小L快跑
Teapot
Once upon a time, there was a proud teapot. It was proud of its porcelain, its long mouth and its big handle. There's something in front and behind it!
There's a spout in front and a handle behind. It's always talking about these things.
But it doesn't talk about its cover. The lid was broken long ago and nailed later;
so it has a shortcoming, and people don't like to talk about their own shortcomings - of course, other people talk about it.
Cups, butter cans and sugar bowls - the whole set of tea utensils - all remember the weaknesses of the teapot lid.
It's more time to talk about it than about the perfect handle and the beautiful spout. The teapot knows this.
"I know them!" It said to itself, "I also know my shortcomings, and I admit them. This is enough to show my modesty and simplicity.
We all have shortcomings; but we also have advantages.
The cup has a handle and the sugar bowl has a lid. I have both, and there's one thing they don't have. I have a spout; it makes me queen on the tea table.
Sugar bowls and butter cans were appointed as sweet servants, and I was the appointee, the master of all.
I spread happiness among thirsty people. Inside my body, Chinese tea leaves emit fragrance in that tasteless boiling water.
This is what the teapot said in its fearless youth. It stood on the tea table with a table cloth, and a very white hand uncovered its lid.
But this very white and tender hand is very clumsy.
The teapot fell down, the spout of the teapot broke, the handle broke, and the lid of the teapot need not be talked about any more, because much has been said about him.
The teapot lay unconscious on the ground; the boiling water flowed all over the place. It was a serious blow to it, and the worst thing was that everyone laughed at it.
People just laughed at it, not at the clumsy hand.
"I will never forget this experience!" The teapot later inspected his lifelong career. "People call me a sick man and put me in a corner, and one day they give me to a woman who begs for leftovers.
I've fallen into poverty; I don't say a word inside or outside. But just then, my life began to improve. It's a blessing in disguise. I've got earth in my body;
for a teapot, it's totally equivalent to burial. But a flower root was buried in the soil.
I don't know who put it in or who brought it. However, since it was put in, it compensated for the loss of Chinese tea and boiled water, and also as a reward for the interruption of the handle and spout.
The roots of flowers lie in the earth, in my body, and become my heart, a living heart - something I have never had before.
I now have life, strength and spirit. The pulse jumped up, the roots sprouted, and they had thoughts and feelings.
It blossoms into flowers. I see it, I support it, I forget myself in its beauty. Forget yourself for others - it's a happy thing! It did not thank me; it did not think of me;
it was admired and praised by people. I'm very happy; it must be so happy, too.
One day I heard someone say that it should have a better pot to match it. So people beat me around the waist; I was really in pain at that time! But the flowers moved into a better pot.
As for me? I was thrown into the yard. I lay there like a pile of fragments - but my memory is still there and I can't forget it.
After a series of good deeds, the teapot was thrown into the yard. I lay there like a pile of fragments - but my memory is still there and I can't forget it. But what's the use of this "solitary admiration"?
中文版：
茶壶
从前有一个骄傲的茶壶，它对它的瓷感到骄傲，对它的长嘴感到骄傲，对它的那个大把手也感到骄傲。它的前面和后边都有点什么东西！前面是一个壶嘴，后面是一个把手，它老是谈着这些东西。可是它不谈它的盖子。
原来盖子早就打碎了，是后来钉好的；所以它算是有一个缺点，而人们是不喜欢谈自己的缺点的——当然别的人会谈的。
杯子、奶油罐和糖钵——这整套吃茶的用具——都把茶壶盖的弱点记得清清楚楚。谈它的时候比谈那个完好的把手和漂亮的壶嘴的时候多。茶壶知道这一点。
我知道它们！它自己在心里说，“我也知道我的缺点，而且我也承认。这足以表现我的谦虚，我的朴素。我们大家都有缺点；
但是我们也有优点。杯子有一个把手，糖钵有一个盖子。我两样都有，而且还有他们所没有的一件东西。
我有一个壶嘴；这使我成为茶桌上的皇后。糖钵和奶油罐受到任命，成为甜味的仆人，而我就是任命者——大家的主宰。我把幸福分散给那些干渴的人群。在我的身体里面，中国的茶叶在那毫无味道的开水中放出香气。”
这番话是茶壶在它大无畏的青年时代说的。它立在铺好台布的茶桌上，一只非常白嫩的手揭开它的盖子。
不过这只非常白嫩的手是很笨的，茶壶落下去了，壶嘴跌断了，把手断裂了，那个壶盖也不必再谈，因为关于他的话已经讲得不少了。
茶壶躺在地上昏过去了；开水淌得一地。这对它说来是一个严重的打击，而最糟糕的是大家都笑它。大家只是笑它，而不笑那只笨拙的手。
这次经历我永远忘记不了！茶壶后来检查自己一生的事业时说。“人们把我叫做一个病人，放在一个角落里；过了一天，人们又把我送给一个讨剩饭吃的女人。
我下降为贫民了；里里外外，我一句话都不讲。不过，正在这时候，我的生活开始好转。
真是塞翁失马，焉知非福。我身体里装进了土；对于一个茶壶说来，这完全是等于入葬。但是土里却埋进了一个花根。谁放进去的，谁拿来的，我都不知道。
不过它既然放进去了，总算是弥补了中国茶叶和开水的这种损失，也算是作为把手和壶嘴打断的一种报酬。
花根躺在土里，躺在我的身体里，成了我的一颗心，一颗活着的心——这样的东西我从来还不曾有过。我现在有了生命、力量和精神。脉搏跳起来了，花根发了芽，有了思想和感觉。它开放成为花朵。
我看到它，我支持它，我在它的美中忘记了自己。为了别人而忘我——这是一桩幸福的事情！它没有感谢我；它没有想到我；它受到人们的崇拜和称赞。
我感到非常高兴；它一定也会是多么高兴啊！有一天我听到一个人说它应该有一个更好的花盆来配它才对。
因此人们把我当腰打了一下；那时我真是痛得厉害！不过花儿却迁进一个更好的花盆里去了。
至于我呢？我被扔到院子里去了。我躺在那儿简直像一堆残破的碎片——但是我的记忆还在，我忘记不了它。”
扩展资料：
安徒生童话
创作背景：
In Andersen's time, Denmark was still a monarchy society. Since the Middle Ages, social life has been rarely touched.
After the nineteenth century, there were a series of major historical changes, such as the loss of national power caused by the Napoleonic War.
the failure on the Norwegian issue, the economic recession in the 1920s, the change of the king's position from royalty to dictatorship.
the cautious and indiscriminate middle class, which made society basically in a state of political oppression and cultural ignorance.
In Andersen's works, we also feel the gray and depression of this era everywhere.
Andersen created fairy tales as a modern way of expression. He used the "children" perspective of fairy tales to perspective the complex life of modern people.
Andersen made fairy tales transcend the legendary imagination of folk literature and become a distinct individual writing and modern skill exploration.
中文版:
在安徒生所处的时代，丹麦仍是一个君主专制主义社会，自中古以降，社会生活一直极少受到触动。
进入十九世纪以后，则出现一系列重大历史变动，拿破仑战争造成的国力虚耗，在挪威问题上的失败。
20年代的经济轰退，国王由保皇立场转向独裁，中产阶级谨小慎微、委曲求全，这些都使社会基本处于政治压迫和文化愚昧状态。
在安徒生的作品中，我们也处处感到这个时代的灰色和压抑。
安徒生将童话作为一种现代表达方式来进行创作，他借用童话的“儿童”视角透视现代人的复杂生活。
安徒生让童话超越了民间文学范畴的传奇想象，成为一种鲜明的个体写作和现代技巧探索。
参考资料来源：百度百科-安徒生童话
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大多数学生对听 故事 、讲故事非常感兴趣, 英语故事 是学生喜欢的学习材料。在一定条件下,通过讲故事、表演故事等形式,能激发学生 学习英语 的兴趣,从而提高课堂教学的效率。本文是关于安徒生童话英语故事，希望对大家有帮助!关于安徒生童话英语故事：the Old Grave-Stone老墓碑 IN a house， with a large courtyard， in aprovincial town， at that time of the year in whichpeople say the evenings are growing longer， afamily circle were gathered together at their oldhome. A lamp burned on the table， although theweather was mild and warm， and the long curtainshung down before the open windows， and withoutthe moon shone brightly in the dark-blue sky. But they were not talking of the moon， but of a large， old stone that lay below in thecourtyard not very far from the kitchen door. The maids often laid the clean copper saucepansand kitchen vessels on this stone， that they might dry in the sun， and the children werefond of playing on it. It was， in fact， an old grave-stone. “Yes，” said the master of the house， “I believe the stone came from the graveyard of theold church of the convent which was pulled down， and the pulpit， the monuments， and thegrave-stones sold. My father bought the latter; most of them were cut in two and used forpaving-stones， but that one stone was preserved whole， and laid in the courtyard.” “Any one can see that it is a grave-stone，” said the eldest of the children; “therepresentation of an hour-glass and part of the figure of an angel can still be traced， but theinscription beneath is quite worn out， excepting the name 'Preben，' and a large 'S' close byit， and a little farther down the name of 'Martha' can be easily read. But nothing more， andeven that cannot be seen unless it has been raining， or when we have washed the stone.” “Dear me! how singular. Why that must be the grave-stone of Preben Schwane and hiswife.” the old man who said this looked old enough to be the grandfather of all present in theroom. “Yes，” he continued， “these people were among the last who were buried in thechurchyard of the old convent. They were a very worthy old couple， I can remember them wellin the days of my boyhood. Every one knew them， and they were esteemed by all. They werethe oldest residents in the town， and people said they possessed a ton of gold， yet theywere always very plainly dressed， in the coarsest stuff， but with linen of the purestwhiteness. Preben and Martha were a fine old couple， and when they bothsat on the bench，at the top of the steep stone steps， in front of their house， with the branches of the linden-tree waving above them， and nodded in a gentle， friendly way to passers by， it really madeone feel quite happy. They were very good to the poor; they fed them and clothed them， andin their benevolence there was judgment as well as true Christianity. The old woman diedfirst; that day is still quite vividly before my eyes. I was a little boy， and had accompanied myfather to the old man's house. Martha had fallen into the sleep of death just as we arrivedthere. The corpse lay in a bedroom， near to the one in which we sat， and the old man was inGREat distress and weeping like a child. He spoke to my father， and to a few neighbors whowere there， of how lonely he should feel now she was gone， and how good and true she， hisdead wife， had been during the number of years that they had passed through life together，and how they had become acquainted， and learnt to love each other. I was， as I have said，a boy， and only stood by and listened to what the others said; but it filled me with a strangeemotion to listen to the old man， and to watch how the color rose in his cheeks as he spokeof the days of their courtship， of how beautiful she was， and how many little tricks he hadbeen guilty of， that he might meet her. And then he talked of his wedding-day; and his eyesbrightened， and he seemed to be carried back， by his words， to that joyful time. And yetthere she was， lying in the next room， dead—an old woman， and he was an old man，speaking of the days of hope， long passed away. Ah， well， so it is; then I was but a child，and now I am old， as old as Preben Schwane then was. Time passes away， and all thingschanged. I can remember quite well the day on which she was buried， and how Old Prebenwalked close behind the coffin. “A few years before this time the old couple had had their grave-stone prepared， with aninscription and their names， but not the date. In the evening the stone was taken to thechurchyard， and laid on the grave. A year later it was taken up， that Old Preben might be laidby the side of his wife. They did not leave behind them wealth， they left behind them far lessthan people had believed they possessed; what there was went to families distantly related tothem， of whom， till then， no one had ever heard. The old house， with its balcony ofwickerwork， and the bench at the top of the high steps， under the lime-tree， wasconsidered， by the road-inspectors， too old and rotten to be left standing. Afterwards，when the same fate befell the convent church， and the graveyard was destroyed， the grave-stone of Preben and Martha， like everything else， was sold to whoever would buy it. And so ithappened that this stone was not cut in two as many others had been， but now lies in thecourtyard below， a scouring block for the maids， and a playground for the children. Thepaved street now passes over the resting place of Old Preben and his wife; no one thinks ofthem any more now.” And the old man who had spoken of all this shook his head mournfully， and said， “Forgotten! Ah， yes， everything will be forgotten!” And then the conversation turned onother matters. But the youngest child in the room， a boy， with large， earnest eyes， mounted upon achair behind the window curtains， and looked out into the yard， where the moon was pouringa flood of light on the old gravestone，—the stone that had always appeared to him so dull andflat， but which lay there now like a GREat leaf out of a book of history. All that the boy hadheard of Old Preben and his wife seemed clearly defined on the stone， and as he gazed on it，and glanced at the clear， bright moon shining in the pure air， it was as if the light of God'scountenance beamed over His beautiful world. “Forgotten! Everything will be forgotten!” still echoed through the room， and in thesame moment an invisible spirit whispered to the heart of the boy， “Preserve carefully theseed that has been entrusted to thee， that it may grow and thrive. Guard it well. Throughthee， my child， shall the obliterated inscription on the old， weather-beaten grave-stone goforth to future generations in clear， golden characters. The old pair shall again wanderthrough the streets arm-in-arm， or sit with their fresh， healthy cheeks on the bench underthe lime-tree， and smile and nod at rich and poor. The seed of this hour shall ripen in thecourse of years into a beautiful poem. The beautiful and the good are never forgotten， theylive always in story or in song.” 在一个小乡镇里，有一个人自己拥有一幢房子。有一天晚上，他全家的人围坐在一起。这正是人们所常说的“夜长”的季节。这种时刻既温暖，又舒适。灯亮了;长长的窗帘拉下来了。窗子上摆着许多花盆;外面是一片美丽的月光。不过他们并不是在谈论这件事。他们是在谈论着一块古老的大石头。这块石头躺在院子里、紧靠着厨房门旁边。 女佣人常常把擦过了的铜制的用具放在上面晒;孩子们也喜欢在上面玩耍。事实上它是一个古老的墓碑。“是的，”房子的主人说，“我相信它是从那个拆除了的老修道院搬来的。人们把里面的宣讲台、纪念牌和墓碑全都卖了!我去世了的父亲买了好几块墓石，每块都打断了，当做铺道石用，不过这块墓石留下来了，一直躺在院子那儿没有动。”“人们一眼就可以看出，这是一块墓石，”最大的一个孩子说，“我们仍然可以看出它上面刻得有一个滴漏1和一个安琪儿的片断。不过它上面的字差不多全都模糊了，只剩下卜列本这个名字和后边的一个大字母S，以及离此更远一点的”玛尔塔“!此外甚么东西也看不见了。只有在下了雨，或者当我们把它洗净了以后，我们才能看得清楚。” 这是古代一种最原始的钟。它是由上下两个玻璃球作成的，由一个小颈联在一起。上面的球装满沙子或水银，通过这小颈流到下面的一个球里去。这个过程所花的时间，一般是一小时。时刻就以这流尽的过程为单位计算。古代教堂里常用这种钟。“天哪，这就是卜列本·斯万尼和他妻子的墓石!”一个老人插进来说。他是那么老，简直可以作为这所房子里所有人的祖父。“是的，他们是最后埋在这个老修道院墓地里的一对夫妇。他们从我小时起就是一对老好人。大家都认识他们，大家都喜欢他们。他们是这小城里的一对元老。大家都说他们所有的金子一个桶也装不完。但是他们穿的衣服却非常朴素，总是粗料子做的;不过他们的桌布、被单等总是雪白的。他们——卜列本和玛尔塔——是一对可爱的夫妇!当他们坐在屋子面前那个很高的石台阶上的一条凳子上时，老菩提树就把枝子罩在他们头上;他们和善地、温柔地对你点着头——这使你感到愉快。他们对穷人非常好，给他们饭吃，给他们衣服穿。他们的慈善行为充分地表示出他们的善意和基督精神。”太太先去世!那一天我记得清清楚楚。我那时是一个很小的孩子，跟着爸爸一起到老卜列本家里去，那时她刚刚合上眼睛，这老头儿非常难过，哭得像一个小孩子。她的屍体还放在睡房里，离我们现在坐的这地方不远。他那时对我的爸爸和几个邻人说，他此后将会多么孤独，她曾经多么好，他们曾经怎样在一起生活了多少年，他们是怎样先认识的，然后又怎样相爱起来。我已经说过，我那时很小，只能站在旁边听。我听到这老人讲话，我也注意到，当他一讲起他们的订婚经过、她是怎样的美丽、他怎样找出许多天真的托词去会见她的时候，他就活泼起来，他的双颊就渐渐红润起来;这时我就感到非常惊奇。於是他就谈起他结婚的那个日子;他的眼睛这时也发出闪光来。他似乎又回到那个快乐的年代里去了。但是她——一个老女人——却躺在隔壁房间里，死去了。他自己也是一个老头儿，谈论着过去那些充满了希望的日子!是的，是的，世事就是这样!“那时候我还不过是一个小孩子，不过现在我也老了，老了——像卜列本·斯万尼一样。时间过去了，一切事情都改变了!我记得她入葬那天的情景：卜列本·斯万尼紧跟在棺材后边。好几年以前，这对夫妇就准备好了他们的墓碑，在那上面刻好了他们的名字和碑文——只是没有填上死的年月。在一天晚间，这墓碑被抬到教堂的墓地里去，放在坟上。一年以后，它又被揭开了，老卜列本又在他妻子的身边躺下去了。”他们不像人们所想像的和所讲的那样，身后并没有留下许多钱财。剩下的一点东西都送给了远房亲戚——直到那时人们才知道有这些亲戚。那座木房子——和它的台阶顶上菩提树下的一条凳子——已经被市政府拆除了，因为它太腐朽，不能再让它存留下去，后来那个修道院也遭受到同样的命运：那个墓地也铲平了，卜列本和玛尔塔的墓碑，像别的墓碑一样，也卖给任何愿意买它的人了。现在事又凑巧，这块墓石居然没有被打碎，给人用掉;它却仍然躺在这院子里，作为女佣人放厨房用具和孩子们玩耍的地方。在卜列本和他的妻子安息的地上现在铺出了一条街道。谁也不再记起他们了。“ 讲这故事的老人悲哀地摇摇头。“被遗忘了!一切东西都会被遗忘了!”他说。 於是他们在这房间里谈起别的事情来。不过那个最小的孩子——那个有一双严肃的大眼睛的孩子——爬到窗帘后边的一个椅子上去，朝院子里眺望。月光明朗地正照在这块大墓石上——对他说来。这一直是一块空洞和单调的石头。不过它现在躺在那儿像一整部历史中的一页。这孩子所听到的关於老卜列本和他的妻子的故事似乎就写在它上面。他望了望它，然后又望了望那个洁白的月亮，那个明朗高阔的天空。这很像造物主的面孔，向这整个的世界微笑。“被遗忘了!一切东西都会被遗忘了!”这是房间里的人所说的一句话。这时候，有一个看不见的安琪儿飞进来，吻了这孩子的前额，同时低声地对他说：“好好地保管着这颗藏在你身体内的种子吧，一直到它成熟的时候!通过你，我的孩子，那块老墓石上模糊的碑文，它的每个字，将会射出金光，传到后代!那对老年夫妇将会手挽着手，又在古老的街上走过，微笑着，现出他们新鲜和健康的面孔，在菩提树下，在那个高台阶上的凳子上坐着，对过往的人点头——不论是贫或是富。从这时开始，这颗种子，到了适当的时候，将会成熟，开出花来，成为一首诗。美的和善的东西是永远不会给遗忘的;它在 传说 和歌谣中将会获得永恒的生命。”
神经女大王
THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL卖火柴的小女孩 From: terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening--the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along thestreet a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left homeshe had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were verylarge slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; andthe poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street,because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by anurchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for a cradlewhen he some day or other should have children himself. So the little maidenwalked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold.She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle ofthem in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day; noone had given her a single farthing.She crept along trembling with cold and hunger--a very picture of sorrow, thepoor little thing!The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curlsaround her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now thought. From allthe windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roastgoose, for you know it was New Year's Eve; yes, of that she thought.In a corner fomp3ed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other,she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawnclose up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home she did notventure, for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing ofmoney: from her father she would certainly get blows, and at home it was coldtoo, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled,even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags.Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford her aworld of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, drawit against the wall, and wamp3 her fingers by it. She drew one out. "Rischt!"how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a wamp3, bright flame, like a candle, asshe held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. It seemed really to thelittle maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, withburnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The fire burned with suchblessed influence; it wamp3ed so delightfully. The little girl had alreadystretched out her feet to wamp3 them too; but--the small flame went out, thestove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand.She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the lightfell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that shecould see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; uponit was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famouslywith its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital tobehold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floorwith knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl;when--the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was leftbehind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the mostmagnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than theone which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house.Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-coloredpictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her.The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when--the match wentout. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them nowas stars in heaven; one fell down and fomp3ed a long trail of fire."Someone is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old grandmother, theonly person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, thatwhen a star falls, a soul ascends to God.She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustrethere stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with suchan expression of love."Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away whenthe match burns out; you vanish like the wamp3 stove, like the delicious roastgoose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she rubbed the wholebundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure ofkeeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant lightthat it was brighter than at noon-day: never fomp3erly had the grandmother beenso beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her amp3, and bothflew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above wasneither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosycheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death onthe last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with hermatches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to wamp3 herself,"people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things shehad seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmothershe had entered on the joys of a new year.From:
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