有關於英語美文摘抄大全

　　經典美文,經得起時間的考驗,被歷史證明是最有價值、最重要的文化精髓,思想巨集遠,構思巧妙,語言精美。加強經典美文誦讀與積累,並對學生加以寫作指導,做到讀寫訓練有效結合,能讓學生有效地提高寫作能力。小編精心收集了有關於英語美文，供大家欣賞學習!

　　有關於英語美文：習慣與目標

　　"First we make our habits, then our habits make us."- Charles C. Noble

　　It's such a simple concept, yet it's something we don't always do. It's not exceedingly difficult to do, and yet I think it's something that would make a world of difference in anyone's life.

　　Break your goals into habits, and focus on putting those habits into autopilot.

　　Last week when I wrote my Ultimate Guide to motivation, there were a number of questions about my belief that having One Goal to focus on is much more powerful than having many goals.

　　There were questions about my personal goals ***such as running a marathon, eliminating debt, and so on*** and how I was able to achieve them while working on different projects, and so forth. How can you have one goal that takes a long time, and still work on smaller projects at the same time?

　　These are excellent questions, and my answer takes a little explaining: I try to turn my goals into habits, and in doing so, I put my goals on autopilot. Turning a goal into a habit means really focusing on it, intensely, for at least a month, to the exclusion of all else. The more you can focus on it, the more it'll be on autopilot.

　　But once you put it on autopilot, once a habit is firmly established, you don't really have to focus on it much. You’ll still do it, but because it's a habit, you only have to use minimal focus to maintain that habit. The goal becomes on autopilot, and you can focus on your next goal or project or habit.

　　My Marathon Example

　　Let's look at my marathon goal as an example. I was just starting out in running, and I had the brilliant idea to run a marathon within a year. ***Btw, that's not the brightest idea — you should run for a couple years before attempting marathon training, or it'll be much, much more difficult for you.*** So that was my goal, and it was my main focus for awhile.

　　But in order to achieve that goal, I broke it down into two habits:

　　1. I had to make running a daily habit ***while following a training plan I found online***.

　　2. I had to report to people in order to have accountability — I did this through family, friends and coworkers, through a blog, and through a column in my local newspaper every two weeks. With this accountability, there's no way I would stop running.

　　The daily running habit took about a month to form. I focused on this exclusively for about a month, and didn’t have any other goals, projects or habits that were my main focuses. I did other work projects, but they kinda took a backburner to running.

　　The accountability habit took a couple months, mainly because I didn't focus on it too much while I was building the running habit. But it stuck, and for that first year of running, I would report to people I knew and blog about my running every day ***this was in Blogger blog that has since been deleted***, and I would write a column every two weeks for my local paper.

　　Once those two habits were firmly entrenched, my marathon goal was pretty much on autopilot. I could focus on my debt reduction goal ***as an example*** without having to worry too much about the marathon. I still had to do the work, of course, but it didn't require constant focus.

　　And eventually, I ran the marathon. I was able to achieve this because, all year long, I had the daily running habit and daily accountability habit. I put my marathon goal into autopilot, and that made it much easier — instead of struggling with it daily for an entire year, I focused on it for one month ***well, actually two*** and was able to accomplish it while focusing on new habits and goals.

　　有關於英語美文：另一種愛

　　Inside the Russian Embassy in London a KGB colonel puffed a cigarette as he read the handwritten note for the third time. There was no need for the writer to express regret, he though. Correcting this problem would be easy. He would do that in a moment. The thought of it caused a grim smile to appear and joy to his heart. But he pushed away those thoughts and turned his attention to a framed photograph on his desk. His wife was beautiful, he told himself as he remembered the day they were married. That was forty-three years ago, and it had been the proudest and happiest day of his life.

　　在倫敦的俄國使館，一位克格勃上校一邊吞雲吐霧，一邊讀著一張手寫的字條，這已是他第三次在讀這張字條了。便條的作者不必表示遺憾了，上校這樣想著。糾正這個錯誤其實很容易。他只要一會兒工夫便會做到。想到這裡，他的臉上不禁浮現出一種可怕的笑容，他內心深處既傷感而又快活。上校從沉思中游離出來，將注意力集中到桌子上的一個像框上，他的妻子是位美麗的女人，當想起他們成婚的那一天時他不禁自語道。那已是43年前的事情了，可卻是他一生中最自豪最幸福的日子。

　　What had happened to all that time? Why had it passed so quickly, and why hadn't he spent more of it with her? Why hadn't he held her close and told her more often that he loved her? He cursed himself as a tear came from the corner of his eye, ran down his cheek, then dropped onto the note. He stiffened and wiped his face with the back of his hand. There was no need for remorse or regret, he told himself. In a few moments he would join her and at that time would express his undying love and devotion.

　　那些時候都發生了什麼?為什麼時光流逝得如此之快?為什麼他沒能將更多的時光用來陪伴她?為什麼他沒能將她摟緊，更多次地告訴她他愛她?他於是開始詛咒起自己，淚水也忍不住奪眶而出，流過面頰，最後滴落在字條上。這時，他板起了面孔，用手背揩去了眼淚。已經沒有必要來自責與悔恨了，他對自己說道。很快他不就會與她團聚了嗎?到那時，他將再向她表達他永恆的愛與忠心。

　　After setting the note ablaze he dropped it into an ashtray and watched it burn. For a time the names cast moving shadows on the walls of the darkened room, then they nickered and died out. The colonel dropped the cigarette to the floor and ground it out with his heel, then clutched the photograph to his breast, removed a pistol from his pocket, placed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. In the ashtray a small portion of the note remained. Where it had been wetted by his tear it had failed to bum, and on that scrap of paper were the words "died yesterday."

　　他點燃了字條，將它扔進了菸灰缸中，看著它慢慢地燃燒起來。在火苗的映襯下，這間漆黑的屋子裡的四壁一時變得影影綽綽。不一會兒，火苗成了星星點點，漸漸地熄滅了。上校把香菸扔在了地板上，用後腳跟碾滅，隨後抓起照片放在自己的胸前。他從衣兜中掏出了一把***，將槍筒放進自己的嘴中，接著扣動扳機。在菸灰缸中還殘留著一小片字條，由於被上校的淚水浸溼而未能燃盡。在這塊殘片上有這樣幾個字“昨天去世”。

　　有關於英語美文：A Plate of Peas 一盤豌豆

　　My grandfather died when I was a small boy, and my grandmother started staying with us for about six months every year. She lived in a room that doubled as my father's office, which we referred to as "the back room." She carried with her a powerful aroma. I don‘t know what kind of perfume she used, but it was the double-barreled, ninety-proof, knockdown, render-the-victim-unconscious, moose-killing variety. She kept it in a huge atomizer and applied it frequently and liberally. It was almost impossible to go into her room and remain breathing for any length of time. When she would leave the house to go spend six months with my Aunt Lillian, my mother and sisters would throw open all the windows, strip the bed, and take out the curtains and rugs. Then they would spend several days washing and airing things out, trying frantically to make the pungent odor go away.

　　This, then, was my grandmother at the time of the infamous pea incident.

　　It took place at the Biltmore Hotel, which, to my eight-year-old mind, was just about the fancies place to eat in all of Providence. My grandmother, my mother, and I were having lunch after a morning spent shopping. I grandly ordered a salisbury steak, confident in the knowledge that beneath that fancy name was a good old hamburger with gravy. When brought to the table, it was accompanied by a plate of peas. I do not like peas now. I did not like peas then. I have always hated peas. It is a complete mystery to me why anyone would voluntarily eat peas. I did not eat them at home. I did not eat them at restaurants. And I certainly was not about to eat them now. "Eat your peas," my grandmother said.

　　"Mother," said my mother in her warning voice. "He doesn‘t like peas. Leave him alone."

　　My grandmother did not reply, but there was a glint in her eye and a grim set to her jaw that signaled she was not going to be thwarted. She leaned in my direction, looked me in the eye, and uttered the fateful words that changed my life: "I'll pay you five dollars if you eat those peas."

　　I had absolutely no idea of the impending doom. I only knew that five dollars was an enormous, nearly unimaginable amount of money, and as awful as peas were, only one plate of them stood between me and the possession of that five dollars. I began to force the wretched things down my throat.

　　My mother was livid. My grandmother had that self-satisfied look of someone who has thrown down an unbeatable trump card. "I can do what I want, Ellen, and you can‘t stop me." My mother glared at her mother. She glared at me. No one can glare like my mother. If there were a glaring Olympics, she would undoubtedly win the gold medal.

　　I, of course, kept shoving peas down my throat. The glares made me nervous, and every single pea made me want to throw up, but the magical image of that five dollars floated before me, and I finally gagged down every last one of them. My grandmother handed me the five dollars with a flourish. My mother continued to glare in silence. And the episode ended. Or so I thought.

　　My grandmother left for Aunt Lillian's a few weeks later. That night, at dinner, my mother served two of my all-time favorite foods, meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Along with them came a big, steaming bowl of peas. She offered me some peas, and I, in the very last moments of my innocent youth, declined. My mother fixed me with a cold eye as she heaped a huge pile of peas onto my plate. Then came the words that were to haunt me for years.

　　"You ate them for money," she said. "You can eat them for love."

　　Oh, despair! Oh, devastation! Now, too late, came the dawning realization that I had unwittingly damned myself to a hell from which there was no escape.

　　"You ate them for money. You can eat them for love."

　　What possible argument could I muster against that? There was none. Did I eat the peas? You bet I did. I ate them that day and every other time they were served thereafter. The five dollars were quickly spent. My grandmother passed away a few years later. But the legacy of the peas lived on, as it lives on to this day. If I so much as curl my lip when they are served ***because, after all, I still hate the horrid little things***, my mother repeats the dreaded words one more time: "You ate them for money," she says. "You can eat them for love."