初中英語文章優秀文章

　　英語是一種語言工具，學習英語的最終目標就是能利用這種工具與別人自由流暢的交流。下面就是小編給大家整理的，希望大家喜歡。

　　：The Little Prince

　　Oh, little prince! Bit by bit I came to understand the secrets of your only entertainment in the quiet pleasure of looking at the sunset. I learned that new detail on the morning of the fourth day, when you said to me:

　　"I am very fond of sunsets. Come, let us go look at a sunset now."

　　"But we must wait," I said.

　　"Wait? For what?"

　　"For the sunset. We must wait until it is time."

　　At first you seemed to be very much surprised. And then you laughed to yourself. You said to me:

　　"I am always thinking that I am at home!"

　　Just so. Everybody knows that when it is noon in the United States the sun is setting over France.

　　If you could fly to France in one minute, you could go straight into the sunset, right from noon. Unfortunately, France is too far away for that. But on your tiny planet, my little price, all you need do is move your chair a few steps. You can see the day end and the twilight falling whenever you like…

　　"One day," you said to me, "I saw the sunset forty-four times!"

　　And a little later you added:

　　"You know -- one loves the sunset, when one is so sad…"

　　"Were you so sad, then?" I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunset?"

　　But the little prince made no reply.

　　On the fifth day -- again, as always, it was thanks to the sheep -- the secret of the little prince's life was revealed to me. Abruptly, without anything to lead up to it, and as if the question had been born of long and silent meditation on his problem, he demanded:

　　"A sheep -- if it eats little bushes, does it eat flowers, too?"

　　"A sheep," I answered, "eats anything it finds in its reach."

　　"Even flowers that have thorns?"

　　"Yes, even flowers that have thorns."

　　"Then the thorns -- what use are they?"

　　I did not know. At that moment I was very busy trying to unscrew a bolt that had got stuck in my engine. I was very much worried, for it was becoming clear to me that the breakdown of my plane was extremely serious. And I had so little drinking-water left that I had to fear for the worst.

　　"The thorns -- what use are they?"

　　The little prince never let go of a question, once he had asked it. As for me, I was upset over that bolt. And I answered with the first thing that came into my head:

　　"The thorns are of no use at all. Flowers have thorns just for spite."

　　"Oh!"

　　There was a moment of complete silence. Then the little prince flashed back at me, with a kind of resentfulness:

　　"I don't believe you! Flowers are weak creature. They are native. They reassure themselves at best they can. They believe that their thorns are terrible weapons…"

　　I did not answer. At that instant I was saying to myself: "If this bolt still won't turn, I am going to knock it out with the hammer." Again the little price disturbed my thoughts.

　　"And you actually believe that the flowers"

　　"Oh, no!" I cried. "No, no, no! I don't believe anything. I answered you the first thing that came into my head. Don't you see -- I am very busy with matters of consequence!"

　　He stared at me, thunderstruck.

　　"Matters of consequence!"

　　He looked at me there, with my hammer in my hand, my fingers black with engine-grease, bending over an object which seemed to him extremely ugly…

　　"You talk just like the grown-ups!"

　　That made me a little ashamed. But he went on, relentlessly:

　　"You mix everything up together…You confuse everything…"

　　He was really very angry. He tossed his golden curls in the breeze.

　　The little prince was now white with rage.

　　"The flowers have been growing thorns for millions of years. For millions of years the sheep have been eating them just the same. And is it not a matter of consequence to try to understand why the flowers go to so much trouble to grow thorns which are never of any use to them? Is the warfare between the sheep and the flowers not important? And if I know -- I, myself -- one flower which is unique in the world, which grows nowhere but on my planet, but which one little sheep can destroy in a single bite some morning, without even noticing what he is doing -- Oh! You think that is not important!"

　　：Learn to live with curly hair

　　For years I grappled and fought with the bird's nest that sat on top of my head - my Medusa mane, a composition of frizz***捲髮*** and giant ringlets***小圈*** that in no way could be tamed.

　　Growing up in a Russian-Jewish home with parents who thought North American styling products were akin to illegal substances such as heroin, I was never allowed to put them in my hair.

　　"Why buy gel? Your hair is so beautiful naturally," my mother would say.

　　The tweens at school did not agree. From boys not wanting to kiss me when we played spin the bottle in Grade 7 to being called "the mop," I suffered for my unruly hair.

　　People always say that you want the hair you don't have, but having unmanageable curly hair goes deeper than that. It's like being in a war with more than your scalp - it's your self-esteem. You feel messy and disorderly, with your curls reflecting that attitude.

　　When I got to university, I believed my frizzy hair was a wedge that stood between me and everything - finding an internship***實習期***, getting a boyfriend.

　　If only I could find a way to police the frizz and put it behind bars, I told myself, I would feel secure and sexy. I tried everything: rollers, hairspray, gels and, at one point, an iron.

　　Then, in my second year, a miracle happened. I was asked to be a hair model for Japanese hair straightening, a process by which the molecules of my curls would be shattered and reset in a bone-straight position.

　　I was the perfect "before" and "after" candidate, the hairdresser told me.

　　Although there are rumours about how hair relaxing can damage the scalp, for the next five years I didn't find them to be true. All of the hairdresser's promises were fulfilled: With my strands straight and smooth in a stylish bob, I was no longer Medusa but a distant cousin of Jennifer Aniston.

　　However, there was extreme damage done to my wallet. To keep up the straightening cost $700 every six months, and that was considered cheap. While some people thought I was crazy, I was willing to do anything to never again feel like that frazzled***疲憊的***, frizzy-headed girl in Grade 7.

　　But when I moved out of my parents' house at age 26 and rented an apartment, the upkeep of my sleek image became too costly.

　　I couldn't hide from my inner Medusa any longer. It was time to embrace her and let her fly.

　　Seeking an alternative to my high-end habit, I turned to the oracle that always has answers: Google.

　　After hours of searching, I stumbled upon a "curly haired" salon, a place designed for girls like me who were at their wits' end.

　　I doubted these so-called "Curl Ambassadors" could do anything without using a contraption of some sort, and though I bought the service called the "Curly-Doo," I suspected I'd have the same unruly mop at the end of the appointment.

　　I dragged my feet so hard getting there that I arrived 45 minutes late. I secretly hoped they would turn me away and give me the excuse I needed to justify the expense of relaxing again.

　　Instead, my stylist simply said: "You are very late. Flip your head over."

　　At that moment, my world and beliefs about myself were turned upside down along with my hair.

　　As my head was dunked in a tub full of freezing-cold water, then generously slathered with a jelly-like substance, I wondered what I had got myself into.

　　"Do you really think this will work?" I asked the stylist, Jacquai. "My curls are a lost cause ."

　　"No curly hair is hopeless," she replied. "They just haven't found a way to work with it, that's all."

　　After the hour was over, Jacquai had completed her mission. She had styled my hair using only her hands, water and a mixture of organic potions.

　　I couldn't believe what I was seeing in the mirror: a naturally curly, Medusa-free me. You could argue that hair is just hair. Yet, it is just such physical features that have such a large sway on how we view ourselves.

　　According to Jacquai, 75 percent of the population have a wave or curl in their hair and don't know what to do with it. Men cut theirs short. Women flat-iron theirs to death.

　　When I browse through a beauty magazine or take the subway to work, it makes me sad to see so many people repressing their natural beauty.

　　Since I tamed my locks, my world has changed. I have always been outgoing, but these days I seem to be more outspoken and self-assured than ever. On top of that, the compliments haven't stopped coming.

　　Friends and co-workers tell me I am looking better than ever, but they can't pinpoint the source of the change.

　　I don't need to tell them. My Medusa mane sways and speaks for herself.

　　：A word for autumn

　　Last night the waiter put the celery***芹菜*** on with the cheese, and I knew that summer was indeed dead. Other signs of autumn there may be -- the reddening leaf, the chill in the early-morning air, the misty***模糊的*** evenings -- but none of these comes home to me so truly. There may be cool mornings in July; in a year of drought the leaves may change before their time; it is only with the first celery that summer is over.

　　I knew all along that it would not last. Even in April I was saying that winter would soon be here. Yet somehow it had begun to seem possible lately that a miracle might happen, that summer might drift on and on through the months -- a final upheaval***劇變，隆起*** to crown a wonderful year. The celery settled that. Last night with the celery autumn came into its own.

　　There is a crispness***易碎，清新*** about celery that is of the essence of October. It is as fresh and clean as a rainy day after a spell of heat. It crackles pleasantly in the mouth. Moreover it is excellent, I am told, for the complexion. One is always hearing of things which are good for the complexion, but there is no doubt that celery stands high on the list. After the burns and freckles of summer one is in need of something. How good that celery should be there at one's elbow.

　　A week ago -- ***"A little more cheese, waiter"*** -- a week ago I grieved for the dying summer. I wondered how I could possibly bear the waiting -- the eight long months till May. In vain to comfort myself with the thought that I could get through more work in the winter undistracted by thoughts of cricket grounds and country houses. In vain, equally, to tell myself that I could stay in bed later in the mornings. Even the thought of after-breakfast pipes in front of the fire left me cold. But now, suddenly, I am reconciled to autumn. I see quite clearly that all good things must come to an end. The summer has been splendid, but it has lasted long enough. This morning I welcomed the chill in the air; this morning I viewed the falling leaves with cheerfulness; and this morning I said to myself, "Why, of course, I'll have celery for lunch." ***"More bread, waiter."***

　　"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness," said Keats, not actually picking out celery in so many words, but plainly including it in the general blessings of the autumn. Yet what an opportunity he missed by not concentrating on that precious root. Apples, grapes, nuts, and vegetable marrows he mentions specially -- and how poor a selection! For apples and grapes are not typical of any month, so ubiquitous are they, vegetable marrows are vegetables pour rire and have no place in any serious consideration of the seasons, while as for nuts, have we not a national song which asserts distinctly, "Here we go gathering nuts in May"? Season of mists and mellow***圓潤的*** celery, then let it be. A pat of butter underneath the bough, a wedge of cheese, a loaf of bread and -- Thou.

　　How delicate are the tender shoots unfolded layer by layer. Of what a whiteness is the last baby one of all, of what a sweetness his flavor. It is well that this should be the last rite of the meal -- finis coronat opus -- so that we may go straight on to the business of the pipe. Celery demands a pipe rather than a cigar, and it can be eaten better in an inn or a London tavern than in the home. Yes, and it should be eaten alone, for it is the only food which one really wants to hear oneself eat. Besides, in company one may have to consider the wants of others. Celery is not a thing to share with any man. Alone in your country inn you may call for the celery; but if you are wise you will see than no other traveler wanders into the room, Take warning from one who has learnt a lesson. One day I lunched alone at an inn, finishing with cheese and celery. Another traveler came in and lunched too. We did not speak -- I was busy with my celery. From the other end of the table he reached across for the cheese. That was all right! it was the public cheese. But he also reached across for the celery -- my private celery for which I owed. Foolishly -- you know how one does -- I had left the sweetest and crispest shoots till the last, tantalizing myself pleasantly with the thought of them. Horror! to see them snatched from me by a stranger. He realized later what he had done and apologized, but of what good is an apology in such circumstances? Yet at least the tragedy was not without its value. Now one remembers to lock the door.

　　Yet, I can face the winter with calm. I suppose I had forgotten what it was really like. I had been thinking of the winter as a horrid wet, dreary time fit only for professional football. Now I can see other things -- crisp and sparkling days, long pleasant evenings, cheery fires. Good work shall be done this winter. Life shall be lived well. The end of the summer is not the end of the world. Here's to October -- and, waiter, some more celery.