eyes closed, hands clenched on the fork of an alder bough. Wherever my father stopped, they marked the ground; there they would dig; and there water would gush forth.Years passed; I went to other schools, saw other countries, I had children, I wrote some books and my poor father is lying in the earth where so many times he had found fresh water.One day someone began to make a film about my villageand its inhabitants, from whom I've stolen so many of the stories that I tell. With the film crew we went to see a farmer to capture the image of a sad man: his children didn't want to receive the inheritance he'd spent his whole life preparing for them—the finest farm in the area. While the technicians were getting cameras and microphones ready the farmer put his arm around my shoulders, saying:"I knew your father well.""Ah! I know. Everybody in the village knows each other... No one feels like an outsider.""You know what's under your feet?""Hell?" I asked, laughing."Under your feet there's a well. Before I dug I called in specialists from the Department of Agriculture; they did research, they analyzed shovelfuls of dirt; and they made a report where they said there wasn't any water on my land. With the family, the animals, the crops, I need water. When I saw that those specialists hadn't found any. I thought of your father and I asked him to come over. He didn't want to; I think he was prettyfed up with me because I'd asked those specialists instead of him. But finally came; he went and cut off a little branch, then he walked around for a while with his eyes shut; he stopped, he listened to something we couldn't hear and then he said to me: "Dig right here, there's enough water to get your whole flock drunk and drown your specialist besides." We dug and found water. Fine water that's never heard of pollution.The film people were ready; they called to me to take my place."I'm gonna show you something," said the farmer, keeping me back." You wait right here."He disappeared into a shack which he must have used to store things, then came back with a branch which he held out to me."I never throw nothing away; I kept the alder branch your father cut to find my water. I don't understand, it hasn't dried out."Moved as I touched the branch, kept out of I don't know what sense of piety—and which really wasn't dry—I had the feeling that my father was watching me over my shoulder; I closed my eyes and, standing above the spring my father had discovered, I waited for the branch to writhe, I hoped the sound of gushing water would rise to my ears.The alder stayed motionless in my hands and the water beneath the earth refused to sing.Somewhere along the roads I'd taken since the village of my childhood I had forgotten my father's knowledge."Don't feel sorry," said the man, thinking no doubt of his farm and his childhood; "nowadays fathers can't pass on anything to the next generation."And he took the alder branch from my hands.桤木树枝在我紧握的手指下扭动,如受惊的蛇一般。
大学英语精读2课文翻译全
大学英语精读2课文翻译全Unit 1 XXX Party一场激烈的争论关于男人是否比女人更勇敢,最终以一种出人意料的方式解决了。
故事的背景是在印度,据说这个故事在当地仍然广为流传。
但实际上,这个故事并不是真的。
有人告诉我,在第一次世界大战之前,一家杂志曾刊登过这个故事,但是我一直未能找到那篇文章。
在这个故事中,一对殖民地官员和他们的客人在家中举行盛大的晚宴。
餐桌设在宽敞的餐厅里,地板是大理石的,没有铺地毯,屋顶上的椽子裸露着,宽大的玻璃门通向走廊。
客人包括军官和他们的夫人,还有一位来访的美国博物学家。
在晚宴上,一位年轻女士和一位少校展开了激烈的讨论。
女士认为,现代女性已经不像过去那样害怕老鼠了,而少校则不同意。
他认为,女人在遇到危险时会尖叫,而男人则会更加冷静。
在场的美国博物学家没有参加讨论,他只是静静地观察着其他客人。
突然间,他注意到女主人的表情有些奇怪。
她盯着前方,脸部肌肉在微微抽搐。
她向站在座椅后面的印度男仆做了个手势,对他耳语了几句。
男仆两眼睁得的,迅速地离开了餐室。
只有美国博物学家注意到这一幕,其他人都没有察觉到。
他意识到,碗中的牛奶是用来引蛇的诱饵。
他抬头看了看屋顶上的椽子,但是那里没有蛇。
室内的三个角落也没有蛇,而在第四个角落里,仆人们正在等着上下一道菜。
这样,剩下的唯一可能藏蛇的地方就是餐桌下面。
他想要往后一跳并向其他人发出警告,但他知道这样会引起骚乱,使眼镜蛇受惊咬人。
于是他讲了一通话,语气非常威严,使所有人都安静了下来。
“我想了解一下在座的诸位到底有多大的克制力,我数三百下,也就是五分钟,你们谁都不许动一动。
动者将罚款五十卢比。
准备好!”在我等待进大学的时候,我在一份地方报纸上看到了一则广告,说是在伦敦某郊区,距离我家约十英里的地方有一所学校正在招聘教师。
由于手头很拮据,同时也想做点有用的事情,我便提出了申请。
然而,我也担心自己没有学位,没有教学经验,得到这份工作的可能性微乎其微。
大学英语精读2 中英对照
没人能呼吸这种空气而生存。”
“What does this mean as far as our flying saucer program is concerned?”
“这对我们的飞蝶计划意味着什么呢?”
从此卫星便一直不断地发回信号和照片。
The satellite was directed into an area known as Manhattan
卫星被发射到一个叫曼哈顿的地区
(named after the great Venusian astronomer Prof. Manhattan,
based on last week's satellite landing ,”Prof. Zog said,
根据一周进行的卫星地球着陆,”佐格教授说,
that there is no life on Earth.”
地球上不存在生命现象。”
“How do you know this?”
For the first time Venusian scientists managed to land a satellite on the planet Earth,
那里的科学家首次成功地将一颗卫星送上了地球,
and it has been sending back signals as well as photographs ever since.
“何以见得呢?”
the science reporter of the Venus Evening Star asked.
大学英语精读第二册1-6单元课文原文
第一单元The Dinner PartyMona Gardner I first heard this tale in India, where it is told as if true — though any naturalist would know it couldn’t be. Later someone told me that the story appeared in a magazine shortly before the First World War. That magazine story, and the person who wrote it, I have never been able to track down. The country is India. A colonial official and his wife are giving a large dinner party. They are seated with their guests — officers and their wives, and a visiting American naturalist — in their spacious dining room, which has a bare marble floor, open rafters and wide glass doors opening onto a veranda.A spirited discussion springs up between a young girl who says that women have outgrown the jumping-on-a-chair-at-the-sight-of-a-mouse era and a major who says that they haven’t.“A woman’s reaction in any crisis,” the major says, “is to scream. And while a man may feel like it, he has that ounce more of control than a woman has. And that last ounce is what really counts.”The American does not join in the argument but watches the other guests. As he looks, he sees a strange expression come over the face of the hostess. She is staring straight ahead, her muscles contracting slightly. Shemotions to the native boy standing behind her chair and whispers something to him. The boy’s eyes widen: he quickly leaves the room.Of the guests, none except the American notices this or sees the boy place a bowl of milk on the veranda just outside the open doors.The American comes to with a start. In India, milk in a bowl means only one thing — bait for a snake. He realizes there must be a cobra in the room. He looks up at the rafters — the likeliest place — but they are bare. Three corners of the room are empty, and in the fourth the servants are waiting to serve the next course. There is only one place left — under the table.His first impulse is to jump back and warn the others, but he knows the commotion would frighten the cobra into striking. He speaks quickly, the tone of his voice so commanding that it silences everyone.“I want to know just what control everyone at this table has. I will count three hundred — that’s five minutes — and not one of you is to move a muscle. Those who move will forfeit 50 rupees. Ready!”The 20 people sit like stone images while he counts. He is saying “... two hundred and eighty…” when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the cobra emerge and make for the bowl of milk. Screams ring out as he jumps to slam the veranda doors safely shut.“You were right, Major!” the host exclaims. “A man has just shown us an example of perfect self-control.”“Just a minute,” the American says, turning to his hostess. “Mrs. Wynnes,how did you know that cobra was in the room?”A faint smile lights up the woman’s face as she replies: “Because it was crawling across my foot.”第二单元Lessons from JeffersonBruce Bliven 1 Thomas Jefferson, the third President of the United States, may be less famous than George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, but most people remember at least one fact about him: he wrote the Declaration of Independence.2 Although Jefferson lived more than 200 years ago, there is much that we can learn from him today. Many of his ideas are especially interesting to modern youth. Here are some of the things he said and wrote:3 Go and see. Jefferson believed that a free man obtains knowledge from many sources besides books and that personal investigation is important. When still a young man, he was appointed to a committee to find out whether the South Branch of the James River was deep enough to be used by large boats. While the other members of the committee sat in the state capitol and studied papers on the subject, Jefferson got into a canoe and made on-the-spot observations.4 You can learn from everyone. By birth and by education Jeffersonbelonged to the highest social class. Yet, in a day when few noble persons ever spoke to those of humble origins except to give an order, Jefferson went out of his way to talk with gardeners, servants, and waiters. Jefferson once said to the French nobleman, Lafayette, “You must go into the people’s homes as I have done, look into their cooking pots and eat their bread. If you will only do this, you may find out why people are dissatisfied and understand the revolution that is threatening France.”5 Judge for yourself. Jefferson refused to accept other people’s opinions without careful thought. “Neither believe nor reject anything,” he wrote to his nephew, “because any other person has rejected or believed it. Heaven has given you a mind for judging truth and error. Use it.”6 Jefferson felt that the people “may safely be trusted to hear everything true and false, and to form a correct judgment. Were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers or newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter.”7 Do what you believe is right. In a free country there will always be conflicting ideas, and this is a source of strength. It is conflict and not unquestioning agreement that keeps freedom alive. Though Jefferson was for many years the object of strong criticism, he never answered his critics. He expressed his philosophy in letters to a friend, “There are two sides to every question. If you take one side with decision and act on it with effect, those who take the other side will of course resent your actions.”8 Trust the future; trust the young. Jefferson felt that the present should never be chained to customs which have lost their usefulness. “No society,” he said, “can make a perpetual constitution, or even a perpetual law. The earth belongs to the living generation.” He did not fear new ideas, nor did he fear the future.” How much pain,” he remarked, “has been caused by evils which have never happened! I expect the best, not the worst.I steer my ship with hope, leaving fear behind.”9 Jefferson’s courage and idealism were based on knowledge. He probably knew more than any other man of his age. He was an expert in agriculture, archeology, and medicine. He practiced crop rotation and soil conservation a century before these became standard practice, and he invented a plow superior to any other in existence. He influenced architecture throughout America, and he was constantly producing devices for making the tasks of ordinary life easier to perform.10 Of all Jefferson’s many talents, one is central. He was above all a good and tireless writer. His complete works, now being published for the first time, will fill more than fifty volumes. His talent as an author was soon discovered, and when the time came to write the Declaration of Independence at Philadelphia in 1776, the task of writing it was his. Millions have thrilled to his words: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal ...”11 When Jefferson died on July 4, 1826, the 50th anniversary ofAmerican independence, he left his countrymen a rich legacy of ideas and examples. American education owes a great debt to Thomas Jefferson, who believed that only a nation of educated people could remain free.第三单元My First JobRobert BestWhile I was waiting to enter university, I saw advertised in a local newspaper a teaching post at a school in a suburb of London about ten miles from where I lived. Being very short of money and wanting to do something useful, I applied, fearing as I did so, that without a degree and with no experience in teaching my chances of getting the job were slim. However, three days later a letter arrived, asking me to go to Croydon for an interview. It proved an awkward journey: a train to Croydon station;a ten-minute bus ride and then a walk of at least a quarter of a mile. As a result I arrived on a hot June morning too depressed to feel nervous.The school was a red brick house with big windows. The front garden was a gravel square; four evergreen shrubs stood at each corner, where they struggled to survive the dust and fumes from a busy main road.It was clearly the headmaster himself that opened the door. He was short and fat. He had a sandy-coloured moustache, a wrinkled forehead and hardly any hair.He looked at me with an air of surprised disapproval, as a colonel might look at a private whose bootlaces were undone. ‘Ah yes,’ he grunted. ‘You’d better come inside.’ The narrow, sunless hall smelled unpleasantly of stale cabbage; the walls were dirty with ink marks; it was all silent. His study, judging by the crumbs on the carpet, was also his dining-room. ‘You’d better sit down,’ he said, and proceeded to ask me a number of questions: what subjects I had taken in my General School Certificate; how old I was; what games I played; then fixing me suddenly with his bloodshot eyes, he asked me whether I thought games were a vital part of a boy’s education. I mumbled something about not attaching too much importance to them. He grunted. I had said the wrong thing. The headmaster and I obviously had very little in common.The school, he said, consisted of one class of twenty-four boys, ranging in age from seven to thirteen. I should have to teach all subjects except art, which he taught himself. Football and cricket were played in the Park, a mile away on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons.The teaching set-up filled me with fear. I should have to divide the class into three groups and teach them in turn at three different levels; and I was dismayed at the thought of teaching algebra and geometry — two subjects at which I had been completely incompetent at school. Worse perhaps was the idea of Saturday afternoon cricket; most of my friends would be enjoying leisure at that time.I said shyly, ‘What would my salary be?’ ‘Twelve pounds a week plus lunch.’ Before I could protest, he got to his feet. ‘Now’, he said, ‘you’d better meet my wife. She’s the one who really runs this school.’This was the last straw. I was very young: the prospect of working under a woman constituted the ultimate indignity.第四单元The Professor and the Yo-YoThomas Lee Bucky with Joseph P.Blank My father was a close friend of Albert Einstein. As a shy young visitor to Einstein’s home, I was made to feel at ease when Einstein said, “I have something to show you.” He went to his desk and returned with a Yo-Yo. He tried to show me how it worked but he couldn’t make it roll back up the string. When my turn came, I displayed my few tricks and pointed out to him that the incorrectly looped string had thrown the toy off balance. Einstein nodded, properly impressed by my skill and knowledge. Later, I bought a new Yo-Yo and mailed it to the Professor as a Christmas present, and received a poem of thanks.As a boy and then as an adult, I never lost my wonder at the personality that was Einstein. He was the only person I knew who had come to terms with himself and the world around him. He knew what he wanted and he wanted only this: to understand within his limits as a human being thenature of the universe and the logic and simplicity in its functioning. He knew there were answers beyond his intellectual reach. But this did not frustrate him. He was content to go as far as he could.In the 23 years of our friendship, I never saw him show jealousy, vanity, bitterness, anger, resentment, or personal ambition. He seemed immune to these emotions. He was beyond any pretension. Although he corresponded with many of the world’s most important people, his stationery carried only a watermark — W — for Woolworth’s.To do his work he needed only a pencil and a pad of paper. Material things meant nothing to him. I never knew him to carry money because he never had any use for it. He believed in simplicity, so much so that he used only a safety razor and water to shave. When I suggested that he try shaving cream, he said, “The razor and water do the job.”“But Professor, why don’t you try the cream just once?” I argued. “It makes shaving smoother and less painful.”He shrugged. Finally, I presented him with a tube of shaving cream. The next morning when he came down to breakfast, he was beaming with the pleasure of a new, great discovery. “You know, that cream really works,” he announced. “It doesn’t pull the beard. It feels wonderful.” Thereafter, he used the shaving cream every morning until the tube was empty. Then he reverted to using plain water.Einstein was purely and exclusively a theorist. He didn’t have theslightest interest in the practical application of his ideas and theories. His E=mc2 is probably the most famous equation in history — yet Einstein wouldn’t walk down the street to see a reactor create atomic energy. He won the Nobel Prize for his Photoelectric Theory, a series of equations that he considered relatively minor in importance, but he didn’t have any curiosity in observing how his theory made TV possible.My brother once gave the Professor a toy, a bird that balanced on the edge of a bowl of water and repeatedly dunked its head in the water. Einstein watched it in delight, trying to deduce the operating principle. But he couldn’t.The next morning he announced, “I had thought about that bird for a long time before I went to bed and it must work this way ...” He began a long explanation. Then he stopped, realizing a flaw in his reasoning. “No, I guess that’s not it,” he said. He pursued various theories for several days until I suggested we take the toy apart to see how it did work. His quick expression of disapproval told me he did not agree with this practical approach. He never did work out the solution.Another puzzle that Einstein could never understand was his own fame. He had developed theories that were profound and capable of exciting relatively few scientists. Yet his name was a household word across the civilized world. “I’ve had good ideas, and so have other men,” he once said. “But it’s been my good fortune that my ideas have been accepted.” He wasbewildered by his fame: people wanted to meet him; strangers stared at him on the street; scientists, statesmen, students, and housewives wrote him letters. He never could understand why he received this attention, why he was singled out as something special.第五单元The Villain in the AtmosphereIsaac Asimov1 The villain in the atmosphere is carbon dioxide.2 It does not seem to be a villain. It is not very poisonous and it is present in the atmosphere in so small a quantity — only 0.034 percent — that it does us no harm.3 What’s more, that small quantity of carbon dioxide in the air is essential to life. Plants absorb carbon dioxide and convert it into their own tissue, which serve as the basic food supply for all of animal life (including human beings, of course). In the process they liberate oxygen, which is also necessary for all animal life.4 But here is what this apparently harmless and certainly essential gas is doing to us:5 The sea level is rising very slowly from year to year. In all likelihood, it will continue to rise and do so at a greater rate in the course of the next hundred years. Where there are low-lying coastal areas (where a largefraction of the world’s population lives) the water will advance steadily, forcing people to retreat inland.6 Eventually the sea will reach two hundred feet above its present level, and will be splashing against the windows along the twentieth floors of Manhattan’s skyscrapers. Florida will disappear beneath the waves, as will much of the British Isles, the crowded Nile valley, and the low-lying areas of China, India, and Russia.7 Not only will many cities be drowned, but much of the most productive farming areas of the world will be lost. As the food supply drops, starvation will be widespread and the structure of society may collapse under the pressure.8 And all because of carbon dioxide. But how does that come about? What is the connection?9 It begins with sunlight, to which the various gases of the atmosphere (including carbon dioxide) are transparent. Sunlight, striking the top of the atmosphere, travels right through miles of it to warm the Earth’s surface. At night, the Earth cools by radiating heat into space in the form of infrared radiation.10 However, the atmosphere is not quite as transparent to infrared radiation as it is to visible light. Carbon dioxide in particular tends to block such radiation. Less heat is lost at night, for that reason, than would be lost if carbon dioxide were not present in the atmosphere. Without the smallquantity of that gas present, the Earth would be distinctly cooler, perhaps uncomfortably cool.11 We can be thankful that carbon dioxide is keeping us comfortably warm, but the concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere is going up steadily and that is where the villainy comes in.In 1958, carbon dioxide made up only 0.0316 percent of the atmosphere. Each year since, the concentration has crept upward and it now stands at 0.0340 percent. It is estimated that by 2020 the concentration will be nearly twice what it is now.12 This means that in the coming decades, Earth’s average temperature will go up slightly. As a result, the polar ice caps will begin to melt.13 Something like 90 percent of the ice in the world is to be found in the huge Antarctica ice cap, and another 8 percent is in the Greenland ice cap. If these ice caps begin to melt, the sea level will rise, with the result that I have already described.14 But why is the concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere steadily rising?15 To blame are two factors. First of all, in the last few centuries, first coal, then oil and natural gas, have been burned for energy at a rapidly increasing rate. The carbon contained in these fuels, which has been safely buried underground for many millions of years, is now being burned to carbon dioxide and poured into the atmosphere at a rate of many tons perday.16 To make matters worse, Earth’s forests have been disappearing, slowly at first, but in the last couple of centuries quite rapidly. Right now it is disappearing at the rate of sixty-four acres per minute.17 Whatever replaces the forest — grassland or farms or scrub — produces plants that do not consume carbon dioxide at an equal rate. Thus, not only is more carbon dioxide being added to the atmosphere through burning of fuel, but as the forests disappear, less carbon dioxide is being removed from the atmosphere by plants.18 But this gives us a new perspective on the matter. The carbon dioxide is not rising by itself. It is people who are burning the coal, oil, and gas. It is people who are cutting down the forests. It is people, then, who are the villains.19 What is to be done?20 First, we must save our forests, and even replant them.21 Second, we must have new sources of fuel that do not involve the production of carbon dioxide. Nuclear power is one of them, but if that is thought too dangerous, there are other alternatives. There is the energy of waves, tides, wind, and the Earth’s interior heat. Most of all, there is the direct use of solar energy.22 All of this will take time, work, and money, to be true, but nations spend more time, work, and money in order to support competing militarymachines that can only destroy us all. Should we object to spending less time, work, and money in order to save us all?第六单元The Making of a SurgeonDr. Nolen 1 How does a doctor recognize the point in time when he is finally a “surgeon”? As my year as chief resident drew to a close I asked myself this question on more than one occasion.2 The answer, I concluded, was self-confidence. When you can say to yourself, “There is no surgical patient I cannot treat competently, treat just as well as or better than any other surgeon” — then, and not until then, you are indeed a surgeon. I was nearing that point.3 Take, for example, the emergency situations that we encountered almost every night. The first few months of the year I had dreaded the ringing of the telephone. I knew it meant another critical decision to be made. Often, after I had told Walt or Larry what to do in a particular situation, I’d have trouble getting back to sleep. I’d review all the facts of the case and, not infrequently, wonder if I hadn’t made a poor decision. More than once at two or three in the morning, after lying awake for an hour, I’d get out of bed, dress and drive to the hospital to see the patientmyself. It was the only way I could find the peace of mind I needed to relax.4 Now, in the last month of my residency, sleeping was no longer a problem. There were still situations in which I couldn’t be certain my decision had been the right one, but I had learned to accept this as a constant problem for a surgeon, one that could never be completely resolved — and I could live with it. So, once I had made a considered decision, I no longer dwelt on it. Reviewing it wasn’t going to help and I knew that with my knowledge and experience, any decision I’d made was bound to be a sound one. It was a nice feeling.5 In the operating room I was equally confident. I knew I had the knowledge, the skill, the experience to handle any surgical situation I’d ever encounter in practice. There were no more butterflies in my stomach when I opened up an abdomen or a chest. I knew that even if the case was one in which it was impossible to anticipate the problem in advance, I could handle whatever I found. I’d sweated6 Nor was I afraid of making mistakes. I knew that when I was out in practice I would inevitably err at one time or another and operate on someone who didn’t need surgery or sit on someone who did. Five years earlier — even one year earlier — I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I had had to take sole responsibility for a mistake in judgment. Now I could. I still dreaded errors — would do my best to avoid them — but I knew they were part of a surgeon’s life. I could accept this fact withcalmness because I knew that if I wasn’t able to avoid a mistake, chances were that no other surgeon could have, either.7 This all sounds conceited and I guess it is — but a surgeon needs conceit. He needs it to encourage him in trying moments when he’s bothered by the doubts and uncertainties that are part of the practice of medicine. He has to feel that he’s as good as and probably better than any other surgeon in the world. Call it conceit — call it self-confidence; whatever it was, I had it.。
大学英语精读第三版第二册中英文课文翻译
1.The dinner partyI first heard this tale in India, where is told as if true -- though any naturalist would know it couldn't be. Later someone told me that the story appeared in a magazine shortly before the First World War. That magazine story, and the person who wrote it, I have never been able to track down.The country is India. A colonial official and his wife are giving a large dinner party. They are seated with their guests -- officers and their wives, and a visiting American naturalist -- in their spacious dining room, which has a bare marble floor, open rafters and wide glass doors opening onto a veranda.A spirited discussion springs up between a young girl who says that women have outgrown the jumping-on-a-chair-at-the-sight-of-a-mouse era and a major who says that they haven't."A woman's reaction in any crisis," the major says, "is to scream. And while a man may feel like it, he has that ounce more of control than a woman has. And that last ounce is what really counts."The American does not join in the argument but watches the other guests. As he looks, he sees a strange expression come over the face of the hostess. She is staring straight ahead, her muscles contracting slightly. She motions to the native boy standing behind her chair and whispers something to him. The boy's eyes widen: he quickly leaves the room.Of the guests, none except the American notices this or sees the boy place a bowl of milk on the veranda just outside the open doors.The American comes to with a start. In India, milk in a bowl means only one thing -- bait for a snake. He realizes there must be a cobra in the room. He looks up at the rafters -- the likeliest place -- but they are bare. Three corners of the room are empty, and in the fourth the servants are waiting to serve the next course. There is only one place left -- under the table.His first impulse is to jump back and warn the others, but he knows the commotion would frighten the cobra into striking. He speaks quickly, the tone of his voice so commanding that it silences everyone."I want to know just what control everyone at this table has. I will count three hundred -- that's five minutes -- and not one of you is to move a muscle. Those who move will forfeit 50 rupees. Ready?"The 20 people sit like stone images while he counts. He is saying "...two hundred and eighty..." when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the cobra emerge and make for the bowl of milk. Screams ring out as he jumps to slam the veranda doors safely shut."You were right, Major!" the host exclaims. "A man has just shown us an example of perfect self-control.""Just a minute," the American says, turning to his hostess. "Mrs. Wynnes, how did you know that cobra was in the room?"A faint smile lights up the woman's face as she replies: "Because it was crawling across my foot."UNIT 2-1一场关于男人是否比女人勇敢的激烈的讨论以一个意外的方式。
现代大学英语精读2第二版课文翻译
UNIT1 又一学年——为了什么?约翰·切阿迪1.给你们讲讲我刚当老师时候的一次失败经历吧。
那是1940年的1月,我从研究生院毕业不久,在堪萨斯城大学开始第一学期的教学工作。
一个瘦高,长得就像顶上有毛的豆角架一样的男学生走进我的课堂,坐下,双臂交叉放在胸前,看着我,好像在说:“好吧,教我一些东西。
”两周后我们开始学习《哈姆雷特》。
三周后他双手叉腰走进我的办公室,“看,”他说,“我来这是学习当药剂师的。
我为什么必须读这个?”由于没有随身带着自己的书,他就指着桌子上放着的我的那本。
2.虽然我是位新老师,我本来可以告诉这个家伙许多事情的。
我本来可以指出,他考入的不是制药技工培训学校而是大学,而且他在毕业时,应该得到一张写有理学学士而不是“合格的磨药工”的学位证书。
这证书会证明他专修过药剂学,但它还能进一步证明他曾经接触过一些人类发展史上产生的思想。
换句话说,他上的不是技能培训学校而是大学,在大学里学生既要得到培训又要接受教育。
3.我本来可以把这些话都告诉他,但是很明显,他不会待很长时间,说了也没用。
4.但是,由于我当时很年轻而且责任感也很强,我尽量把我的意思这样表达出来:“在你的余生中,”我说,“平均每天24小时左右。
谈恋爱时,你会觉得它有点短;失恋时,你会觉得它有点长。
但平均每天24小时会保持不变。
在其余的大约8个小时的时间里,你会处于睡眠状态。
5.“然后在每个工作日8个小时左右的时间里,我希望你会忙于一些有用的事情。
假设你毕业于一所药科大学——或工程大学,法学院,或者其他什么大学——在那8个小时时间里,你将用到你的专业技能。
作为一个药剂师,你要确保氯化物没有和阿斯匹林混在一起;作为一个工程师,你要确保一切都在你的掌控之中;作为一个律师,你要保证你的当事人没有因为你的无能而被处以电刑。
这些都是有用的工作,它们涉及到的技能每个人都必须尊重,而且它们都能给你带来基本的满足。
无论你还干些什么,这些技能都很可能是你养家糊口的本领。
大学英语精读第二册课文翻译
大学英语精读第二册课文翻译1.The dinner partyI first heard this tale in India, where is told as if true -- though any naturalist would know it couldn't be. Later someone told me that the story appeared in a magazine shortly before the First World War. That magazine story, and the person who wrote it, I have never been able to track down.The country is India. A colonial official and his wife are giving a large dinner party. They are seated with their guests -- officers and their wives, and a visiting American naturalist -- in their spacious dining room, which has a bare marble floor, open rafters and wide glass doors opening onto a veranda.A spirited discussion springs up between a young girl who says that women have outgrown the jumping-on-a-chair-at-the-sight-of-a-mouse era and a major who says that they haven't."A woman's reaction in any crisis," the major says, "is to scream. And while a man may feel like it, he has that ounce more of controlthan a woman has. And that last ounce is what really counts."The American does not join in the argument but watches the other guests. As he looks, he sees a strange expression come over the face of the hostess. She is staring straight ahead, her muscles contracting slightly. She motions to the native boy standing behind her chair and whispers something to him. The boy's eyes widen: he quickly leaves the room.Of the guests, none except the American notices this or sees the boy place a bowl of milk on the veranda just outside the open doors.The American comes to with a start. In India, milk in a bowl means only one thing -- bait for a snake. He realizes there must be a cobra in the room. He looks up at the rafters -- the likeliest place -- but they are bare. Three corners of the room are empty, and in the fourth the servants are waiting to serve the next course. There is only one place left -- under the table.His first impulse is to jump back and warnthe others, but he knows the commotion would frighten the cobra into striking. He speaks quickly, the tone of his voice so commanding that it silences everyone."I want to know just what control everyone at this table has. I will count three hundred -- that's five minutes -- and not one of you is to move a muscle. Those who move will forfeit 50 rupees. Ready?"The 20 people sit like stone images while he counts. He is saying "...two hundred and eighty..." when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the cobra emerge and make for the bowl of milk. Screams ring out as he jumps to slam the veranda doors safely shut."You were right, Major!" the host exclaims. "A man has just shown us an example of perfect self-control.""Just a minute," the American says, turning to his hostess. "Mrs. Wynnes, how did you know that cobra was in the room?"A faint smile lights up the woman's face as shereplies: "Because it was crawling across my foot."UNIT 2-1一场关于男人是否比女人勇敢的激烈的讨论以一个意外的方式。
现代大学英语精读2课文
Unit1Another School Year — What ForLet me tell you one of the earliest disasters in my career as a teacher. It was January of 1940 and I was fresh out of graduate school starting my first semester at the University of Kansas City. Part of the student body was a beanpole with hair on top who came into my class, sat down, folded his arms, and looked at me as if to say "All right, teach me something." Two weeks later we started Hamlet. Three weeks later he came into my office with his hands on his hips. "Look," he said, "I came here to be a pharmacist. Why do I have to read this stuff" And not having a book of his own to point to, he pointed to mine which was lying on the desk.New as I was to the faculty, I could have told this specimen a number of things. I could have pointed out that he had enrolled, not in a drugstore-mechanics school, but in a college and that at the end of his course meant to reach for a scroll that read Bachelor of Science. It would not read: Qualified Pill-Grinding Technician. It would certify that he had specialized in pharmacy, but it would further certify that he had been exposed to some of the ideas mankind has generated within its history. That is to say, he had not entered a technical training schoolbut a university and in universities students enroll for both training and education.I could have told him all this, but it was fairly obvious he wasn't going to be around long enough for it to matter. Nevertheless, I was young and I had a high sense of duty and I tried to put it this way: "For the rest of your life," I said, "your days are going to average out to about twenty-four hours. They will be a little shorter when you are in love, and a little longer when you are out of love, but the average will tend to hold. For eight of these hours, more or less, you will be asleep.""Then for about eight hours of each working day you will, I hope, be usefully employed. Assume you have gone through pharmacy school —or engineering, or law school, or whatever —during those eight hours you will be using your professional skills. You will see to it that the cyanide stays out of the aspirin, that the bull doesn't jump the fence, or that your client doesn't go to the electric chair as a result of your incompetence. These are all useful pursuits. They involve skills every man must respect, and they can all bring you basic satisfactions. Along with everything else, they will probably be what puts food on your table, supports your wife, and rearsyour children. They will be your income, and may it always suffice.""But having finished the day's work, what do you do with those other eight hours Let's say you go home to your family. What sort of family are you raising Will the children ever be exposed to a reasonably penetrating idea at home Will you be presiding over a family that maintains some contact with the great democratic intellect Will there be a book in the house Will there be a painting a reasonably sensitive man can look at without shuddering Will the kids ever get to hear Bach" That is about what I said, but this particular pest was not interested. "Look," he said, "you professors raise your kids your way; I'll take care of my own. Me, I'm out to make money." "I hope you make a lot of it," I told him, "because you're going to be badly stuck for something to do when you're not signing checks."Fourteen years later I am still teaching, and I am here to tell you that the business of the college is not only to train you, but to put you in touch with what the best human minds have thought. If you have no time for Shakespeare, for a basic look at philosophy, for the continuity of the fine arts, for that lesson of man's development we call history — then you haveno business being in college. You are on your way to being that new species of mechanized savage, the push-button Neanderthal. Our colleges inevitably graduate a number of such life forms, but it cannot be said that they went to college; rather the college went through them — without making contact.No one gets to be a human being unaided. There is not time enough in a single lifetime to invent for oneself everything one needs to know in order to be a civilized human.Assume, for example, that you want to be a physicist. You pass the great stone halls of, say, M. I. T., and there cut into the stone are the names of the scientists. The chances are that few, if any, of you will leave your names to be cut into those stones. Yet any of you who managed to stay awake through part of a high school course in physics, knows more about physics than did many of those great scholars of the past. You know more because they left you what they knew, because you can start from what the past learned for you.And as this is true of the techniques of mankind, so it is true of mankind's spiritual resources. Most of these resources, both technical and spiritual, are stored in books. Books are man's peculiar accomplishment. When you have read a book, you have added to your human experience. Read Homer and your mindincludes a piece of Homer's mind. Through books you can acquire at least fragments of the mind and experience of Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare —the list is endless. For a great book is necessarily a gift; it offers you a life you have not the time to live yourself, and it takes you into a world you have not the time to travel in literal time. A civilized mind is, in essence, one that contains many such lives and many such worlds. If you are too much in a hurry, or too arrogantly proud of your own limitations, to accept as a gift to your humanity some pieces of the minds of Aristotle, or Chaucer, or Einstein, you are neither a developed human nor a useful citizen of a democracy.I think it was La Rochefoucauld who said that most people would never fall in love if they hadn't read about it. He might have said that no one would ever manage to become human if they hadn't read about it.I speak, I'm sure, for the faculty of the liberal arts college and for the faculties of the specialized schools as well, when I say that a university has no real existence and no real purpose except as it succeeds in putting you in touch, both as specialists and as humans, with those human minds your human mind needs to include. The faculty, by its very existence, saysimplicitly: "We have been aided by many people, and by many books, in our attempt to make ourselves some sort of storehouse of human experience. We are here to make available to you, as best we can, that expertise."Unit2Maheegun My BrotherThe year I found Maheegun, spring was late in coming. That day, I was spearing fish with my grandfather when I heard the faint crying and found the shivering wolf cub.As I bent down, he moved weakly toward me. I picked him up and put him inside my jacket. Little Maheegun gained strength after I got the first few drops of warm milk in him. He wiggled and soon he was full and warm.My grandfather finally agreed to let me keep him.That year, which was my 14th, was the happiest of my life. Not that we didn't have our troubles. Maheegun was the most mischievous wolf cub ever. He was curious too. Like looking into Grandma's sewing basket — which he upset, scattering thread and buttons all over the floor. At such times, she would chase him out with a broom and Maheegun would poke his head around the corner, waiting for things to quiet down.That summer Maheegun and I became hunting partners. We hunted the grasshoppers that leaped about like little rockets. And in the fall, after the first snow our games took us to the nearest meadows in search of field mice. By then, Maheegun was half grown. Gone was the puppy-wool coat. In its place was a handsome black mantle.The winter months that came soon after were the happiest I could remember. They belonged only to Maheegun and myself. Often we would make a fire in the bushes. Maheegun would lay his head between his front paws, with his eyes on me as I told him stories. It all served to fog my mind with pleasure so that I forgot my Grandpa's repeated warnings, and one night left Maheegun unchained. The following morning in sailed Mrs. Yesno, wild with anger, who demanded Maheegun be shot because he had killed her rooster. The next morning, my grandpa announced that we were going to take Maheegun to the north shack.By the time we reached the lake where the trapper's shack stood, Maheegun seemed to have become restless. Often he would sit with his nose to the sky, turning his head this way and that as if to check the wind.The warmth of the stove soon brought sleep to me. But something caused me to wake up with a start. I sat up, and in themoon-flooded cabin was my grandfather standing beside me. "Come and see, son," whispered my grandfather.Outside the moon was full and the world looked all white with snow. He pointed to a rock that stood high at the edge of the lake. On the top was the clear outline of a great wolf sitting still, ears pointed, alert, listening."Maheegun," whispered my grandfather.Slowly the wolf raised his muzzle. "Oooo-oo-wow-wowoo-oooo!" The whole white world thrilled to that wild cry. Then after a while, from the distance came a softer call in reply. Maheegun stirred, with the deep rumble of pleasure in his throat. He slipped down the rock and headed out across the ice."He's gone," I said."Yes, he's gone to that young she-wolf." My grandfather slowly filled his pipe. "He will take her for life, hunt for her, protect her. This is the way the Creator planned life. No man can change it."I tried to tell myself it was all for the best, but it was hard to lose my brother.For the next two years I was as busy as a squirrel storing nuts for the winter. But once or twice when I heard wolf cries from distant hills, I would still wonder if Maheegun, in his battlefor life, found time to remember me.It was not long after that I found the answer.Easter came early that year and during the holidays I went to visit my cousins.My uncle was to bring me home in his truck. But he was detained by some urgent business. So I decided to come back home on my own.A mile down the road I slipped into my snowshoes and turned into the bush. The strong sunshine had dimmed. I had not gone far before big flakes of snow began drifting down.The snow thickened fast. I could not locate the tall pine that stood on the north slope of Little Mountain. I circled to my right and stumbled into a snow-filled creek bed. By then the snow had made a blanket of white darkness, but I knew only too well there should have been no creek there.I tried to travel west but only to hit the creek again. I knew I had gone in a great circle and I was lost.There was only one thing to do. Camp for the night and hope that by morning the storm would have blown itself out. I quickly made a bed of boughs and started a fire with the bark of an old dead birch. The first night I was comfortable enough. But when the first gray light came I realized that I was in deep trouble.The storm was even worse. Everything had been smothered by the fierce whiteness.The light of another day still saw no end to the storm. I began to get confused. I couldn't recall whether it had been storming for three or four days.Then came the clear dawn. A great white stillness had taken over and with it, biting cold. My supply of wood was almost gone. There must be more.Slashing off green branches with my knife, I cut my hand and blood spurted freely from my wound. It was some time before the bleeding stopped. I wrapped my hand with a piece of cloth I tore off from my shirt. After some time, my fingers grew cold and numb, so I took the bandage off and threw it away.How long I squatted over my dying fire I don't know. But then I saw the gray shadow between the trees. It was a timber wolf. He had followed the blood spots on the snow to the blood-soaked bandage."Yap... yap... yap... yoooo!" The howl seemed to freeze the world with fear.It was the food cry. He was calling, "Come, brothers, I have found meat." And I was the meat!Soon his hunting partner came to join him. Any time now, Ithought, their teeth would pierce my bones.Suddenly the world exploded in snarls. I was thrown against the branches of the shelter. But I felt no pain. And a great silence had come. Slowly I worked my way out of the snow and raised my head. There, about 50 feet away, crouched my two attackers with their tails between their legs. Then I heard a noise to my side and turned my head. There stood a giant black wolf. It was Maheegun, and he had driven off the others. "Maheegun... Maheegun...," I sobbed, as I moved through the snow toward him. "My brother, my brother," I said, giving him my hand. He reached out and licked at the dried blood.I got my little fire going again, and as I squatted by it, I started to cry. Maybe it was relief or weakness or both — I don't know. Maheegun whimpered too.Maheegun stayed with me through the long night, watching me with those big eyes. The cold and loss of blood were taking their toll.The sun was midway across the sky when I noticed how restless Maheegun had become. He would run away a few paces — head up, listening — then run back to me. Then I heard. It was dogs. It was the searching party! I put the last of my birch bark on the fire and fanned it into life.The sound of the dogs grew louder. Then the voices of men. Suddenly, as if by magic, the police dog team came up out of the creek bed, and a man came running toward my fire. It was my grandfather.The old hunter stopped suddenly when he saw the wolf. He raised his rifle. "Don't shoot!" I screamed and ran toward him, falling through the snow. "It's Maheegun. Don't shoot!"He lowered his rifle. Then I fell forward on my face, into the snow.I woke up in my bedroom. It was quite some time before my eyes came into focus enough to see my grandfather sitting by my bed. "You have slept three days," he said softly. "The doc says you will be all right in a week or two.""And Maheegun" I asked weakly."He should be fine. He is with his own kind."Unit3More Crime and Less PunishmentIf you are looking for an explanation of why we don't get tough with criminals, you need only look at the numbers. Each year almost a third of the households in America are victims of violence or theft. This amounts to more than 41 million crimes,many more than we are able to punish. There are also too many criminals. The best estimates suggest that 36 million to 40 million people (16 to 18 percent of the U. S. population) have arrest records for nontraffic offenses. We already have 2. 4 million people under some form of correctional supervision, 412, 000 of them locked away in a prison cell. We don't have room for any more!The painful fact is that the more crime there is the less we are able to punish it. This is why the certainty and severity of punishment must go down when the crime rate goes up. Countries like Saudi Arabia can afford to give out harsh punishments precisely because they have so little crime. But can we afford to cut off the hands of those who committed more than 35 million property crimes each year Can we send them to prison Can we execute more than 22,000 murderersWe need to think about the relationship between punishment and crime in a new way. A decade of careful research has failed to provide clear and convincing evidence that the threat of punishment reduces crime. We think that punishment deters crime, but it just might be the other way around. It just might be that crime deters punishment: that there is so much crime that it simply cannot be punished.This is the situation we find ourselves in today. Just as the decline in the number of high-school graduates has made it easier to gain admission to the college of one's choice, the gradual increase in the criminal population has made it more difficult to get into prison. While elite colleges and universities still have high standards of admissions, some of the most "exclusive" prisons now require about five prior serious crimes before an inmate is accepted into their correctional program. Our current crop of prisoners is an elite group, on the whole much more serious offenders than those who were once imprisoned in Alcatraz.These features show that it makes little sense to blame the police, judges or correctional personnel for being soft on criminals. There is not much else they can do. The police can't find most criminals and those they do find are difficult and costly to convict. Those convicted can't all be sent to prison. The society demands that we do everything we can against crime. The practical reality is that there is very little the police, courts or prisons can do about the crime problem. The criminal justice system must then become as powerless as a parent who has charge of hundreds of teenage children and who is nonetheless expected to answer the TV message: "It's 10 o'clock!Do you know where your children are"A few statistics from the Justice Department's recent "Report to the Nation on Crime and Justice" illustrate my point. Of every 100 serious crimes committed in America, only 33 are actually reported to the police. Of the 33 reported, about six lead to arrest. Of the six arrested, only three are prosecuted and convicted. The others are rejected or dismissed due to evidence or witness problems or are sent elsewhere for medical treatment instead of punishment. Of the three convicted, only one is sent to prison. The other two are allowed to live in their community under supervision. Of the select few sent to prison, more than half receive a maximum sentence of five years. The average inmate, however, leaves prison in about two years. Most prisoners gain early release not because parole boards are too easy on crime, but because it is much cheaper to supervise a criminal in the community. And, of course, prison officials must make room for the new prisoners sent almost daily from the courts.We could, of course, get tough with the people we already have in prison and keep them locked up for longer periods of time. Yet when measured against the lower crime rates this would probably produce, longer prison sentences are not worth thecost to state and local governments. Besides, those states that have tried to gain voters' approval for bonds to build new prisons often discover that the public is unwilling to pay for prison construction.And if it were willing to pay, long prison sentences may not be effective in reducing crime. In 1981, 124,000 convicts were released from prison. If we had kept them in jail for an additional year, how many crimes would have been prevented While it is not possible to know the true amount of crime committed by people released from prison in any given year, we do know the extent to which those under parole are jailed again for major crime convictions. This number is a surprisingly low 6 percent (after three years it rises to only 11 percent). Even if released prisoners commit an average of two crimes each, this would amount to only 15,000 crimes prevented: a drop in the bucket when measured against the 41 million crimes committed each year.More time spent in prison is also more expensive. The best estimates are that it costs an average of $13,000 to keep a person in prison for one year. If we had a place to keep the 124,000 released prisoners, it would have cost us $ billion to prevent 15,000 crimes. This works out to more than $100,000 percrime prevented. But there is more. With the average cost of prison construction running around $50,000 per bed, it would cost more than $6 billion to build the necessary cells. The first-year operating cost would be $150,000 per crime prevented, worth it if the victim were you or me, but much too expensive to be feasible as a national policy.Faced with the reality of the numbers, I will not be so foolish as to suggest a solution to the crime problem. My contribution to the public debate begins and ends with this simple observation: getting tough with criminals is not the answer.Unit4The Nightingale and the Rose "She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student, "but in all my garden there is no red rose."From her nest in the oak tree the Nightingale heard him and she looked out through the leaves and wondered."No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose my life is made wretched.""Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, and now I see him."The Prince gives a ball tomorrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be there. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely and my heart will break.""Here, indeed, is the true lover," said the Nightingale. Surely love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds and opals."The musicians will play upon their stringed instruments," said the young Student, "and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her," and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept. "Why is he weeping" asked a green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air."Why, indeed" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam."Why, indeed" whispered a Daisy to his neighbor, in a soft, lowvoice."He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale. "For a red rose" they cried, "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright. But the Nightingale understood the Student's sorrow, and sat silent in the Oak-tree.Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.In the centre of the grass-plot stood a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."But the Tree shook its head."My roses are white," it answered, "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial."Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head."My roses are yellow," it answered, "as yellow as the hair ofthe mermaiden, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms In the meadow. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window."Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head."My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.""One red rose is all that I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it" "There is a way," answered the Tree, "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.""Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid." "If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.""Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and life is very dear to all. Yet love is better than life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man"So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.The young Student was still lying on the grass, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. "Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy, you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover."The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him. But the Oak-tree understood and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale. "Sing me one last song," he whispered. "I shall feel lonely when you are gone."So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.When she had finished her song, the Student got up."She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away. "Thatcannot be denied. But has she got feeling I am afraid not. In fact, like most artists, she is all style without any sincerity." And he went to his room, and lay down on his bed, and after a time, he fell asleep.And when the Moon shone in the heaven, the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song.But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses thelips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart so the rose's heart remained white.And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.And the marvelous rose became crimson. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as ruby was the heart.But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The Red Rose heard it, and trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals in the cold morning air."Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now." But the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.。
现代大学英语精读2课文
Unit1Another School Year — What ForLet me tell you one of the earliest disasters in my career as a teacher. It was January of 1940 and I was fresh out of graduate school starting my first semester at the University of Kansas City. Part of the student body was a beanpole with hair on top who came into my class, sat down, folded his arms, and looked at me as if to say "All right, teach me something." Two weeks later we started Hamlet. Three weeks later he came into my office with his hands on his hips. "Look," he said, "I came here to be a pharmacist. Why do I have to read this stuff" And not having a book of his own to point to, he pointed to mine which was lying on the desk. New as I was to the faculty, I could have told this specimen a number of things. I could have pointed out that he had enrolled, not in a drugstore-mechanics school, but in a college and that at the end of his course meant to reach for a scroll that read Bachelor of Science. It would not read: Qualified Pill-Grinding Technician. It would certify that he had specialized in pharmacy, but it would further certify that he had been exposed to some of the ideas mankind has generated within its history. That is to say, he had not entered a technical training school but a university and in universities students enroll for both training and education.I could have told him all this, but it was fairly obvious he wasn't going to be around long enough for it to matter.Nevertheless, I was young and I had a high sense of duty and I tried to put it this way: "For the rest of your life," I said, "your days are going to average out to about twenty-four hours. They will be a little shorter when you are in love, and a little longer when you are out of love, but the average will tend to hold. For eight of these hours, more or less, you will be asleep." "Then for about eight hours of each working day you will, I hope, be usefully employed. Assume you have gone through pharmacy school — or engineering, or law school, or whatever — during those eight hours you will be using your professional skills. You will see to it that the cyanide stays out of the aspirin, that the bull doesn't jump the fence, or that your client doesn't go to the electric chair as a result of your incompetence. These are all useful pursuits. They involve skills every man must respect, and they can all bring you basic satisfactions. Along with everything else, they will probably be what puts food on your table, supports your wife, and rears your children. They will be your income, and may it always suffice.""But having finished the day's work, what do you do with those other eight hours Let's say you go home to your family. What sort of family are you raising Will the children ever be exposed to a reasonably penetrating idea at home Will you be presiding over a family that maintains some contact with the great democratic intellect Will there be a book in the house Will there be a painting a reasonably sensitive man can look at without shuddering Will the kids ever get to hear Bach"That is about what I said, but this particular pest was not interested. "Look," he said, "you professors raise your kids your way; I'll take care of my own. Me, I'm out to make money.""I hope you make a lot of it," I told him, "because you're going to be badly stuck for something to do when you're not signing checks."Fourteen years later I am still teaching, and I am here to tell you that the business of the college is not only to train you, but to put you in touch with what the best human minds have thought. If you have no time for Shakespeare, for a basic look at philosophy, for the continuity of the fine arts, for that lesson of man's development we call history —then you have nobusiness being in college. You are on your way to being that new species of mechanized savage, the push-button Neanderthal. Our colleges inevitably graduate a number of such life forms, but it cannot be said that they went to college; rather the college went through them — without making contact.No one gets to be a human being unaided. There is not time enough in a single lifetime to invent for oneself everything one needs to know in order to be a civilized human.Assume, for example, that you want to be a physicist. You pass the great stone halls of, say, M. I. T., and there cut into the stone are the names of the scientists. The chances are that few, if any, of you will leave your names to be cut into those stones. Yet any of you who managed to stay awake through part of a high school course in physics, knows more about physics than did many of those great scholars of the past. You know more because they left you what they knew, because you can start from what the past learned for you.And as this is true of the techniques of mankind, so it is true of mankind's spiritual resources. Most of these resources, both technical and spiritual, are stored in books. Books are man's peculiar accomplishment. When you have read a book, you have added to your human experience. Read Homer and your mind includes a piece of Homer's mind. Through books you can acquire at least fragments of the mind and experience of Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare — the list is endless. For a great book is necessarily a gift; it offers you a life you have not the time to live yourself, and it takes you into a world you have not the time to travel in literal time. A civilized mind is, in essence, one that contains many such lives and many such worlds. If you are too much in a hurry, or too arrogantly proud of your own limitations, to accept as a gift to your humanity some pieces of the minds of Aristotle, or Chaucer, or Einstein, you are neither a developed human nor a useful citizen of a democracy.I think it was La Rochefoucauld who said that most people would never fall in love if they hadn't read about it. He might have said that no one would ever manage to become human if they hadn't read about it.I speak, I'm sure, for the faculty of the liberal arts college and for the faculties of the specialized schools as well, when I say that a university has no real existence and no real purpose except as it succeeds in putting you in touch, both as specialists and as humans, with those human minds your human mind needs to include. The faculty, by its very existence, says implicitly: "We have been aided by many people, and by many books, in our attempt to make ourselves some sort of storehouse of human experience. We are here to make available to you, as best we can, that expertise."Unit2Maheegun My BrotherThe year I found Maheegun, spring was late in coming. That day, I was spearing fish with my grandfather when I heard the faint crying and found the shivering wolf cub.As I bent down, he moved weakly toward me. I picked him up and put him inside my jacket. Little Maheegun gained strength after I got the first few drops of warm milk in him. He wiggled and soon he was full and warm.My grandfather finally agreed to let me keep him.That year, which was my 14th, was the happiest of my life.Not that we didn't have our troubles. Maheegun was the most mischievous wolf cub ever. Hewas curious too. Like looking into Grandma's sewing basket —which he upset, scattering thread and buttons all over the floor. At such times, she would chase him out with a broom and Maheegun would poke his head around the corner, waiting for things to quiet down.That summer Maheegun and I became hunting partners. We hunted the grasshoppers that leaped about like little rockets. And in the fall, after the first snow our games took us to the nearest meadows in search of field mice. By then, Maheegun was half grown. Gone was the puppy-wool coat. In its place was a handsome black mantle.The winter months that came soon after were the happiest I could remember. They belonged only to Maheegun and myself. Often we would make a fire in the bushes. Maheegun would lay his head between his front paws, with his eyes on me as I told him stories.It all served to fog my mind with pleasure so that I forgot my Grandpa's repeated warnings, and one night left Maheegun unchained. The following morning in sailed Mrs. Yesno, wild with anger, who demanded Maheegun be shot because he had killed her rooster. The next morning, my grandpa announced that we were going to take Maheegun to the north shack.By the time we reached the lake where the trapper's shack stood, Maheegun seemed to have become restless. Often he would sit with his nose to the sky, turning his head this way and that as if to check the wind.The warmth of the stove soon brought sleep to me. But something caused me to wake up with a start. I sat up, and in the moon-flooded cabin was my grandfather standing beside me. "Come and see, son," whispered my grandfather.Outside the moon was full and the world looked all white with snow. He pointed to a rock that stood high at the edge of the lake. On the top was the clear outline of a great wolf sitting still, ears pointed, alert, listening."Maheegun," whispered my grandfather.Slowly the wolf raised his muzzle. "Oooo-oo-wow-wowoo-oooo!"The whole white world thrilled to that wild cry. Then after a while, from the distance came a softer call in reply. Maheegun stirred, with the deep rumble of pleasure in his throat. He slipped down the rock and headed out across the ice."He's gone," I said."Yes, he's gone to that young she-wolf." My grandfather slowly filled his pipe. "He will take her for life, hunt for her, protect her. This is the way the Creator planned life. No man can change it."I tried to tell myself it was all for the best, but it was hard to lose my brother.For the next two years I was as busy as a squirrel storing nuts for the winter. But once or twice when I heard wolf cries from distant hills, I would still wonder if Maheegun, in his battle for life, found time to remember me.It was not long after that I found the answer.Easter came early that year and during the holidays I went to visit my cousins.My uncle was to bring me home in his truck. But he was detained by some urgent business. So I decided to come back home on my own.A mile down the road I slipped into my snowshoes and turned into the bush. The strong sunshine had dimmed. I had not gone far before big flakes of snow began drifting down.The snow thickened fast. I could not locate the tall pine that stood on the north slope of Little Mountain. I circled to my right and stumbled into a snow-filled creek bed. By then the snowhad made a blanket of white darkness, but I knew only too well there should have been no creek there.I tried to travel west but only to hit the creek again. I knew I had gone in a great circle and I was lost.There was only one thing to do. Camp for the night and hope that by morning the storm would have blown itself out. I quickly made a bed of boughs and started a fire with the bark of an old dead birch. The first night I was comfortable enough. But when the first gray light came I realized that I was in deep trouble. The storm was even worse. Everything had been smothered by the fierce whiteness.The light of another day still saw no end to the storm. I began to get confused. I couldn't recall whether it had been storming for three or four days.Then came the clear dawn. A great white stillness had taken over and with it, biting cold. My supply of wood was almost gone. There must be more.Slashing off green branches with my knife, I cut my hand and blood spurted freely from my wound. It was some time before the bleeding stopped. I wrapped my hand with a piece of cloth I tore off from my shirt. After some time, my fingers grew cold and numb, so I took the bandage off and threw it away.How long I squatted over my dying fire I don't know. But then I saw the gray shadow between the trees. It was a timber wolf. He had followed the blood spots on the snow to the blood-soaked bandage."Yap... yap... yap... yoooo!" The howl seemed to freeze the world with fear.It was the food cry. He was calling, "Come, brothers, I have found meat." And I was the meat! Soon his hunting partner came to join him. Any time now, I thought, their teeth would pierce my bones.Suddenly the world exploded in snarls. I was thrown against the branches of the shelter. But I felt no pain. And a great silence had come. Slowly I worked my way out of the snow and raised my head. There, about 50 feet away, crouched my two attackers with their tails between their legs. Then I heard a noise to my side and turned my head. There stood a giant black wolf. It was Maheegun, and he had driven off the others."Maheegun... Maheegun...," I sobbed, as I moved through the snow toward him. "My brother, my brother," I said, giving him my hand. He reached out and licked at the dried blood.I got my little fire going again, and as I squatted by it, I started to cry. Maybe it was relief or weakness or both — I don't know. Maheegun whimpered too.Maheegun stayed with me through the long night, watching me with those big eyes. The cold and loss of blood were taking their toll.The sun was midway across the sky when I noticed how restless Maheegun had become. He would run away a few paces — head up, listening — then run back to me. Then I heard. It was dogs. It was the searching party! I put the last of my birch bark on the fire and fanned it into life.The sound of the dogs grew louder. Then the voices of men. Suddenly, as if by magic, the police dog team came up out of the creek bed, and a man came running toward my fire. It was my grandfather.The old hunter stopped suddenly when he saw the wolf. He raised his rifle. "Don't shoot!" I screamed and ran toward him, falling through the snow. "It's Maheegun. Don't shoot!"He lowered his rifle. Then I fell forward on my face, into the snow.I woke up in my bedroom. It was quite some time before my eyes came into focus enough to see my grandfather sitting by my bed."You have slept three days," he said softly. "The doc says you will be all right in a week or two." "And Maheegun" I asked weakly."He should be fine. He is with his own kind."Unit3More Crime and Less PunishmentIf you are looking for an explanation of why we don't get tough with criminals, you need only look at the numbers. Each year almost a third of the households in America are victims of violence or theft. This amounts to more than 41 million crimes, many more than we are able to punish. There are also too many criminals. The best estimates suggest that 36 million to 40 million people (16 to 18 percent of the U. S. population) have arrest records for nontraffic offenses. We already have 2. 4 million people under some form of correctional supervision, 412, 000 of them locked away in a prison cell. We don't have room for any more!The painful fact is that the more crime there is the less we are able to punish it. This is why the certainty and severity of punishment must go down when the crime rate goes up. Countries like Saudi Arabia can afford to give out harsh punishments precisely because they have so little crime. But can we afford to cut off the hands of those who committed more than 35 million property crimes each year Can we send them to prison Can we execute more than 22,000 murderersWe need to think about the relationship between punishment and crime in a new way. A decade of careful research has failed to provide clear and convincing evidence that the threat of punishment reduces crime. We think that punishment deters crime, but it just might be the other way around. It just might be that crime deters punishment: that there is so much crime that it simply cannot be punished.This is the situation we find ourselves in today. Just as the decline in the number of high-school graduates has made it easier to gain admission to the college of one's choice, the gradual increase in the criminal population has made it more difficult to get into prison. While elite colleges and universities still have high standards of admissions, some of the most "exclusive" prisons now require about five prior serious crimes before an inmate is accepted into their correctional program. Our current crop of prisoners is an elite group, on the whole much more serious offenders than those who were once imprisoned in Alcatraz.These features show that it makes little sense to blame the police, judges or correctional personnel for being soft on criminals. There is not much else they can do. The police can't find most criminals and those they do find are difficult and costly to convict. Those convicted can't all be sent to prison. The society demands that we do everything we can against crime. The practical reality is that there is very little the police, courts or prisons can do about the crime problem. The criminal justice system must then become as powerless as a parent who has charge of hundreds of teenage children and who is nonetheless expected to answer the TV message: "It's 10 o'clock! Do you know where your children are"A few statistics from the Justice Department's recent "Report to the Nation on Crime and Justice" illustrate my point. Of every 100 serious crimes committed in America, only 33 areactually reported to the police. Of the 33 reported, about six lead to arrest. Of the six arrested, only three are prosecuted and convicted. The others are rejected or dismissed due to evidence or witness problems or are sent elsewhere for medical treatment instead of punishment. Of the three convicted, only one is sent to prison. The other two are allowed to live in their community under supervision. Of the select few sent to prison, more than half receive a maximum sentence of five years. The average inmate, however, leaves prison in about two years. Most prisoners gain early release not because parole boards are too easy on crime, but because it is much cheaper to supervise a criminal in the community. And, of course, prison officials must make room for the new prisoners sent almost daily from the courts.We could, of course, get tough with the people we already have in prison and keep them locked up for longer periods of time. Yet when measured against the lower crime rates this would probably produce, longer prison sentences are not worth the cost to state and local governments. Besides, those states that have tried to gain voters' approval for bonds to build new prisons often discover that the public is unwilling to pay for prison construction.And if it were willing to pay, long prison sentences may not be effective in reducing crime. In 1981, 124,000 convicts were released from prison. If we had kept them in jail for an additional year, how many crimes would have been prevented While it is not possible to know the true amount of crime committed by people released from prison in any given year, we do know the extent to which those under parole are jailed again for major crime convictions. This number is a surprisingly low 6 percent (after three years it rises to only 11 percent). Even if released prisoners commit an average of two crimes each, this would amount to only 15,000 crimes prevented: a drop in the bucket when measured against the 41 million crimes committed each year.More time spent in prison is also more expensive. The best estimates are that it costs an average of $13,000 to keep a person in prison for one year. If we had a place to keep the 124,000 released prisoners, it would have cost us $1.6 billion to prevent 15,000 crimes. This works out to more than $100,000 per crime prevented. But there is more. With the average cost of prison construction running around $50,000 per bed, it would cost more than $6 billion to build the necessary cells. The first-year operating cost would be $150,000 per crime prevented, worth it if the victim were you or me, but much too expensive to be feasible as a national policy.Faced with the reality of the numbers, I will not be so foolish as to suggest a solution to the crime problem. My contribution to the public debate begins and ends with this simple observation: getting tough with criminals is not the answer.Unit4The Nightingale and the Rose"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student, "but in all my garden there is no red rose."From her nest in the oak tree the Nightingale heard him and she looked out through the leaves and wondered."No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose my life is made wretched.""Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, and now I see him."The Prince gives a ball tomorrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be there. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely and my heart will break.""Here, indeed, is the true lover," said the Nightingale. Surely love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds and opals."The musicians will play upon their stringed instruments," said the young Student, "and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her," and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept."Why is he weeping" asked a green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air."Why, indeed" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam."Why, indeed" whispered a Daisy to his neighbor, in a soft, low voice."He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale."For a red rose" they cried, "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright. But the Nightingale understood the Student's sorrow, and sat silent in the Oak-tree.Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.In the centre of the grass-plot stood a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."But the Tree shook its head."My roses are white," it answered, "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial."Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head."My roses are yellow," it answered, "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms In the meadow. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head."My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.""One red rose is all that I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it""There is a way," answered the Tree, "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.""Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid.""If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stainit with your own heart's blood.You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.""Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and life is very dear to all. Yet love is better than life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man"So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.The young Student was still lying on the grass, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. "Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy, you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover."The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him. But the Oak-tree understood and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale. "Sing me one last song," he whispered. "I shall feel lonely when you are gone."So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar. When she had finished her song, the Student got up."She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away. "That cannot be denied. But has she got feeling I am afraid not. In fact, like most artists, she is all style without any sincerity." And he went to his room, and lay down on his bed, and after a time, he fell asleep.And when the Moon shone in the heaven, the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart so the rose's heart remained white.And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb. And the marvelous rose became crimson. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as ruby was the heart.But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and。
大学英语精读第三版第二册unit1~6课后作文范文标准答案
大学英语精读第三版第二册UNIT1-6课后作文范文UNIT1While visiting India, I was invited to dinner in the home of a colonial official. During the meal, a heated argument sprang up among some of the guests. The point at issue (argument) was whether a woman could face a crisis with the same perfect self-control as a man. Suddenly I saw the hostess stare straight ahead, her muscles contracting slightly. She silently motioned to a servant and he quickly placed a bowl of milk on the veranda. Since milk was commonly used as bait for snakes, I guessed there must be a cobra in the room. In a commanding tone I told everyone not to move a muscle. Shortly the snake emerged from under the table and made for the bowl of milk. I had thought that I was the one in perfect control, but then the hostess remarked that she had discovered the presence of the cobra when it crawled across her foot!UNIT2Jefferson lived more than 200 years ago but many of his ideas are still of value to us today. Here are some of the things he said and wrote. Go and see. Jefferson believed that books are not the only source of knowledge. Many other sources, such as on-the-spot investigation, are often of greater importance. You can learn from everyone. Jefferson was born of the highest social class, but he did not only consult people of noble birth but sought advice from people of humble origins. Judge for yourself. Jefferson held that since heaven has given each of us a mind, we should use it to judge truth and error instead of following the opinions of others blindly. Do what you believe is right. Jefferson argued that it is conflict not unquestioning agreement that keeps freedom alive. If you believe your idea is right, you must act on it with decision, regardless of resentment or criticism from your opponents. Trust the future, trust the young. Jefferson believed in change. He did not fear new ideas, nor did he fear the young. He said the earth belonged to the living generation and he looked to the future with courage and hope.UNIT3A young man, though eager to find a job, turned down a teaching post at a boys' school. During the interview he found the headmaster very unpleasant to talk with. In fact, he and the headmaster had very little in common. They disagreed sharply in their views on education, particularly on the importance of games in the education of young boys. Also, the young man found that he was expected to teach almost all subjects, including the two he hated – algebra and geometry. Worse still, he would be required to play cricket with his class on Saturday afternoons when his friends would all be enjoying themselves. He was still considering accepting the job even at the pitiful wage of twelve pounds a week, when he was told that he would be working under the headmaster's wife. In the eyes of the young man, nothing could be moreinsulting than having to take orders from a woman boss. He had to refuse the job.UNIT4The name of Albert Einstein is a household word across the civilized world. He helped mankind to understand the mysteries of the universe. But Einstein himself was a simple person without any pretension. For example, he did not use shaving cream. Instead he used only a razor and water to shave. When he worked, the only thing he needed was a pencil and some paper. When he corresponded with other people, he always used the most inexpensive stationery. It is also noteworthy that Einstein was only interested in theory. He did not care about the practical application of his ideas or the material wealth his ideas might create. Even though it was he who worked out the most famous equation in the world, E=m(c*c), he never visited one atomic reactor site to see how his theory was put into practice.UNIT5With increased economic activity all over the world, people burn more and more coal, oil and gas every day, pouring an ever-rising amount of carbon dioxide into the air. At the same time, due to the increase of population, more and more forests, which could absorb carbon dioxide, are turned into farming land, thus aggravating the greenhouse effect and causing the whole Earth to grow warmer and warmer. To stop this warming trend, every country must try to find alternative energy sources, such as solar and atomic power, and reduce the consumption of fossil fuels. At the same time, effective measures must be taken to protect whatever trees are left uncut in the world. Furthermore, new trees should be planted every year so that forests will cover more and more areas of our globe. As individuals, we can also contribute to the effort to stop global warming. In our homes, we can use energy-efficient appliances, or use solar or wind power, which don't emit carbon dioxide. We can use public transportation instead of driving a private car. We can even walk or bike to school or work. If we must drive, we can use a car that gets high mileage, or join a car pool when possible. With the joint effort of every country and every individual, we may hope to restore the concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere to its previous levels and prevent the disasters that threaten as a result of global weather change.UNIT6When does a physician come to know he or she is a competent surgeon? It is, according to Dr. Nolen, when that doctor has gained complete self-confidence. When he first began treating emergency cases, Dr. Nolen couldn't sleep at night because he kept worrying whether or not he had made the right decisions about his patients. But as he gained more experience, he gradually learned to accept the fact that a surgeon could not avoid an occasional mistake. This is the most difficult part of a surgeon'slife. But since he felt he was as good as and probably better than any other surgeon in the world, he was no longer afraid to open up a chest or abdomen. He was no longer bothered by self-doubt and uncertainty. And, at this point, he knew he already had what it took to be a great surgeon – complete self-confidence.。
CLOSE 1原文1~9单元大学英语精读第二册
Unit 1At a dinner party the guests and their hosts were involved in a heated discussion, or rather an argument concerning the question of whether women had as much self-control as men. As they argued, signs appeared to one of the guests that a cobra was present in the room, While his first impulse was to jump back, he knew that this would be a mistake; so he urged the other diners in a commanding tone to hold still without telling them why. Shortly, the cobra emerged on the veranda; and the man ran quickly to the door to slam it shut. It was soon discovered that the cobra had crawled across the foot of the hostess, who kept clam, not uttering a sound. Thus the conclusion of this crisis laid bare the fact that women have as much self-control as men.Unit 2Thomas Jefferson was not only a man of ideas, he was also a man of action. He believed that, rather than simply learn from reading, one should engage in personal investigations to gain knowledge from its source .He also believed that one could obtain valuable knowledge not only from expert people of higher classes, but also from people of humble origin. Jefferson felt that one must think for himself rather than simply seek agreement with others; and that it was wrong to go out of one's way to avoid disagreement or conflict. In spite of his critics, Jefferson constantly held to and acted on his own beliefs. Americans owe much to Thomas Jefferson for the legacy of ideas and examples he left behind.Unit 3While waiting to enter university,the young man saw a teaching job advertised in a local newspaper;and,though he thought his chances of getting the job were slim,he decided to apply. when he arrived at the school for his interview,he sensed in the headmaster an attitude of superiority and disapproval.The interview consisted of a number of questions regarding the young man's education and background.And then he was asked whether or not he attached importance to games as part of a boy's schooling.Obviously his answer was not entirely satisfactory to the headmaster.In spite of the fact that he and the headmaster had little in common in their views on education, the young man was told that he would be hired.However, at a salary of only twelve pounds per week and with the prospect of having to work under the headmaster's wife,the teaching post had become quite undesirable.Unit 4As a boy and as a adult,the author of this article felt awed and bewildered at the personality of his father's friend,the great scientist Albert Einstein.What impressed him most was Einstein's modest manner.Thought a profound thinker,Einstein never displayed vanity, jealousy, or personal ambition, and though his ideas were singled out as something special and he was awarded the Nobel Prize,he seemed to find his own fame a puzzle.It appeared that the great man was not capable of conceit or pretension;and for this reason,the author always felt at ease in his presence Unit 5It is apparent that the temperature of the earth is rising .If this trend is allowed to continue,many coastal cities will disappear beneath the ocean waves ,much farmland will be lost the sea and the resulting pressure on food supply may cause widespread starvation and lead to the collapse of the whole social structure.What's to be done ?There's no a alternative but to get the villain of all this,carbon dioxide.Carbon dioxide is not very poisonous,and in small quantities it does us no harm .Plants absorb it and convert it into their own tissue,which serve as the basic food supply for all of animallife ,including human beings.In the process they liberate oxygen,which ,again,is essential to all animal life .However carbon dioxide lets in visible sunlight during the day, but blocks infrared radiation at night .When its concentration in the atmosphere rises,the temperature on earth goes up,too.But carbon dioxide is not rising by itself .If we stop cutting down the forests and consume less coal and gas,or use fuel that does not produce carbon dioxide ,such as nuclear and solar energy,in all likelihood,we can restore its concentration to previous levels and save mankind from disaster. Unit 6Dr.Nolen believes that the most important time in a surgical career is the point at which the surgeon begins to feel confident in his ability to make sound decisions in each individual case.Many young doctors dwell on the possibility that they may have made a mistake ,especially in emergency situations.At such times, they sweat over patients ,wondering if they are competent enough for the job they are attempting to do.And they feel that they are bound to make a fatal(致命的) error as one time or another.When a surgeon learns to relax and approach these situations with confidence in his ability to handle them successfully,according to Dr.Nolen,he has taken the first step to maturity(成熟)Unit 7My friends and I used to sell illegal drugs on the stoop of a vacant house Shortly after a women moved in,she waged a battle against us repeatedly telling us to go away from her space.We grew a bit angry with her ,but then we thought that was her property after all and she had a good reason to take a stand .Finally we listened and drifted away from her block .After that,whenever we met, the women would warn us that if we continued to make fast money,we were bound to end up in a tragedy.To help prevent us from meeting with such a fate,she would prompt us to find a useful job and do something positive.What the women said had a great impact on some of us .Soon we took to calling her "Mom" and tried to do our bit for her .Indeed,her message got through to me.The other day,I ran into "Mom" in the supermarket.I told her I'd got a job and thanked her for all her fussing.Unit 8As more states require high school students to pass cometence exams before graduating,evidence suggests that cheating among students is also on the rise.Many educators are concerned about dishonest behavior among examinees,and have launched a number of campaigns to control cheating.In spite of their efforts,however,cheating seems to be increasingly contagious among students in both high schools and universities. Numerous arguments have been made about the cause of this widespread problem.Some experts believe it is linked to changes in American society as a whole since,unlike earlier times,modern America is largely a nation of strangers.Additionally,moral values are not taught or reinforced as they were in"the good old days."Unit 9Scientist and science-fiction writer Isaac Asimov explores the question of intelligence in this article.He begins with his recollection an aptitude test on which he had scored far above normal.This indicates that he was a highly intelligent individual;however,Asimov questions whether such scores are worthy of the attention they receive .To make his point,he gives the example of a garage mechanic who,though lacking in academic knowledge,has an ability far beyond Asimov's to determine causes of automotive problems and solve them.Indeed,in an areasuch as mechanics,Asimov admits that he could be considered quite dumb.Intelligence,therefore,is not absolute but relative.This has led Asimov to make an evaluation of such aptitude tests,whose worth ,it seems,should not be taken for granted。
大学英语精读第二册课文翻译
第一单元晚宴我最初听到这个故事是在印度,那儿的人们今天讲起它来仍好像确有其事似的----尽管任何一位博物学家都认为这不可能是真的。
后来有人告诉我,在第一次世界大战之前不久,一家杂志社曾刊登过这个故事。
但登在杂志上的那篇故事以及写故事的人,我却一直未能找到。
故事发生在印度。
某殖民地官员和他的夫人正举行盛大的晚宴。
筵席设在他们家宽敞的餐室里,室内大理石地板上没有铺地毯;屋顶明椽裸露;宽大的玻璃门外便是走廊。
跟他们一起就坐的客人有军官和他们的夫人,另外还有一位美国来访的博物学家。
席间,一位年轻的女士同一位少校展开了激烈的讨论。
年轻女士认为,妇女已经有所进步,不像以前那样一见到老鼠就吓得跳到椅子上;少校则不以为然。
他说:“一遇到危机情况,女人的反应便是尖叫。
而男人虽然也可能想叫,但比起女人来,自制力却略胜一筹。
这多出来的一点自制力就是真正起作用的东西。
”那个美国人没有参加这场争论,他只是注视着在座的其他客人。
在他这样观察时,他发现女主人脸上显出一种奇异的表情。
她两眼盯着正前方,脸部肌肉在微微抽搐,她向站在他座椅后面的印度男仆做了个手势,对他耳语了几句,男仆的眼睛睁得大大的,迅速的离开了餐室。
在座的客人中除了那位美国人谁也没注意到这一幕,也没有人看到那个男仆把一碗牛奶放在紧靠门边的走廊上。
那个美国人突然醒悟过来。
在印度,碗中的牛奶只有一个意思----引蛇的诱饵。
他意识到餐室里一定有条眼镜蛇。
他抬头看了看屋顶上的椽子----那是最可能有蛇藏身的地方。
----但那上面空荡荡的。
室内的三个角落里也是空的。
而在第四个角落里,仆人们正在等着上下一道。
这样,剩下就只有一个地方了----餐桌下面。
他首先想到的是往后一跳,并向其他人发出警告,但他知道这样会引起骚乱,致使眼镜蛇受惊咬人。
于是他很快讲了一通话,其语气非常的威严,竟使得所有的人都安静了下来。
“我想了解一下在座的诸位到底有多大的克制能力,我数三百下----也就是五分钟----你们谁都不许动一动,动者罚款五十卢比,准备好!”在他数数的过程中,那二十个人一个个都像石雕一样蹲坐在那儿,当他数到“……二百八十……”时,突然从眼角处看到那条眼镜蛇钻了出来,向那碗牛奶爬去。
大学英语精读2的课文翻译
第一章1.Their argument ended when she slammed the door and left without a word.她砰地关上门,一声不吭地走了,他们间那场争执就此结束2.The guest at the dinner party were slightly surprised at the commanding tone of the American.出席晚宴的客人对那个美国人威严的语气感到有点以外3.Johnny has outgrown the fear of staying at home alone.约翰尼已长大成熟,不再害怕独自呆在家里了4.While all the other passengers made for the exit, he alone remained in his seat as if unwilling to leave the plane.当全部乘客都向出口处走去时,他却独自留在座位上,好象不愿意离开这架飞机似的5.The letter is to be handed to Dr. Wilson himself.这封信必须交给威尔逊博士本人6.While she felt like joining in the argument, Nancy was too shy to open her mouth.南希虽然很想参加辩论,但腼腆得不敢开口7.What do you think is the likeliest time to find him at home?你觉得什么时候最有可能在家里找到他8.The hunter’s face (was) lit up with excitement as soon as he saw a fox emerge from among the bushes and run in thedirection of/ make for the trap he had laid.猎人一看见有只狐狸从树丛中出现并向他设下的陷阱方向跑去,脸上顿时闪出了兴奋的表情第二章1 .It was suggested at the meeting that a committee of 11 be appointed to make a new constitution.会上有人建议任命一个十一人委员会来制定新章程2.By making on-the-spot observation, the young scientist obtained first-hand information they needed in their research work.这些青年科学家通过现场观察,获得了研究工作所需的第一手资料3.It is very likely that he will be rejected by the army because of his bad eyesight.他很可能会因视力不好而被拒收入伍4.The committee members have conflicting opinions as to the best location of the new airport.委员会成员在新机场最佳选址这一问题上持有不同意见5.Henry’s works of art are superior in many respects to those of his brother’s.亨利创作的艺术品在许多方面比他兄弟的要好6.The steady rise in the quality of our products owes much to the improvement of our equipment 我们产品质量的稳步提高在很大程度上是由于设备有所改进7.Jim would have preferred to act on his own judgment, but he didn’t because as a soldier he had to obey the order.吉姆本想按照自己的判断行事,但他没有这样做,因为作为军人他得服从命令8. Were it left to me to decide whether we should have a city without bikes or one without cars. I should not hesitate amoment to prefer the latter.如果让我来决定我们是要一个没有自行车的城市呢,还是要一个没有汽车的城市,我会毫不犹豫地选择后者第三章1.She got a post as a cashier at a local bank. But she was soon fired because she proved to be incompetent.她在当地一家银行找到一份出纳员的工作,但不久因不称职而被解雇了。
大学英语精读2课文翻译全
Unit1 那个美国人没有参加这场争论,他只是注视着在座的其他客人。
在他这样观察时,他发现女主人的脸上显出一种奇异的表情。
她两眼盯着正前方,脸部肌肉在微微抽搐。
她向站在座椅后面的印度男仆做了个手势,对他耳语了几句。
男仆两眼睁得大大的,迅速地离开了餐室。
在座的客人中除了那位美国人以外谁也没注意到这一幕,也没有看到那个男仆把一碗牛奶放在紧靠门边的走廊上。
那个美国人突然醒悟过来。
在印度,碗中的牛奶只有一个意思——引蛇的诱饵。
他意识到餐室里一定有条眼镜蛇。
他抬头看了看屋顶上的椽子——那是最可能有蛇藏身的地方——但那上面空荡荡的。
室内的三个角落里也是空的,而在第四个角落里,仆人们正在等着上下一道菜。
这样,剩下的就只有一个地方了——餐桌下面。
Unit2杰斐逊的勇气和理想主义是以知识为基础的。
他懂得的东西也许比同时代的任何人都要多。
在农业、考古学和医学方面他都是专家。
在人们普遍采用农作物轮作和土壤保持的做法之前一个世纪,他就这样做了。
他还发明了一种比当时任何一种都好的耕犁。
他影响了整个美国的建筑业,他还不断地制造出各种机械装置,使日常生活中需要做的许多工作变得更加容易。
在杰斐逊的众多才能中,有一种是最主要的:他首先是一位优秀的、不知疲倦的作家。
目前正在第一次出版的他的全集将超过五十卷。
他作为一个作家的才能很快便被发现了,所以,当1776年在费城要撰写《独立宣言》的时刻来到时,这一任务便落在了他肩上。
数以百万计的人们读到他写的下列词句都激动不已:“我们认为这些真理是不言而喻的:一切人生来就是平等的……”Unit3在我等着进大学期间,我在一份地方报纸上看到一则广告,说是在离我住处大约十英里的伦敦某郊区,有所学校要招聘一名教师。
我因为手头很拮据,同时也想做点有用的事,于是便提出了申请,但在提出申请的同时我也担心,自己一无学位,二无教学经验,得到这份工作的可能性是微乎其微的。
然而,三天之后,却来了一封信,叫我到克罗伊登去面试。
大学英语精读2全部课文之欧阳家百创编
1.The dinner party欧阳家百(2021.03.07)I first heard this tale in India, where is told as if true -- though any naturalist would know it couldn't be. Later someone told me that the story appeared in a magazine shortly before the First World War. That magazine story, and the person who wrote it, I have never been able to track down.The country is India. A colonial official and his wife are giving a large dinner party. They are seated with their guests -- officers and their wives, and a visiting American naturalist -- in their spacious dining room, which has a bare marble floor, open rafters and wide glass doors opening onto a veranda.A spirited discussion springs up between a young girl who says that women have outgrown the jumping-on-a-chair-at-the-sight-of-a-mouse era and a major who says that they haven't."A woman's reaction in any crisis," the major says, "is to scream. And while a man may feel like it, he has that ounce more of control than a woman has. And that last ounce is what really counts."The American does not join in the argument but watches the other guests. As he looks, he sees a strange expression come over the face of the hostess. She is staring straight ahead, her muscles contracting slightly. She motions to the native boy standing behind her chair andwhispers something to him. The boy's eyes widen: he quickly leaves the room.Of the guests, none except the American notices this or sees the boy place a bowl of milk on the veranda just outside the open doors. The American comes to with a start. In India, milk in a bowl means only one thing -- bait for a snake. He realizes there must be a cobra in the room. He looks up at the rafters -- the likeliest place -- but they are bare. Three corners of the room are empty, and in the fourth the servants are waiting to serve the next course. There is only one place left -- under the table.His first impulse is to jump back and warn the others, but he knows the commotion would frighten the cobra into striking. He speaks quickly, the tone of his voice so commanding that it silences everyone. "I want to know just what control everyone at this table has. I will count three hundred -- that's five minutes -- and not one of you is to move a muscle. Those who move will forfeit 50 rupees. Ready?"The 20 people sit like stone images while he counts. He is saying "...two hundred and eighty..." when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the cobra emerge and make for the bowl of milk. Screams ring out as he jumps to slam the veranda doors safely shut."You were right, Major!" the host exclaims. "A man has just shown us an example of perfect self-control.""Just a minute," the American says, turning to his hostess. "Mrs.Wynnes, how did you know that cobra was in the room?"A faint smile lights up the woman's face as she replies: "Because it was crawling across my foot."提问者:纯美素然 - 三级最佳答案检举晚宴我最初听到这个故事是在印度,那儿的人们今天讲起它来仍好像确有其事似的——尽管任何一位博物学家都知道这不可能是真的。
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第一单元The Dinner PartyMona Gardner I first heard this tale in India, where it is told as if true — though any naturalist would know it couldn’t be. Later someone told me that the story appeared in a magazine shortly before the First World War. That magazine story, and the person who wrote it, I have never been able to track down. The country is India. A colonial official and his wife are giving a large dinner party. They are seated with their guests — officers and their wives, and a visiting American naturalist — in their spacious dining room, which has a bare marble floor, open rafters and wide glass doors opening onto a veranda.A spirited discussion springs up between a young girl who says that women have outgrown the jumping-on-a-chair-at-the-sight-of-a-mouse era and a major who says that they haven’t.“A woman’s reaction in any crisis,” the major says, “is to scream. And while a man may feel like it, he has that ounce more of control than a woman has. And that last ounce is what really counts.”The American does not join in the argument but watches the other guests. As he looks, he sees a strange expression come over the face of the hostess. She is staring straight ahead, her muscles contracting slightly. Shemotions to the native boy standing behind her chair and whispers something to him. The boy’s eyes widen: he quickly leaves the room.Of the guests, none except the American notices this or sees the boy place a bowl of milk on the veranda just outside the open doors.The American comes to with a start. In India, milk in a bowl means only one thing — bait for a snake. He realizes there must be a cobra in the room. He looks up at the rafters — the likeliest place — but they are bare. Three corners of the room are empty, and in the fourth the servants are waiting to serve the next course. There is only one place left — under the table.His first impulse is to jump back and warn the others, but he knows the commotion would frighten the cobra into striking. He speaks quickly, the tone of his voice so commanding that it silences everyone.“I want to know just what control everyone at this table has. I will count three hundred — that’s five minutes — and not one of you is to move a muscle. Those who move will forfeit 50 rupees. Ready!”The 20 people sit like stone images while he counts. He is saying “... two hundred and eighty…” when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the cobra emerge and make for the bowl of milk. Screams ring out as he jumps to slam the veranda doors safely shut.“You were right, Major!” the host exclaims. “A man has just shown us an example of perfect self-control.”“Just a minute,” the American says, turning to his hostess. “Mrs. Wynnes,how did you know that cobra was in the room?”A faint smile lights up the woman’s face as she replies: “Because it was crawling across my foot.”第二单元Lessons from JeffersonBruce Bliven 1 Thomas Jefferson, the third President of the United States, may be less famous than George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, but most people remember at least one fact about him: he wrote the Declaration of Independence.2 Although Jefferson lived more than 200 years ago, there is much that we can learn from him today. Many of his ideas are especially interesting to modern youth. Here are some of the things he said and wrote:3 Go and see. Jefferson believed that a free man obtains knowledge from many sources besides books and that personal investigation is important. When still a young man, he was appointed to a committee to find out whether the South Branch of the James River was deep enough to be used by large boats. While the other members of the committee sat in the state capitol and studied papers on the subject, Jefferson got into a canoe and made on-the-spot observations.4 You can learn from everyone. By birth and by education Jeffersonbelonged to the highest social class. Yet, in a day when few noble persons ever spoke to those of humble origins except to give an order, Jefferson went out of his way to talk with gardeners, servants, and waiters. Jefferson once said to the French nobleman, Lafayette, “You must go into the people’s homes as I have done, look into their cooking pots and eat their bread. If you will only do this, you may find out why people are dissatisfied and understand the revolution that is threatening France.”5 Judge for yourself. Jefferson refused to accept other people’s opinions without careful thought. “Neither believe nor reject anything,” he wrote to his nephew, “because any other person has rejected or believed it. Heaven has given you a mind for judging truth and error. Use it.”6 Jefferson felt that the people “may safely be trusted to hear everything true and false, and to form a correct judgment. Were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers or newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter.”7 Do what you believe is right. In a free country there will always be conflicting ideas, and this is a source of strength. It is conflict and not unquestioning agreement that keeps freedom alive. Though Jefferson was for many years the object of strong criticism, he never answered his critics. He expressed his philosophy in letters to a friend, “There are two sides to every question. If you take one side with decision and act on it with effect, those who take the other side will of course resent your actions.”8 Trust the future; trust the young. Jefferson felt that the present should never be chained to customs which have lost their usefulness. “No society,” he said, “can make a perpetual constitution, or even a perpetual law. The earth belongs to the living generation.” He did not fear new ideas, nor did he fear the future.” How much pain,” he remarked, “has been caused by evils which have never happened! I expect the best, not the worst.I steer my ship with hope, leaving fear behind.”9 Jefferson’s courage and idealism were based on knowledge. He probably knew more than any other man of his age. He was an expert in agriculture, archeology, and medicine. He practiced crop rotation and soil conservation a century before these became standard practice, and he invented a plow superior to any other in existence. He influenced architecture throughout America, and he was constantly producing devices for making the tasks of ordinary life easier to perform.10 Of all Jefferson’s many talents, one is central. He was above all a good and tireless writer. His complete works, now being published for the first time, will fill more than fifty volumes. His talent as an author was soon discovered, and when the time came to write the Declaration of Independence at Philadelphia in 1776, the task of writing it was his. Millions have thrilled to his words: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal ...”11 When Jefferson died on July 4, 1826, the 50th anniversary ofAmerican independence, he left his countrymen a rich legacy of ideas and examples. American education owes a great debt to Thomas Jefferson, who believed that only a nation of educated people could remain free.第三单元My First JobRobert BestWhile I was waiting to enter university, I saw advertised in a local newspaper a teaching post at a school in a suburb of London about ten miles from where I lived. Being very short of money and wanting to do something useful, I applied, fearing as I did so, that without a degree and with no experience in teaching my chances of getting the job were slim. However, three days later a letter arrived, asking me to go to Croydon for an interview. It proved an awkward journey: a train to Croydon station;a ten-minute bus ride and then a walk of at least a quarter of a mile. As a result I arrived on a hot June morning too depressed to feel nervous.The school was a red brick house with big windows. The front garden was a gravel square; four evergreen shrubs stood at each corner, where they struggled to survive the dust and fumes from a busy main road.It was clearly the headmaster himself that opened the door. He was short and fat. He had a sandy-coloured moustache, a wrinkled forehead and hardly any hair.He looked at me with an air of surprised disapproval, as a colonel might look at a private whose bootlaces were undone. ‘Ah yes,’ he grunted. ‘You’d better come inside.’ The narrow, sunless hall smelled unpleasantly of stale cabbage; the walls were dirty with ink marks; it was all silent. His study, judging by the crumbs on the carpet, was also his dining-room. ‘You’d better sit down,’ he said, and proceeded to ask me a number of questions: what subjects I had taken in my General School Certificate; how old I was; what games I played; then fixing me suddenly with his bloodshot eyes, he asked me whether I thought games were a vital part of a boy’s education. I mumbled something about not attaching too much importance to them. He grunted. I had said the wrong thing. The headmaster and I obviously had very little in common.The school, he said, consisted of one class of twenty-four boys, ranging in age from seven to thirteen. I should have to teach all subjects except art, which he taught himself. Football and cricket were played in the Park, a mile away on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons.The teaching set-up filled me with fear. I should have to divide the class into three groups and teach them in turn at three different levels; and I was dismayed at the thought of teaching algebra and geometry — two subjects at which I had been completely incompetent at school. Worse perhaps was the idea of Saturday afternoon cricket; most of my friends would be enjoying leisure at that time.I said shyly, ‘What would my salary be?’ ‘Twelve pounds a week plus lunch.’ Before I could protest, he got to his feet. ‘Now’, he said, ‘you’d better meet my wife. She’s the one who really runs this school.’This was the last straw. I was very young: the prospect of working under a woman constituted the ultimate indignity.第四单元The Professor and the Yo-YoThomas Lee Bucky with Joseph P.Blank My father was a close friend of Albert Einstein. As a shy young visitor to Einstein’s home, I was made to feel at ease when Einstein said, “I have something to show you.” He went to his desk and returned with a Yo-Yo. He tried to show me how it worked but he couldn’t make it roll back up the string. When my turn came, I displayed my few tricks and pointed out to him that the incorrectly looped string had thrown the toy off balance. Einstein nodded, properly impressed by my skill and knowledge. Later, I bought a new Yo-Yo and mailed it to the Professor as a Christmas present, and received a poem of thanks.As a boy and then as an adult, I never lost my wonder at the personality that was Einstein. He was the only person I knew who had come to terms with himself and the world around him. He knew what he wanted and he wanted only this: to understand within his limits as a human being thenature of the universe and the logic and simplicity in its functioning. He knew there were answers beyond his intellectual reach. But this did not frustrate him. He was content to go as far as he could.In the 23 years of our friendship, I never saw him show jealousy, vanity, bitterness, anger, resentment, or personal ambition. He seemed immune to these emotions. He was beyond any pretension. Although he corresponded with many of the world’s most important people, his stationery carried only a watermark — W — for Woolworth’s.To do his work he needed only a pencil and a pad of paper. Material things meant nothing to him. I never knew him to carry money because he never had any use for it. He believed in simplicity, so much so that he used only a safety razor and water to shave. When I suggested that he try shaving cream, he said, “The razor and water do the job.”“But Professor, why don’t you try the cream just once?” I argued. “It makes shaving smoother and less painful.”He shrugged. Finally, I presented him with a tube of shaving cream. The next morning when he came down to breakfast, he was beaming with the pleasure of a new, great discovery. “You know, that cream really works,” he announced. “It doesn’t pull the beard. It feels wonderful.” Thereafter, he used the shaving cream every morning until the tube was empty. Then he reverted to using plain water.Einstein was purely and exclusively a theorist. He didn’t have theslightest interest in the practical application of his ideas and theories. His E=mc2 is probably the most famous equation in history — yet Einstein wouldn’t walk down the street to see a reactor create atomic energy. He won the Nobel Prize for his Photoelectric Theory, a series of equations that he considered relatively minor in importance, but he didn’t have any curiosity in observing how his theory made TV possible.My brother once gave the Professor a toy, a bird that balanced on the edge of a bowl of water and repeatedly dunked its head in the water. Einstein watched it in delight, trying to deduce the operating principle. But he couldn’t.The next morning he announced, “I had thought about that bird for a long time before I went to bed and it must work this way ...” He began a long explanation. Then he stopped, realizing a flaw in his reasoning. “No, I guess that’s not it,” he said. He pursued various theories for several days until I suggested we take the toy apart to see how it did work. His quick expression of disapproval told me he did not agree with this practical approach. He never did work out the solution.Another puzzle that Einstein could never understand was his own fame. He had developed theories that were profound and capable of exciting relatively few scientists. Yet his name was a household word across the civilized world. “I’ve had good ideas, and so have other men,” he once said. “But it’s been my good fortune that my ideas have been accepted.” He wasbewildered by his fame: people wanted to meet him; strangers stared at him on the street; scientists, statesmen, students, and housewives wrote him letters. He never could understand why he received this attention, why he was singled out as something special.第五单元The Villain in the AtmosphereIsaac Asimov1 The villain in the atmosphere is carbon dioxide.2 It does not seem to be a villain. It is not very poisonous and it is present in the atmosphere in so small a quantity — only 0.034 percent — that it does us no harm.3 What’s more, that small quantity of carbon dioxide in the air is essential to life. Plants absorb carbon dioxide and convert it into their own tissue, which serve as the basic food supply for all of animal life (including human beings, of course). In the process they liberate oxygen, which is also necessary for all animal life.4 But here is what this apparently harmless and certainly essential gas is doing to us:5 The sea level is rising very slowly from year to year. In all likelihood, it will continue to rise and do so at a greater rate in the course of the next hundred years. Where there are low-lying coastal areas (where a largefraction of the world’s population lives) the water will advance steadily, forcing people to retreat inland.6 Eventually the sea will reach two hundred feet above its present level, and will be splashing against the windows along the twentieth floors of Manhattan’s skyscrapers. Florida will disappear beneath the waves, as will much of the British Isles, the crowded Nile valley, and the low-lying areas of China, India, and Russia.7 Not only will many cities be drowned, but much of the most productive farming areas of the world will be lost. As the food supply drops, starvation will be widespread and the structure of society may collapse under the pressure.8 And all because of carbon dioxide. But how does that come about? What is the connection?9 It begins with sunlight, to which the various gases of the atmosphere (including carbon dioxide) are transparent. Sunlight, striking the top of the atmosphere, travels right through miles of it to warm the Earth’s surface. At night, the Earth cools by radiating heat into space in the form of infrared radiation.10 However, the atmosphere is not quite as transparent to infrared radiation as it is to visible light. Carbon dioxide in particular tends to block such radiation. Less heat is lost at night, for that reason, than would be lost if carbon dioxide were not present in the atmosphere. Without the smallquantity of that gas present, the Earth would be distinctly cooler, perhaps uncomfortably cool.11 We can be thankful that carbon dioxide is keeping us comfortably warm, but the concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere is going up steadily and that is where the villainy comes in.In 1958, carbon dioxide made up only 0.0316 percent of the atmosphere. Each year since, the concentration has crept upward and it now stands at 0.0340 percent. It is estimated that by 2020 the concentration will be nearly twice what it is now.12 This means that in the coming decades, Earth’s average temperature will go up slightly. As a result, the polar ice caps will begin to melt.13 Something like 90 percent of the ice in the world is to be found in the huge Antarctica ice cap, and another 8 percent is in the Greenland ice cap. If these ice caps begin to melt, the sea level will rise, with the result that I have already described.14 But why is the concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere steadily rising?15 To blame are two factors. First of all, in the last few centuries, first coal, then oil and natural gas, have been burned for energy at a rapidly increasing rate. The carbon contained in these fuels, which has been safely buried underground for many millions of years, is now being burned to carbon dioxide and poured into the atmosphere at a rate of many tons perday.16 To make matters worse, Earth’s forests have been disappearing, slowly at first, but in the last couple of centuries quite rapidly. Right now it is disappearing at the rate of sixty-four acres per minute.17 Whatever replaces the forest — grassland or farms or scrub — produces plants that do not consume carbon dioxide at an equal rate. Thus, not only is more carbon dioxide being added to the atmosphere through burning of fuel, but as the forests disappear, less carbon dioxide is being removed from the atmosphere by plants.18 But this gives us a new perspective on the matter. The carbon dioxide is not rising by itself. It is people who are burning the coal, oil, and gas. It is people who are cutting down the forests. It is people, then, who are the villains.19 What is to be done?20 First, we must save our forests, and even replant them.21 Second, we must have new sources of fuel that do not involve the production of carbon dioxide. Nuclear power is one of them, but if that is thought too dangerous, there are other alternatives. There is the energy of waves, tides, wind, and the Earth’s interior heat. Most of all, there is the direct use of solar energy.22 All of this will take time, work, and money, to be true, but nations spend more time, work, and money in order to support competing militarymachines that can only destroy us all. Should we object to spending less time, work, and money in order to save us all?第六单元The Making of a SurgeonDr. Nolen 1 How does a doctor recognize the point in time when he is finally a “surgeon”? As my year as chief resident drew to a close I asked myself this question on more than one occasion.2 The answer, I concluded, was self-confidence. When you can say to yourself, “There is no surgical patient I cannot treat competently, treat just as well as or better than any other surgeon” — then, and not until then, you are indeed a surgeon. I was nearing that point.3 Take, for example, the emergency situations that we encountered almost every night. The first few months of the year I had dreaded the ringing of the telephone. I knew it meant another critical decision to be made. Often, after I had told Walt or Larry what to do in a particular situation, I’d have trouble getting back to sleep. I’d review all the facts of the case and, not infrequently, wonder if I hadn’t made a poor decision. More than once at two or three in the morning, after lying awake for an hour, I’d get out of bed, dress and drive to the hospital to see the patientmyself. It was the only way I could find the peace of mind I needed to relax.4 Now, in the last month of my residency, sleeping was no longer a problem. There were still situations in which I couldn’t be certain my decision had been the right one, but I had learned to accept this as a constant problem for a surgeon, one that could never be completely resolved — and I could live with it. So, once I had made a considered decision, I no longer dwelt on it. Reviewing it wasn’t going to help and I knew that with my knowledge and experience, any decision I’d made was bound to be a sound one. It was a nice feeling.5 In the operating room I was equally confident. I knew I had the knowledge, the skill, the experience to handle any surgical situation I’d ever encounter in practice. There were no more butterflies in my stomach when I opened up an abdomen or a chest. I knew that even if the case was one in which it was impossible to anticipate the problem in advance, I could handle whatever I found. I’d sweated6 Nor was I afraid of making mistakes. I knew that when I was out in practice I would inevitably err at one time or another and operate on someone who didn’t need surgery or sit on someone who did. Five years earlier — even one year earlier — I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I had had to take sole responsibility for a mistake in judgment. Now I could. I still dreaded errors — would do my best to avoid them — but I knew they were part of a surgeon’s life. I could accept this fact withcalmness because I knew that if I wasn’t able to avoid a mistake, chances were that no other surgeon could have, either.7 This all sounds conceited and I guess it is — but a surgeon needs conceit. He needs it to encourage him in trying moments when he’s bothered by the doubts and uncertainties that are part of the practice of medicine. He has to feel that he’s as good as and probably better than any other surgeon in the world. Call it conceit — call it self-confidence; whatever it was, I had it.。