關於英語課外文章閱讀

　　語是國際經濟、技術、資訊等交流中應用最廣泛的語言，也是我國基礎教育中最主要的外語課程。下面是小編帶來的，歡迎閱讀!

　　篇一

　　火車上的女孩

　　I had the compartment on the train to myself up to Rohana，and then a girl got on. The couple seeing her off were probably her parents，they seemed very anxious about her comfort，and the woman gave the girl detailed instructions as to where to keep her things，when not to lean out of windows，and how to avoid speaking to strangers.

　　As I had become blind by then，I could not tell what the girl looked like，but I knew she wore slippers from the way they slapped against her heels，and I liked the sound of her voice.

　　“Are you going all the way to Dehra Dun?”I asked her as the train pulled out of the station.

　　I must have been sitting in a dark corner，because my voice startled her. She gave a little exclamation，and said，“I didn‘t know anyone else was here.”

　　Well，it often happens that people with good eyesight fail to see what is right in front of them. They have too much to observe，I suppose，whereas those who cannot see take in what registers most telling on their remaining senses.

　　“I didn‘t see you either at first，”I said.“But I heard you come in.”I wondered if I would be able to prevent her from discovering that I couldn’t see. I thought，provided I keep to my seat，it shouldn‘t be too difficult.

　　“I‘m getting down at Saharanpur，”the girl said.“My aunt is meeting me there. Where are you going?”

　　“To Dehra Dun，and then to Mussoorie，”I replied.“Oh，lucky you!I wish I were going to Mussoorie. I love the mountains. Especially in October.”

　　“Yes，this is the best time.”I said，calling on my memories when I could see.“The hills are covered with wild dahlias，the sun is delicious，and at night you can sit in front of a log fire and drink a little brandy.

　　Most of the tourists have gone，and the roads are quiet and almost deserted.“

　　She was silent，and I wondered if my words had touched her，or whether she thought me a romantic fool. Then I made a mistake.“What is it like outside?”I asked.

　　She seemed to find nothing strange in the question. Had she noticed already that I could not see?But her next question removed my doubts.

　　“Why don‘t you look out of the window?”she asked quite naturally.

　　I moved easily along the berth and felt for the window ledge. The window was open and I faced it，making a pretense of studying the landscape. In my mind‘s eye，I could see the telegraph posts flashing by.“Have you noticed，”I ventured，“that the trees seem to be moving while we seem to be standing still?”

　　“That always happens，”she said.

　　I turned from the window and faced the girl，and for a while we sat in silence.“You have an interesting face，”I commented. I was becoming quite daring，but it was a safe remark，few girls can resist flattery.

　　She laughed pleasantly，a clear，ringing laugh.“It‘s nice to be told that，”she said.“I’m so tired of people telling me that I have a pretty face.”

　　Oh，so you do have a pretty face，thought I，and aloud I said，“Well，an interesting face can also be pretty.”

　　“You are very gallant，”she said.“But why are you so serious?”

　　“We‘ll soon be at your station，”I said rather abruptly.“Thank goodness it’s a short journey. I can‘t bear to sit in a train for more than two or three hours.”

　　Yet I was prepared to sit there for almost any length of time，just to listen to her talking. Her voice had the sparkle of a mountain stream. As soon as she left the train，she would forget our brief encounter，but it would stay with me for the rest of the journey，and for some time after.

　　The engine‘s whistle shrieked，the carriage wheels changed their sound and rhythm. The girl got up to collect her things. I wondered if she wore her hair in a bun，or if it hung down loose over her shoulders，or if it was cut very short.

　　The train drew slowly into the station. Outside，there was the shouting of porters and vendors and，near the carriage door，a highpitched female voice that must have belonged to the girl‘s aunt.“Goodbye，”said the girl.

　　She was standing very close to me，so close that the perfume from her hair was tantalizing. I wanted to raise my hand and touch her hair，but she moved away，and only the perfume still lingered where she had stood.

　　There was some confusion in the doorway. A man getting into the compartment，stammered an apology. Then the door banged shut，and the world was closed out again. I returned to my berth. The guard blew his whistle and we moved off.

　　The train gathered speed，the wheels took up their song，the carriage groaned and shook. I found the window and sat in front of it，staring into daylight that was darkness for me. Once again I had a game to play and a new fellow traveller.

　　“She was an interesting girl，”I said.“Can you tell me——did she keep her hair long or short?”“I don‘t remember，”he replied，sounding puzzled.“It was her eyes I noticed，not her hair. She had such beautiful eyes，but they were of no use to her——she was completely blind. Didn’t you notice?”

　　篇二

　　Playing A Violin With Three Strings***用只剩三根弦的小提琴演奏***

　　On Nov. 18，1995，Itzhak Perlman，the violinist，came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City.

　　If you have ever been to a Perlman concert，you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child，and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches. To see him walk across the stage one step at a time，painfully and slowly，is an awesome sight.

　　He walks painfully，yet majestically，until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down，slowly，puts his crutches on the floor，undoes the clasps on his legs，tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward. Then he bends down and picks up the violin，puts it under his chin，nods to the conductor and proceeds to play.

　　By now，the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play.

　　But this time，something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars，one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap - it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do.

　　We figured that he would have to get up，put on the clasps again，pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage - to either find another violin or else find another string for this one. But he didn‘t. Instead，he waited a moment，closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again.

　　The orchestra began，and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity as they had never heard before.

　　Of course，anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings. I know that，and you know that，but that night Itzhak Perlman refused to know that.

　　You could see him modulating，changing，re-composing the piece in his head. At one point，it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before.

　　When he finished，there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. We were all on our feet，screaming and cheering，doing everything we could to show how much we appreciated what he had done.

　　He smiled，wiped the sweat from this brow，raised his bow to quiet us，and then he said - not boastfully，but in a quiet，pensive，reverent tone -“You know，sometimes it is the artist‘s task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.”

　　What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows?Perhaps that is the definition of life - not just for artists but for all of us.

　　Here is a man who has prepared all his life to make music on a violin of four strings，who，all of a sudden，in the middle of a concert，finds himself with only three strings;so he makes music with three strings，and the music he made that night with just three strings was more beautiful，more sacred，more memorable，than any that he had ever made before，when he had four strings.

　　So，perhaps our task in this shaky，fast-changing，bewildering world in which we live is to make music，at first with all that we have，and then，when that is no longer possible，to make music with what we have left.

　　Jack Riemer

　　篇三

　　Living life over 如果有來生

　　If I had my life to live over……I would have talked less and listened more.

　　I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was strained and the sofa faded.

　　I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

　　I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

　　I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

　　I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.

　　I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life.

　　I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding patter if I were not there for the day.

　　I would never have bought anything just because it was practical，would not show soil or was guaranteed to last a life time.

　　There would have been more“I love yous”……more“I‘m sorrys”……but mostly，given another shots at life，I would seize every minute……look at it and really see it……live it……and never give it back.