小熊de爱
摘抄包括日常意义上的摘抄与教学意义上的摘抄。根据是否满足基本要求,摘抄的价值有正面与负面之分。摘抄与习作的关系主要体现在摘抄提供的知识、素材、语言材料积累以及篇章写法熟识等方面对习作的价值。我精心收集了超经典英语美文，供大家欣赏学习!
Watch the world go by
I was sitting outside my new home yesterday (we just moved last week, and we love the new place), watching the world go by.
There were people in cars, in a hurry to get to their next appointment. There were birds flying by, insects just as busy as the people in cars, plants and weeds thriving in the humid(潮湿的) Guam climate.
Inside the house, my children were also busy, as ever, making a mess of the house (which my wife and I would soon clean up), getting into things, their natural curiosity overpowering our previous pleas for them not to play with lotion(洗液，洗涤剂) or take things apart.
The sky was slightly overcast and there was a cool breeze, quite strong and pleasant actually.
It's not often that most of us just sit quietly, and allow the world to pass us by.
Why not?
What is so important that it can't wait until later? What email must be answered right this moment? Do we really need to read all those articles online, all those messages from others, all those newspapers and magazines? Do we need to have the television and radio and Internet on all the time?
Is life passing us by as we keep our minds super-busy? Are we missing out on the beautiful world around us as we constantly think about the future - what we need to do, our anxieties about what might happen - and the past - what we did wrong, what someone else did to us, what we said, what should have happened?
When was the last time you just sat, and observed? Why not do it today?
生命中的片段
When he told me he was leaving I felt like a vase which has just smashed. There were pieces of me all over the tidy, tan(棕褐色) tiles. He kept talking, telling me why he was leaving, explaining it was for the best, I could do better, it was his fault and not mine. I had heard it before many times and yet somehow was still not immune; perhaps one did not become immune to such felony(重罪).
He left and I tried to get on with my life. I filled the kettle and put it on to boil, I took out my old red mug and filled it with coffee watching as each coffee granule(颗粒) slipped in to the bone china. That was what my life had been like, endless omissions of coffee granules, somehow never managing to make that cup of coffee.
Somehow when the kettle piped its finishing warning I pretended not to hear it. That's what Mike's leaving had been like, sudden and with an awful finality. I would rather just wallow in uncertainty than have things finished. I laughed at myself. Imagine getting all philosophical and sentimental about a mug of coffee. I must be getting old.
And yet it was a young woman who stared back at me from the mirror. A young woman full of promise and hope, a young woman with bright eyes and full lips just waiting to take on the world. I never loved Mike anyway. Besides there are more important things. More important than love, I insist to myself firmly. The lid goes back on the coffee just like closure on the whole Mike experience.
He doesn't haunt my dreams as I feared that night. Instead I am flying far across fields and woods, looking down on those below me. Suddenly I fall to the ground and it is only when I wake up that I realize I was shot by a hunter, brought down by the burden of not the bullet but the soul of the man who shot it. I realize later, with some degree of understanding, that Mike was the hunter holding me down and I am the bird that longs to fly. The next night my dream is similar to the previous nights, but without the hunter. I fly free until I meet another bird who flies with me in perfect harmony. I realize with some relief that there is a bird out there for me, there is another person, not necessarily a lover perhaps just a friend, but there is someone out there who is my soul mate. I think about being a broken vase again and realize that I have glued myself back together, what Mike has is merely a little part of my time in earth, a little understanding of my physical being. He has only, a little piece of me.
谁能拒绝12次微笑呢?
A passenger told an air hostess that he needed a cup of water to take his medicine when the plane just took off. She told him that she would bring him the water in ten minutes.
Thirty minutes later, when the passenger's ring for service sounded, the air hostess flew in a flurry. She was kept so busy that she forgot to deliver him the water. As a result, the passenger was held up to take his medicine. She hurried over to him with a cup of water, but he refused it.
In the following hours on the flight, each time the stewardess passed be the passenger she would ask him with a smile whether he needed help or not. But the passenger never paid heed to(注意) her.
When he was going to get off the plane, the passenger asked the stewardess to hand him the passengers' booklet. She was very sad. She knew that he would write down sharp words, but with a smile she handed it to him.
Off the plane, she opened the booklet, and cracked a smile(展颜微笑), for the passenger put it, "On the flight, you asked me whether I need help or not for twelve times in all. How can I refuse your twelve sincere smiles?"
That's right! Who can refuse your twelve sincere smiles from a person?
笨丫头19868
优美的文字于细微处传达出美感，并浸润着人们的心灵。通过英语美文,不仅能够感受语言之美,领悟语言之用，还能产生学习语言的兴趣。度过一段美好的时光，即感悟生活，触动心灵。下面是我为大家带来英语美文佳作欣赏，希望大家喜欢!
英语美文佳作欣赏：我所知道的爱
I know what love is. I'm not dumb. I've seen enough movies and I read books. Becky, my sister, says I don't have a clue. She says if I'm a lesbian, it's okay; she'll still love me. She says that in some states, like Virginia or something, lesbians can get married so I don't have to get all depressed about it. But I'm not depressed and I'm not a lesbian. I think boobs are stupid. They get in the way and they're heavy. I used to be able to run cross-country. Now I can't even jump rope. Not that I would, that's kids stuff.
Even though I haven't Done It or Seen One, I still would know love if I saw it. Love is like a platypus. I've never seen a platypus in real life, but in 6th grade I did a report on one and if I ran into one on the street and it looked at me with its great sausage-patty eyes I bet I'd say "Hey! That's a platypus." And I'd be right too.
People at school don't think I'm a girl. I mean, everyone knows I'm a girl, I mean, duh, but they don't think of me as a girl. Now Becky...everyone thinks of her as a girl. Even Mr. Naperelski, you can tell he's thinking of her as a girl. She's been Doing It for like two years now and she's had like a million boyfriends, but that doesn't mean she knows what love is. If you ask me, she's even more confused than I am. She thinks love happens when you wear short skirts and tops that show how your boobs rise...but that's not love. That's just high school guys wanting to get in your pants. And as soon as they get in your pants, they want to get into someone else's pants. It's like they're in the playoffs or something. Each girl is like one step closer to the big trophy. I don't know what the big trophy is and they probably don't either, that's the whole point. See, Becky, she acts all happy and all, and it's always Oh, Ted this and Bryan that, but just under her eyes, if you look really close, if you look deep past her purple eye shadow and heavy mascara, you see a little cloud of black. And that's not love. That's not at all what love is.
This girl in my class, well, she got pregnant. I know this now FOR A FACT but hardly anyone else does. I saw her baby. He's really cute too. Lots of curly black hair and eyes so big and wide he looks like he understands everything that's going on in the world, even the really crazy stuff. But when she was pregnant, no one knew about it, and I mean no one, not even her parents. See, she always wore really baggy clothes and she carried this huge straw bag in front of her stomach. Now, maybe that sounds unlikely that no one would notice her belly swelling like a balloon being filled with air, but no one did. She always kept to herself; she could just fade into the background (if you know what I mean), and she'd hug that bag to her like it was the only thing in her life. Maybe at the time it was. So she got bigger and bigger and came to school everyday. Then she was gone. No one noticed really, and I hate to say it, but neither did I. I saw her like a month ago. I ran into her at the Goodwill where I go to buy funky clothes and she was there buying stuff for her baby. It was sorta sad. I mean, I could have nice clothes if I wanted to look like I stepped out of a Gap ad, but her baby, well, those stained t-shirts and mismatched socks were the best he was gonna get. "Hey _____!" I said. I won't tell you her name because I promised I wouldn't tell anyone that I saw her there. "Is that your little boy?" I asked her. I could tell she was real taken aback, but maybe she was a little relieved too that I didn't avoid her or give her crap. And we talked. She said she missed school and all and her parents flipped when they came to get her at the hospital but the baby was the best thing that had ever happened to her. When she talked about him, her hands would touch his curly hair and twirl it and she'd lean in every now and then and just smell him and smile like he was a pumpkin pie or something.
英语美文佳作欣赏：母亲的手
Night after night, she came to tuck me in, even long after my childhood years. Following her longstanding custom, she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way, then kiss my forehead.
I don't remember when it first started annoying me — her hands pushing my hair that way. But it did annoy me, for they felt work-worn and rough against my young skin. Finally, one night, I shouted out at her, "Don't do that anymore —your hands are too rough!" She didn't say anything in reply. But never again did my mother close out my day with that familiar expression of her love.
Time after time, with the passing years, my thoughts returned to that night. By then I missed my mother's hands, missed her goodnight kiss on my forehead. Sometimes the incident seemed very close, sometimes far away. But always it lurked, in the back of my mind.
Well, the years have passed, and I'm not a little girl anymore. Mom is in her mid-seventies, and those hands I once thought to be so rough are still doing things for me and my family. She's been our doctor, reaching into a medicine cabinet for the remedy to calm a young girl's stomach or soothe the boy's scraped knee. She cooks the best fried chicken in the world... gets stains out of blue jeans like I never could...
Now, my own children are grown and gone. Mom no longer has Dad, and on special occasions, I find myself drawn next door to spend the night with her. So it was late on Thanksgiving Eve, as I slept in the bedroom of my youth, a familiar hand hesitantly run across my face to brush the hair from my forehead. Then a kiss, ever so gently, touched my brow.In my memory, for the thousandth time, I recalled the night my young voice complained, "Don't do that anymore — your hands are too rough!" Catching Mom's hand in hand, I blurted out how sorry I was for that night. I thought she'd remember, as I did. But Mom didn't know what I was talking about. She had forgotten — and forgiven — long ago.
