大学英语精读第五册Unit 2 The Fifth Freedom
大学英语精读第五册
大学英语精读第五册 Unit 2Translation Chinese to English1.我认为向他求助是不现实的。
事实上，他自己也需要帮助。
I don’t think it is realistic to turn to him for help．As a matter of fact, he himself is in need of help．2.越来越多的人正在意识到与空气污染作斗争的迫切需要。
More and more people are being awakened to the urgent need of combating air pollution.3.有明显的迹象表明一些古老的传统和价值观念采不再被年轻人珍视。
There are visible signs that some of the time-honored old traditions and values are no longer cherished by the young people.4．我们许多人觉得宇宙无限这一概念难以理解。
Many of us find the notion of a boundless universe hard to grasp．5. 因为法律和规章中有许多漏洞(loophole)，一小撮投机倒把者一夜之间暴富就没有什么奇怪了。
There being so many loopholes in the laws and regulations, it is little wonder that a handful of speculators got rich overnight．6. 旅游事业的空前兴旺使这个从前只住有三百人的边境小镇突然繁荣起来。
An unprecedented boom in tourism brought sudden prosperity to the small border town, which was formerly inhabited by only three hundred people.7．根据这一信息，该国已经具有制造核武器的能力。
大学英语精读第五册
大学英语精读第五册 Unit 2Translation Chinese to English1.我认为向他求助是不现实的。
事实上，他自己也需要帮助。
I don’t think it is realistic to turn to him for help．As a matter of fact, he himself is in need of help．2.越来越多的人正在意识到与空气污染作斗争的迫切需要。
More and more people are being awakened to the urgent need of combating air pollution.3.有明显的迹象表明一些古老的传统和价值观念采不再被年轻人珍视。
There are visible signs that some of the time-honored old traditions and values are no longer cherished by the young people.4．我们许多人觉得宇宙无限这一概念难以理解。
Many of us find the notion of a boundless universe hard to grasp．5. 因为法律和规章中有许多漏洞(loophole)，一小撮投机倒把者一夜之间暴富就没有什么奇怪了。
There being so many loopholes in the laws and regulations, it is little wonder that a handful of speculators got rich overnight．6. 旅游事业的空前兴旺使这个从前只住有三百人的边境小镇突然繁荣起来。
An unprecedented boom in tourism brought sudden prosperity to the small border town, which was formerly inhabited by only three hundred people.7．根据这一信息，该国已经具有制造核武器的能力。
大学英语精读第五册课文翻译
大学英语精读第五册(第三版)课文翻译Unit1《一番说教》一番说教也许老师比学生更容易理解,为什么学生在掌握了英语基本结构和句型后英语学习反而变得越来越困难了。
学生们自然感到惊奇并失望地发现本来应该变得越来越容易的学习过程却完全不是那么回事。
学生们并不感到多少安慰,在知道老师在其努力所产生的效果似乎不及一开始明显也会灰心丧气。
他发现那些学生很容易去教,为他们能把所学的知识很快的用于实践。
可现在,他们却面对前阶段中从未学过的大量生词,惯用法显得踌躇不前。
他看到学生们在艰难地努力着,因为他们以前认为已经认识的语言现在似乎充满了令人头昏眼花的成语,陈旧用语以及在不同上下文中有不同含义的惯用词组。
要想让他们相信他们仍朝着精通的方向发展,他们英语就一定提高是很困难的。
并且,只要肯花时间和持之以恒。
有些学生在此情况下厌恶地放弃了学习,这并不出人意外;同时,另一些学生仍然充满希望地盼着老师象开始时那样给他们以满怀信心的指导。
从教师这方面看,由于往往不得不去讲解一些无法说清楚的东西,他常常会对同事们引用一些谚语权充台阶,比如:你能牵马河边走,马不饮水你自愁,或说得比较尊重对方但语法并不严谨:倒不在乎说什么,关键瞧您怎么说。
他的学生则会反唇相讥道:我越学越糊涂。
事实当然并非如此。
师生们正体验着一种共识,即学习中遇到的较复杂的语言结构在表达思想中并非至关重要,因此也就少有可能立刻派上用场。
出于同样的理由,在老师看来,恰当地选择教材变得更困难了。
任选一种食品比从品种繁多的菜单上单挑一道在某个特定日子里你想吃的菜要容易多了。
界定问题易于找出答案。
你可建议学生去讲英语的国家住两三年,这等于撒手不管他们。
没有几个学生陪得起时间花得起钱。
常言道:广泛阅读是最佳替代办法,但读书也应有所选择。
让学生走进图书馆随便拿起他们遇到的第一本书就读,这是无用的。
我会这样劝他们;读无需查字典就懂的书(但并非过眼即懂的书),读你感兴趣的书;读时间允许的书(杂志和报纸,而不是长篇小说,除非你能在一周左右读完它);读现在写的文章,而不是二百年前的文章;读得尽量多一些,并尽量记住写作方法,而不要拘泥于令你困惑的个别单词。
英语读写 the fifth freedom
张曙 电力学院
Mayflower Compact
In the name of God, Amen. 以上帝的名義,阿門。 We whose names are underwritt en, the loyal subjects of our dread sovereign Lord, King Ja mes, by the grace of God, of Great Britain, France and Ire land king, defender of the fa ith, etc., having undertaken. 我等签约之人，信仰的捍卫者， 蒙上帝保佑的大不列颠、法兰西 和爱尔兰的国王詹姆士国王陛下 的忠顺臣民
-5-
Freedom from want
Freedom from fear
Freedom from speech
Freedom from religion
-6-
The Fifth Freedom
Thank You~
为使上述目的得以顺利实施、维护和发展，也 为将来能随时依此而制定和颁布有益于殖民地 全体民众利益的公正与平等的法律、法规、法 案、宪章和公职，我们全体都保证遵守和服从。
-4-
In witness whereof we have here under subscribed our names at Cape-Cod the 11th of November, in the year of the reign of our sovereign lord, King James, of England, France, and Ireland the eighteen, and of Scotland the fifty-fourth. Anno Domini 1620. 据此于公元1620年11月11日，于英格兰、法兰西、爱尔兰 十八世国王暨苏格兰五十四世国王詹姆士陛下在位之年，我 等在卡德角签署姓名如下。
Unit 2 The Fifth Freedom3
• 13) Nola's long illness and resulting absence put her far behind in her work. consequent
• 14) A politician who is not keenly aware of the mood of the people is not likely to get many votes. sensitive to
little 和 a little 修饰不可数名词
• 6) The new global positioning system(全 球定位系统）can hardly be inaccurate, or the government would not risk its reputation on backing it. stake……on in-表示否定前缀 inability 无能 inaction 无行动的 inadequate 不足的 inattention 不注意 incapable 没有能力的
be aware of = be conscious of 意识到 politician 从政者，政治家；政客，见风使舵 者，投机钻营者 possible / probable / likely 的区分 It is possible to 可能 It is probable that 很可能 be likely to 可能
• 1) The new prime minister launched a campaigh to fight against corruption immediately after he formed the cabinet. combat prime minister 首相，总理 launch 发起 corruption 贪污s' strike has brought the region's public transport system to a stop. paralyzed
Unit 2 The Fifth Freedom
pioneer: one of the first to settle in a new or unknown land; an early settler e.g. The early pioneers of America lived a simple, rough life. cherish: (1) treasure; show love for; (2) keep (hope, feelings, love, etc.) in mind deeply e.g. He cherishes friendship and is willing to do anything for his friends. Despite setbacks, we cherish the hope of ultimate success. want: lack of necessities of life, great poverty e.g. Many young people today don’t know how terrible it is to live in want.
St. Exupery …as a lost Mozart: In one of his books, the French writer describes a poorlydressed, clever-looking Arab boy who is often seen wandering in the streets of a North African town. St. Exupery thinks that this sensitive-faced boy might, like Mozart, be gifted with great genius from early childhood. But since he is too poor to go to school, his talents are wasted and a potential Mozart is lost. haunt: visit often e.g. This is one of the bars Tom used to haunt.
现代大学英语精读5课文翻译unit1,2,4,5,7
女人的职业1 听说你们协会是有关妇女就业的。
协会秘书要我就职业问题谈谈自己的阅历。
不错，我是女人，我也正在就业。
可是我有些什么阅历呢？这个问题似乎很难回答。
我的职业是文学，文学给予女人特有的阅历比其他职业要少，舞台表演除外。
这是因为许多年前范妮?伯尼、阿普拉?贝恩、哈丽雅特?马蒂诺、简?奥斯丁、乔治?爱略特就在这条路上披荆斩棘了。
无数知名的、不知名的女人在我之前扫除了障碍，调整了我的步伐。
我开始写作时，这个职业已经不拒绝女性了。
写作是个高尚而无害的职业，家庭的安宁不会被钢笔的嚓嚓声打破，也不需要很多的经济投资。
花十六便士买的纸足够写下莎士比亚所有巨著--------假如你也有个莎士比亚的脑袋的话。
作家不需要有钢琴、模特儿，不要周游巴黎、维也纳和柏林，也不需聘请家庭教师。
纸张便宜也许是女人在写作领域比其他领域成功的原因。
2 言归正传吧。
我当作家的故事其实很简单，你们大可想象一个手执钢笔的姑娘坐在卧室，从左到右不停地写着，写着，从十点写到一点。
然后，她把这些稿件装进信封，贴上一便士邮票投进信筒。
我就是这样成为报纸撰稿人的。
第二个月的第一天----那对我是辉煌的一天--- 我竟收到编辑给我的信，还附了张一镑十六便士的支票。
可我多不懂生活的艰辛呀！我没用这钱买面包和黄油，买鞋子或袜子，或者付杂货店老板的欠单，而是用它买了一只漂亮的波斯猫，一只不久便令我陷入邻里唇枪舌战的小猫。
3 还有什么比写文章，比用稿费买小猫更容易呢？可是，等等！文章得表明见地。
记得那篇文章是评论某个著名作家小说的。
写那篇文章时我就发现，评论作品时我需要与一种幻影搏斗。
这个幻影就是女人。
多次交锋以后，感觉开始明晰，我借一首著名诗歌里女主人公之名，称她为“屋子里的天使”。
她横亘在我和稿纸之间，困绕我，折磨我，消耗我，令我最终忍无可忍，杀了她。
你们年轻一代比较幸运，可能没听说过她--------因而不知道何为“屋子里的天使”。
我简要地解释一下。
现代大学英语精读5lesson2课文Two_KindsWord版
Two KindsAmy TanMy mother believed you could be anything you wanted to be in America. You could open a restaurant. You could work for the government and get good retirement. You could buy a house with almost no money down. You could become rich. You could become instantly famous.“Of course, you can be a prodigy1, too,” my mother told me when I was nine. “You can be best anything. What does Auntie Lindo know? Her daughter, she is only best tricky.”America was where all my m other’s hopes lay. She had come to San Francisco in 1949 after losing everything in China: her mother and father, her home, her first husband, and two daughters, twin baby girls. But she never looked back with regret. Things could get better in so many ways.We didn’t immediately pick the right kind of prodigy. At first my mother thought I could be a Chinese Shirley Temple2. We’d watch Shirley’s old movies on TV as though they were training films. My mother would poke my arm and say, “Ni kan.You watch.” And I would see Shirley tapping her feet, or singing a sailor song, or pursing her lips into a very round O while saying “Oh, my goodness.”“Ni kan,” my mother said, as Shirley’s eyes flooded with tears. “You already know how. Don’t need talent for crying!”Soon after my mother got this idea about Shirley Temple, she took me to the beauty training school in the Mission District and put me in the hands of a student who could barely hold the scissors without shaking. Instead of getting big fat curls, I emerged with an uneven mass of crinkly black fuzz3. My mother dragged me off to the bathroom and tried to wet down my hair.“You look like a Negro Chinese,” she lamented, as if I had done this on purpose.The instructor of the beauty training school had to lop off4 thesesoggy clumps to make my hair even again. “Peter Pan5is very popular these days” the instructor assured my mother. I now had bad hair the length of a boy’s, with curly bangs that hung at a slant two inches above my eyebrows. I liked the haircut, and it made me actually look forward to my future fame.In fact, in the beginning I was just as excited as my mother, maybe even more so. I pictured this prodigy part of me as many different images, and I tried each one on for size. I was a dainty ballerina girl standing by the curtain, waiting to hear the music that would send me floating on my tiptoes. I was like the Christ child lifted out of the straw manger, crying with holy indignity. I was Cinderella6 stepping from her pumpkin carriage with sparkly cartoon music filling the air.In all of my imaginings I was filled with a sense that I would soon become perfect: My mother and father would adore me. I would be beyond reproach. I would never feel the need to sulk, or to clamor for anything. But someti mes the prodigy in me became impatient. “If you don’t hurry up and get me out of here, I’m disappearing for good,” it warned. “And then you’ll always be nothing.”Every night after dinner my mother and I would sit at the Formica7 topped kitchen table. She would present new tests, taking her examples from stories of amazing children that she read in Ripley’s Believe It or Not or Good Housekeeping, Reader’s digest, or any of a dozen other magazines she kept in a pile in our bathroom. My mother got these magazines from people whose houses she cleaned. And since she cleaned many houses each week, we had a great assortment. She would look through them all, searching for stories about remarkable children.The first night she brought out a story about a three-year-old boy who knew the capitals of all the states and even the most of the European countries. A teacher was quoted as saying that the little boy could also pronounce the names of the foreign cities correctly. “What’s the capital of Finland?” my mother ask ed me, looking at the story.All I knew was the capital of California, because Sacramento8was the name of the street we lived on in Chinatown9. “Nairobi10!” I quessed, saying the most foreign word I could think of. She checked to see if that might be one way to pronounce “Helsinki11” before showing me the answer.The tests got harder - multiplying numbers in my head, finding the queen of hearts in a deck of cards, trying to stand on my head without using my hands, predicting the daily temperatures in Los angeles, New York, and London.One night I had to look at a page from the Bible for three minutes and then report everything I could remember. “Now Jehoshaphat had riches12 and honor in abundance and that’s all I remember, Ma,” I said.And after seeing, on ce again, my mother’s disappointed face, something inside me began to die. I hated the tests, the raised hopes and failed expectations. Before going to bed that night I looked in the mirror above the bathroom sink, and I saw only my face staring back---and understood that it would always be this ordinary face ---I began to cry. Such a sad, ugly girl! I made high-pitched noises like a crazed animal, trying to scratch out the face in the mirror.And then I saw what seemed to be the prodigy side of me---a face I had never seen before. I looked at my reflection, blinking so that I could see more clearly. The girl staring back at me was angry, powerful. She and I were the same. I had new thoughts, willful thoughts or rather, thoughts filled with lots of won’ts. I won’t let her change me, I promised myself. I won’t be what I’m not.So now when my mother presented her tests, I performed listlessly, my head propped on one arm. I pretended to be bored. And I was. I got so bored that I started counting the bellows of the foghorns out on the bay while my mother drilled me in other areas. The sound was comforting and reminded me of the cow jumping over the moon. And the next day I played a game with myself, seeing if my mother would give up on me before eight bellows. After a while I usually counted ony one bellow, maybe two at most.At last she was beginning to give up hope.Two or three months went by without any mention of my being a prodigy. And then one day my mother was watching the Ed Sullivan Show13 on TV. The TV was old and the sound kept shorting out. Every time my mother got halfway up from the sofa to adjust the set, the sound would come back on and Sullivan would be talking. As soon as she sat down, Sullivan would go silent again. She got up, the TV broke into loud piano music. She sat down, silence. Up and down, back and forth, quiet and loud. It was like a stiff, embraceless dance between her and the TV set. Finally, she stood by the set with her hand on the sound dial.She seemed entranced by the music, a frenzied little piano piece with a mesmerizing quality, which alternated between quick, playful passages and teasing, lilting ones.“Ni kan,” my mother said, calling me over with hurried hand gestures. “Look here.”I could see why my mother was fascinated by the music. It was being pounded out by a little Chinese girl, about nine years old, with a Peter Pan haircut. The girl had the sauciness of a Shirley Temple. She was proudly modest, like a proper Chinese Child. And she also did a fancy sweep of a curtsy, so that the fluffy skirt of her white dress cascaded to the floor like petals of a large carnation.In spite of these warning signs, I wasn’t worried. Our family had no piano and we couldn’t afford to buy one, let alone reams of sheet music and piano lessons. So I could be generous in my comments when my mother badmouthed14 the little girl on TV.“Play note right, but doesn’t sound good!” my mother complained “No singing sound.”“What are you picking on her for?” I said carelessly. “She’s pretty good. May be she’s not the best, but she’s trying hard.” I knew almost immediately that I would be sorry I had said that.“Just like you,” she said. “Not the best. Because you not trying.” She gave a little huff as she let go of the sound dial and sat down onthe sofa.The little Chinese girl sat down also, to play an encore of “Anitra’s Tanz,” by Grieg15. I remember the song, because later on I had to learn how to play it.Three days after watching the Ed Sullivan Show my mother told me what my schedule would be for piano lessons and piano practice. She had talked to Mr. Chong, who lived on the first floor of our apartment building. Mr.Chong was a retired piano teacher, and my mother had traded housecleaning services for weekly lessons and a piano for me to practice on every day, two hours a day, from four until six.When my mother told me this, I felt as though I had been sent to hell.I wished and then kicked my foot a little when I couldn”t stand it anymore.“Why don’t you like me the way I am? I’m not a genius! I can’t play the piano. And even if I could, I wouldn’t go on TV if you paid me a million dollars!” I cried.My mother slapped me. “Who ask you be genius.”she shouted. “Only ask you be your best. For you sake. You think I want you be genius? Hnnh! What for! Who ask you!”“So ungrateful,”I heard her mutter in chinese. “If she had as much talent as she had temper, she would be famous now.”Mr. Chong, whom I secretly nicknamed Old Chong, was very strange, always tapping his fingers to the silent music of an invisible orchestra. He looked ancient in my eyes. He had lost most of the hair on top of his head and he wore thick glasses and had eyes that always thought, since he lived with his mother and was not yet married.I met Old Lady Chong once, and that was enough. She had a peculiar smell, like a baby that had done something in its pants, and her fingers felt like a dead person’s, like an old peach I once found in the back of the refrigerator: its skin just slid off the flesh when I picked it up.I soon found out why Old Chong had retired from teaching piano. He was deaf. “Like Beethoven!” he shouted to me “We’re both listeningonly in our head!” And he would start to conduct his frantic silent sonatas16.Our lessons went like this. He would open the book and point to different things, explaining, their purpose: “Key! Treble! Bass! No sharps or flats! So this is C major! Listen now and play after me!” And then he would play the C scale a few times, a simple cord, and then, as if inspired by an old unreachable itch, he would gradually add more notes and running trills and a pounding bass until the music was really something quite grand.I would play after him, the simple scale, the simple chord, and then just play some nonsense that sounded like a cat running up and down on top of garbag e cans. Old Chong would smile and applaud and say “Very good! Bt now ou must learn to keep time!”So that’s how I discovered that Old Chong’s eyes were too slow to keep up with the wrong notes I was playing. He went through the motions in half time. To help me keep rhythm, he stood behind me and pushed down on my right shoulder for every beat. He balanced pennies on top of my wrists so that I would keep them still as I slowly played scales and arpeggios17. He had me curve my hand around an apple and keep that shame when playing chords. He marched stiffly to show me how to make each finger dance up and down, staccato18 like an obedient little soldier.He taught me all these things, and that was how I also learned I could be lazy and get away with mistakes, lots of mistakes. If I hit the wrong notes because I hadn’t practiced enough, I never corrected myself, I just kept playing in rhythm. And Old Chong kept conducting his own private reverie.19So maybe I never really gave myself a fair chance. I did pick up the basics pretty quickly, and I might have become a good pianist at the young age. But I was so determined not to try, not to be anybody different, and I learned to play only the most ear-splitting preludes, the most discordant hymns.Over the next year I practiced like this, dutifully in my own way. And then one day I heard my mother and her friend Lindo Jong both after church, and I was leaning against a brick wall, wearing a dress with stiff white petticoats. Auntie Linds daughter, Waverly, who was my age, was standing farther down the wall, about five feet away. We had grown up together and shared all the closeness of two sisters, squabbling over crayons and dolls. In other words, for the most part, we hated each other.I thought she was snotty. Waverly Jong had gained a certain amount of fame as “Chinatown’s Littlest Chinese Chess Champion.”“She bring home too many trophy.” Auntie Lindo lamented that Sunday. “All day she play chess. All day I have no time do nothing but dust off her winnings.” She threw a scolding look at Waverly, who pretended not to see her.“You lucky you don’t have this problem,” Auntie Lindo said with a sigh to my mother.And my mother squared her shoulders and bra gged “our problem worser than yours. If we ask Jing-mei wash dish, she hear nothing but music. It’s like you can’t stop this natural talent.”And right then I was determined to put a stop to her foolish pride.A few weeks later Old Chong and my mother conspired to have me play in a talent show that was to be held in the church hall. But then my parents had saved up enough to buy me a secondhand piano, a black Wurlitzer spinet with a scarred bench. It was the showpiece of our living room.For the tale nt show I was to play a piece called “Pleading Child” from Schumann’s Scenes From Childhood. It was a simple, moody piece that sounded more difficult than it was. I was supposed to memorize the whole thing. But I dawdled over it, playing a few bars and then cheating, looking up to see what notes followed. I never really listed to what I was playing.I daydreamed about being somewhere else, about being someone else.The part I liked to practice best was the fancy curtsy: right foot out, touch the rose on the carpet with a pointed foot, sweep to the side, bend left leg, look up, and smile.My parents invited all the couples from their social club to witness my debut. Auntie Lindo and Uncle Tin were there. Waverly and her two older brothers had also come. The first two rows were filled with children either younger or older than I was. The littlest ones got to go first. They recited simple nursery rhymes, squawked out tunes on miniature violins, and twirled hula hoops20in pink ballet tutus21, and when they bowed or curtsied, the audience would sigh in unison, “Awww,” and then clap enthusiastically.When my turn came, I was very confident. I remember my childish excitement. It was as if I knew, without a doubt, that the prodigy side of me really did exist. I had no fear whatsoever, no nervousness. I remember thinking, This is it! This is it! I looked out over the audience, at my mother’s blank face, my father’s yawn, Auntie Lindo’s stiff-lipped smile, Waverly’s sulky expression. I had on a white dress, layered with sheets of lace, and a pink bow in my Peter Pan haircut. As I sat down, I envisioned people jumping to their feet and Ed Sullivan rushing up to introduce me to everyone on TV.And I started to play. Everything was so beautiful. I was so caught up in how lovely I looked that I wasn’t worried about how I would sound. So I was surprised when I hit the first wrong note. And then I hit another and another. A chill started at the top of my head and began to trickle down. Yet I couldn’t stop playing, as though my hands were bewitched.I kept thinking my fingers would adjust themselves back, like a train switching to the right track. I played this strange jumble through to the end, the sour notes staying with me all the way.When I stood up, I discovered my legs were shaking. Maybe I had just been nervous, and the audience, like Old Chong had seen me go through the right motions and had not heard anything wrong at all. I swept my rightfoot out, went down on my knee, looked up, and smiled. The room was quiet, except fot Old Chong, who was beaming and shouting “Bravo! Bravo! Well done!” By then I saw my mother’s face, her stricken face. The audience clapped weakly, and I walked back to my chair, with my whole face quivering as I tried not to cry, I heard a little boy whisper loudly to his mother. “That was awful,” and mother whispered “Well, she certainly tried.”And now I realized how many people were in the audience, the whole world, it seemed. I was aware of eyes burning into my back.I felt the shame of my mother and father as they sat stiffly through the rest of the show.We could have escaped during intermission. Pride and some strange sense of honor must have anchored my parents to their chairs. And so we watched it all. The eighteen-year-old boy with a fake moustache who did a magic show and juggled flaming hoops while riding a unicycle. The breasted girl with white make up who sang an aria from Madame Butterfly22 and got an honorable mention. And the eleven-year-old boy who was first prize playing a tricky violin song that sounded like a busy bee.After the show the Hsus, the Jongs, and the St. Clairs, from the Joy Luck Club, came up to my mother and father.“Lots of talented kids,” Auntie Lindo said vaguely, smiling broadly. “That was something else,” my father said, and I wondered if he was referring to me in a humorous way, or whether he even remembered what I had done.Waverly looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. “You aren’t a genius like me,” she said matter-of-fact ly. And if I hadn’t felt so bad, I would have pulled her braids and punched her stomach.But my mother’s expression was what devastated me: a quiet, blank look that said she had lost everything. I felt the same way, and everybody seemed now to be coming up, like gawkers at the scene of an accident to see what parts were actually missing. When we got on the bus to go home, my father was humming the busy-bee tune and my mother kept silent. I kept thinking she wanted to wait until we got home before shouting at me. But when my father unlocked the door to our apartment, my mother walked in and went straight to the back, into the bedroom. No accusations, No blame. And in a way, I felt disappointed. I had been waiting for her to start shouting, so that I could shout back and cry and blame her for all my misery.I had assumed that my talent-show fiasco meant that I would never have to play the piano again. But two days later, after school, my mother came out of the kitchen and saw me watching TV.“Four clock,” she reminded me, as if it were any other day. I was stunned, as though she were asking me to go through the talent-show torture again. I planted myself more squarely in front of the TV.“Turn off TV,” she called from the kitchen five minutes later. I didn’t budge. And then I decided, I didn’t have to do what mother said anymore. I wasn’t her slave. This wasn’t China. I had listened to her before, and look what happened she was the stupid one.She came out of the kitchen and stood in the arched entryway of the living room. “Four clock,” she said once again, louder.“I’m not going to play anymore,” I said nonchalantly23. “Why should I? I’m not a genius.”She stood in front of the TV. I saw that her chest was heaving up and down in an angry way.“No!” I said, and I now felt stronger, as if my true self had finally emerged. So this was what had been inside me all along.“No! I won’t!” I screamed. She snapped off the TV, yanked me by the arm and pulled me off the floor. She was frighteningly strong, half pulling, half carrying me towards the piano as I kicked the throw rugs under my feet. She lifted me up onto the hard bench. I was sobbing by now, looking at her bitterly. Her chest was heaving even more and her mouth was open, smiling crazily as if she were pleased that I was crying.“You want me to be something that I’m not!” I sobbed. “I’ll never be the kind of daughter you want me to be!”“Only two kinds of daughters,” she shouted in Chinese. “Those who are obedient and those who follow their own mind! Only one kind of daughter can live in this house. Obedient daughter!”“Then I wish I weren’t your daughter, I wish you weren’t my mother,” I shouted. As I said these things I got scared. It felt like worms and toads and slimy things crawling out of my chest, but it also felt good, that this awful side of me had surfaced, at last.“Too late to change this,” my mother said shrilly.And I could sense her anger rising to its breaking point. I wanted see it spill over. And that’s when I remembered the babies she had lost in China, the ones we never talked about. “Then I wish I’d never been born!” I shouted. “I wish I were dead! Like them.”It was as if I had said magic words. Alakazam!-her face went blank, her mouth closed, her arms went slack, and she backed out of the room, stunned, as if she were blowing away like a small brown leaf, thin, brittle, lifeless.It was not the only disappointment my mother felt in me. In the years that followed, I failed her many times, each time asserting my will, my right to fall short of expectations. I didn’t get straight As24. I didn’t become class president. I didn’t get into Stanford. I dropped out of college.Unlike my mother, I did not believe I could be anything I wanted to be, I could only be me.And for all those years we never talked about the disaster at the recital or my terrible delarations afterward at the piano bench. Neither of us talked about it again, as if it were a betrayal that was now unspeakable. So I never found a way to ask her why she had hoped for something so large that failure was inevitable.And even worse, I never asked her about what frightened me the most:Why had she given up hope? For after our struggle at the piano, she never mentioned my playing again. The lessons stopped The lid to the piano was closed shutting out the dust, my misery, and her dreams.So she surprised me. A few years ago she offered to give me the piano, for my thirtieth birthday. I had not played in all those years. I saw the offer as a sign of forgiveness, a tremendous burden removed. “Are you sure?” I asked shyly. “I mean, won’t you and Dad miss it?” “No, this your piano,” she said firmly. “Always your piano. You only one can play.”“Well, I probably can’t play anymore,” I said. “It’s been years.” “You pick up fast,” my mother said, as if she knew this was certain. “You have natural talent. You could be a genius if you want to.”“No, I couldn’t.”“You just not trying,” my mother said. And she was neither angry nor sad. She said it as if announcing a fact that could never be disproved. “Take it,” she said.But I didn’t at first. It was enough that she had offered it to me. And after that, everytime I saw it in my parents’living room, standing in front of the bay window, it made me feel proud, as if it were a shiny trophy that I had won back.Last week I sent a tuner over to my parent’s apartment and had the piano reconditioned, for purely sentimental reasons. My mother had died a few months before and I had been bgetting things in order for my father a little bit at a time. I put the jewelry in special silk pouches. The sweaters I put in mothproof boxes. I found some old chinese silk dresses, the kind with little slits up the sides. I rubbed the old silk against my skin, and then wrapped them in tissue and decided to take them hoe with me.After I had the piano tuned, I opened the lid and touched the keys. It sounded even richer that I remembered. Really, it was a very good piano. Inside the bench were the same exercise notes with handwritten scales, the same sedcondhand music books with their covers held together with yellow tape.I opened up the Schumann book to the dark little piecce I had playedat the recital. It was on the left-hand page, “Pleading Child”It looked more difficult than I remembered. I played a few bars, surprised at howeasily the notes came back to me.And for the first time, or so it seemed, I noticed the piece on the right-hand side, It was called “Perfectly Contented” I tried to play this one as well. It had a lighter melody but with the same flowing rhythm and turned out to be quite easy. “Pleading Child” was shorter but slower; “Perfectly Contented” was longer but faster. And after I had played them both a few times, I realized they were two halves of the same song.（注：可编辑下载，若有不当之处，请指正，谢谢!）。
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这一课的译文还需对照教参修改一下！！Unit 2The Fifth FreedomMore than three centuries ago a handful of（少数）pioneers(先驱者)crossed the ocean to Jamestown and Plymouth in search of freedoms they were unable to find in their own countries, the freedom we still cherish(珍视)today: freedom from want, freedom from fear, freedom of speech, freedom of religion(宗教)。
Today the descendants(后代) of the early settlers （早期殖民者），and those who have joined them since ,are fighting to （斗争）protect（保卫）these freedom at home and throughout the world.（国内国外）（300多年前，少数拓荒者穿过大洋来到詹姆斯顿和普利茅斯，寻找他们在国内不能找到的自由，这些也是我们今天仍然珍视的自由：免于匮乏的自由，免于恐惧的自由，言论自由，宗教自由。
今天这些早期殖民者的后代们和那些后来加入他们行列的人们还在国内国外为保卫这些自由而斗争。
）And yet there is a fifth freedom----basic to those four ---that we are in danger of (处于--危险中)losing: the freedom to be one's best（达到自己最佳水平的自由）（然而，我们正面临失去第五种自由的危险，它是上述四种自由的基础，这种自由是：达到自己最佳水平的自由）.St. Exupery(埃克苏佩里)describes （描述）a ragged（衣衫褴褛的）, sensitive-faced （长相聪明）Arab child(流浪儿)，haunting the streets of a North African town(北非小镇),as a lost（失去）Mozart :he would never be trained or developed. Was he free?（埃克苏佩里把一个衣衫褴褛、面貌聪慧，常在北非某市街头游荡的流浪儿描写成一个被埋没的莫扎特，他决不会受到训练或培养，他自由吗？）"No one grasped you by the shoulder（肩膀）while there was still time; and nought will awaken in you the sleeping poet （诗人）or musician （音乐家）or astronomer（天文学家）that possibly （可能）inhabited （居住）you from the beginning.（从出生）" The freedom to be one's best is the chance for the development of each person to his highest power （力量）.（“也许从出生开始，你就具有成为诗人、音乐家、天文学家的才能，但是在时机还不算太晚的的时候没有人拉你一把，但是时机一过，就再也无法唤醒在你身上沉睡的这些才能了。
”一个人达到自己最高水平的自由就是让每个人把自己的能力发展到最高水平的机会。
）How is it that we in America have begun to lose this freedom, and how can we regain （恢复）it for our nation's youth?I believe it has started slipping away from us because of three misunderstandings（误解）.（在美国我们是怎么开始失去这种自由的呢？并且我们怎样才能为我们的年轻人重新获得这种自由？我相信这种自由正开始从我们身边悄悄溜走，因为存在着三个方面的误解。
）First, the misunderstanding of the meaning of democracy（民主）. The principal（校长）of a great Philadelphia （费城）high school is driven to cry for help in combating the notion （概念）that it is undemocratic to run （实施）a special（特殊的）program（大纲）of studies for outstanding（优秀）boys and girls. （首先被误解的是对民主含义的误解。
费城一个著名的中学为一些出类拔萃的学生实施一份特殊的教学大纲竟被视为不民主，结果校长被迫大声疾呼，要求人们一起来与这种观念作斗争。
）Again,（又如）when a good independent （私立的）school in Memphis（孟菲斯）recently（最近）closed, some thoughtful （有思想的）citizens（公民）urged （促请）that it be taken over （接管）by the public school system （系统）and used for boys and girls of high ability（能力）, that it have entrance （入口）requirements （要求）and give advanced （高级的）program（方案）of studies to superior （优秀的）students who were interested（有兴趣的）and able to take it .（又如，在孟菲斯当一所优秀私立学校最近停办时，一些有思想的公民主张该学校被公立教育学校系统接管，用于培养那些有较高能力的学生，这所学校要有入学要求，为那些有兴趣和有能力接受的学生制定高级的学习方案。
）Theproposal（建议）was rejected （被拒绝）because it was undemocratic（不民主）! Thus, courses（课程）are geared to （适应）the middle of the class. The good student is unchallenged（挑战）, bored（厌烦）. The loafer （混子）receives his passing grade（毕业证）.And the lack of（缺少）an outstanding （卓越）course（课程）for the outstanding student, the lack of a standard （标准）which a boy or girl must meet, passes for （被误认为）democracy.（这个建议被拒绝，因为它是不民主的！这样，课程就要适应那些中等学生，好学生就没有挑战性，感到厌烦，混子学生能够接受毕业证。
缺少优秀学生使用的卓越的课程，缺少每一个学生必须达到的标准，被误认为是民主。
）The second misunderstanding concerns （关注）what makes for（带来）happiness. The aims （目标）of our present-day （当今）culture (文化)are avowedly（公开承认）ease（安乐）and material（肉体）well--being(正好) :shorter hours; a shorter week; more return for （返回）less accomplishment（成就）; more softsoap（肥皂泡）excuses （借口）and fewer honest（锤炼）, realistic（现实）demands （要求）.(第二种误解关注的是什么会带来幸福。
我们当今文化的目标正好是公开承认享受和安乐：一天工作的时间越来越短，一周工作的天数越来越少；要求越来越多，业绩越来越少；虚幻的借口越来越多，现实要求越来越少。
)In our schools this is reflected（反映）by the vanishing（消失）hickory stick （教鞭）and the emerging（新兴）psychiatrist.（精神科医生）The hickory stick had its faults（缺陷）, and the psychiatrist has his strengths（优势）. But the trend（倾向）is clear. （Tourt comprendre c'est tout pardonner(To understand （理解）everything is to excuse（原谅）everything ).（在我们学校，教鞭逐渐，而精神科医生成为新兴。
教鞭在呈现它的缺陷，而精神科医生则强势。
这种趋势是明显的，就是理解一切，原谅一切。
）Do we really believe that our softening（不严格）standards（标准）bring happiness? It is our sound and considered（斟酌）judgment（判断）that the tougher （难的）subjects （科目）of the classics （古典文学）and mathematics（数学）should be thrown（扔）aside（一边）, as suggested （建议）by some educators（教育工作者）,for doll-playing（玩游戏）? （我们真的相信那种那种不严格的标准会带来幸福？像一些教育工作者建议的的那样，把那些难学的科目比如古典文学和数学被扔在一边，做游戏，是我们经过争论和严格斟酌的正确判断？）Small（一些）wonder （疑问）that Charles Malik ,Lebanese （黎巴嫩）delegate （大使）at the U N, writes :"There is in the West"(in the United States )"a general（普遍）weakening （削弱）of moral （道德）fiber（构造）.(Our )leadership（领导人）does not seem ti be adequate to （胜任）the unprecedented（前所未有的）challenges （挑战）of the age（时代）." （黎巴嫩驻联合国大使查尔斯-马里克提出的一些疑问，写到：“这是在西方（在美国）道德品质正在削弱，（我们的）领导人看起来不胜任这个这个时代前所未有的挑战”The last misunderstanding is in the area（领域）of values （价值观）. Here are some of the most influential（影响）tenets （原则）of teacher education（教育）over the past fifty years: there is no eternal（永恒）truth ;there is no absolute （绝对的）moral（道德）law（准则）; there is no God. Yet all of history has taught us that the denial（放弃）of these ultimates（原理）. the placement of man （个人）or state at the core （中心）of the universe（宇宙）. Results in（导致）a paralyzing （瘫痪）mass selfishness（自私自利）;and the first（最初）signs （迹象）of it are already frighteningly（令人吃惊的）evident（地步）. （最后一种误解在价值观方面。