英语经典文章选读 2

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现代大学英语精读2课文

Unit1Another School Year — What ForLet me tell you one of the earliest disasters in my career as a teacher. It was January of 1940 and I was fresh out of graduate school starting my first semester at the University of Kansas City. Part of the student body was a beanpole with hair on top who came into my class, sat down, folded his arms, and looked at me as if to say "All right, teach me something." Two weeks later we started Hamlet. Three weeks later he came into my office with his hands on his hips. "Look," he said, "I came here to be a pharmacist. Why do I have to read this stuff" And not having a book of his own to point to, he pointed to mine which was lying on the desk.New as I was to the faculty, I could have told this specimen a number of things. I could have pointed out that he had enrolled, not in a drugstore-mechanics school, but in a college and that at the end of his course meant to reach for a scroll that read Bachelor of Science. It would not read: Qualified Pill-Grinding Technician. It would certify that he had specialized in pharmacy, but it would further certify that he had been exposed to some of the ideas mankind has generated within its history. That is to say, he had not entered a technical training school but a university and in universities students enroll for both training and education.I could have told him all this, but it was fairly obvious he wasn't going to be around long enough for it to matter. Nevertheless, I was young and I had a high sense of duty and I tried to put it this way: "For the rest of your life," I said, "your days are going to average out to about twenty-four hours. They will be a little shorter when you are in love, and a little longer when you are out of love, but the average will tend to hold. For eight of these hours, more or less, you will be asleep.""Then for about eight hours of each working day you will, I hope, be usefully employed. Assume you have gone through pharmacy school —or engineering, or law school, or whatever — during those eight hours you will be using your professional skills. You will see to it that the cyanide stays out of the aspirin, that the bull doesn't jump the fence, or that your client doesn't go to the electric chair as a result of your incompetence. These are all useful pursuits. They involve skills every man must respect, and they can all bring you basic satisfactions. Along with everything else, they will probably be what puts food on your table, supports your wife, and rears your children. They will be your income, and may it always suffice.""But having finished the day's work, what do you do with those other eight hours Let's say you go home to your family. What sort of family are you raising Will the children ever be exposed to a reasonably penetratingidea at home Will you be presiding over a family that maintains some contact with the great democratic intellect Will there be a book in the house Will there be a painting a reasonably sensitive man can look at without shuddering Will the kids ever get to hear Bach"That is about what I said, but this particular pest was not interested. "Look," he said, "you professors raise your kids your way; I'll take care of my own. Me, I'm out to make money.""I hope you make a lot of it," I told him, "because you're going to be badly stuck for something to do when you're not signing checks." Fourteen years later I am still teaching, and I am here to tell you that the business of the college is not only to train you, but to put you in touch with what the best human minds have thought. If you have no time for Shakespeare, for a basic look at philosophy, for the continuity of the fine arts, for that lesson of man's development we call history —then you have no business being in college. You are on your way to being that new species of mechanized savage, the push-button Neanderthal. Our colleges inevitably graduate a number of such life forms, but it cannot be said that they went to college; rather the college went through them —without making contact.No one gets to be a human being unaided. There is not time enough in a single lifetime to invent for oneself everything one needs to know inorder to be a civilized human.Assume, for example, that you want to be a physicist. You pass the great stone halls of, say, M. I. T., and there cut into the stone are the names of the scientists. The chances are that few, if any, of you will leave your names to be cut into those stones. Yet any of you who managed to stay awake through part of a high school course in physics, knows more about physics than did many of those great scholars of the past. You know more because they left you what they knew, because you can start from what the past learned for you.And as this is true of the techniques of mankind, so it is true of mankind's spiritual resources. Most of these resources, both technical and spiritual, are stored in books. Books are man's peculiar accomplishment. When you have read a book, you have added to your human experience. Read Homer and your mind includes a piece of Homer's mind. Through books you can acquire at least fragments of the mind and experience of Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare — the list is endless. For a great book is necessarily a gift; it offers you a life you have not the time to live yourself, and it takes you into a world you have not the time to travel in literal time. A civilized mind is, in essence, one that contains many such lives and many such worlds. If you are too much in a hurry, or too arrogantly proud of your own limitations, to accept as a gift to your humanity some pieces of the minds of Aristotle, or Chaucer, or Einstein, you are neither a developed human nor a useful citizen of a democracy.I think it was La Rochefoucauld who said that most people would never fall in love if they hadn't read about it. He might have said that no one would ever manage to become human if they hadn't read about it.I speak, I'm sure, for the faculty of the liberal arts college and for the faculties of the specialized schools as well, when I say that a university has no real existence and no real purpose except as it succeeds in putting you in touch, both as specialists and as humans, with those human minds your human mind needs to include. The faculty, by its very existence, says implicitly: "We have been aided by many people, and by many books, in our attempt to make ourselves some sort of storehouse of human experience. We are here to make available to you, as best we can, that expertise."Unit2Maheegun My BrotherThe year I found Maheegun, spring was late in coming. That day, I was spearing fish with my grandfather when I heard the faint crying and found the shivering wolf cub.As I bent down, he moved weakly toward me. I picked him up and put him inside my jacket. Little Maheegun gained strength after I got the first few drops of warm milk in him. He wiggled and soon he was full andwarm.My grandfather finally agreed to let me keep him.That year, which was my 14th, was the happiest of my life.Not that we didn't have our troubles. Maheegun was the most mischievous wolf cub ever. He was curious too. Like looking into Grandma's sewing basket —which he upset, scattering thread and buttons all over the floor. At such times, she would chase him out with a broom and Maheegun would poke his head around the corner, waiting for things to quiet down.That summer Maheegun and I became hunting partners. We hunted the grasshoppers that leaped about like little rockets. And in the fall, after the first snow our games took us to the nearest meadows in search of field mice. By then, Maheegun was half grown. Gone was the puppy-wool coat. In its place was a handsome black mantle.The winter months that came soon after were the happiest I could remember. They belonged only to Maheegun and myself. Often we would make a fire in the bushes. Maheegun would lay his head between his front paws, with his eyes on me as I told him stories.It all served to fog my mind with pleasure so that I forgot my Grandpa's repeated warnings, and one night left Maheegun unchained. The following morning in sailed Mrs. Yesno, wild with anger, who demanded Maheegun be shot because he had killed her rooster. The next morning,my grandpa announced that we were going to take Maheegun to thenorth shack.By the time we reached the lake where the trapper's shack stood, Maheegun seemed to have become restless. Often he would sit with his nose to the sky, turning his head this way and that as if to check the wind. The warmth of the stove soon brought sleep to me. But something caused me to wake up with a start. I sat up, and in the moon-flooded cabin was my grandfather standing beside me. "Come and see, son," whispered my grandfather.Outside the moon was full and the world looked all white with snow. He pointed to a rock that stood high at the edge of the lake. On the top was the clear outline of a great wolf sitting still, ears pointed, alert, listening. "Maheegun," whispered my grandfather.Slowly the wolf raised his muzzle. "Oooo-oo-wow-wowoo-oooo!"The whole white world thrilled to that wild cry. Then after a while, from the distance came a softer call in reply. Maheegun stirred, with the deep rumble of pleasure in his throat. He slipped down the rock and headed out across the ice."He's gone," I said."Yes, he's gone to that young she-wolf." My grandfather slowly filled his pipe. "He will take her for life, hunt for her, protect her. This is the way the Creator planned life. No man can change it."I tried to tell myself it was all for the best, but it was hard to lose mybrother.For the next two years I was as busy as a squirrel storing nuts for the winter. But once or twice when I heard wolf cries from distant hills, I would still wonder if Maheegun, in his battle for life, found time to remember me.It was not long after that I found the answer.Easter came early that year and during the holidays I went to visit my cousins.My uncle was to bring me home in his truck. But he was detained by some urgent business. So I decided to come back home on my own.A mile down the road I slipped into my snowshoes and turned into the bush. The strong sunshine had dimmed. I had not gone far before big flakes of snow began drifting down.The snow thickened fast. I could not locate the tall pine that stood on the north slope of Little Mountain. I circled to my right and stumbled into a snow-filled creek bed. By then the snow had made a blanket of white darkness, but I knew only too well there should have been no creek there.I tried to travel west but only to hit the creek again. I knew I had gone ina great circle and I was lost.There was only one thing to do. Camp for the night and hope that by morning the storm would have blown itself out. I quickly made a bed ofboughs and started a fire with the bark of an old dead birch. The first night I was comfortable enough. But when the first gray light came I realized that I was in deep trouble. The storm was even worse. Everything had been smothered by the fierce whiteness. The light of another day still saw no end to the storm. I began to get confused. I couldn't recall whether it had been storming for three or four days.Then came the clear dawn. A great white stillness had taken over and with it, biting cold. My supply of wood was almost gone. There must be more.Slashing off green branches with my knife, I cut my hand and blood spurted freely from my wound. It was some time before the bleeding stopped. I wrapped my hand with a piece of cloth I tore off from my shirt. After some time, my fingers grew cold and numb, so I took the bandage off and threw it away.How long I squatted over my dying fire I don't know. But then I saw the gray shadow between the trees. It was a timber wolf. He had followed the blood spots on the snow to the blood-soaked bandage. "Yap... yap... yap... yoooo!" The howl seemed to freeze the world with fear.It was the food cry. He was calling, "Come, brothers, I have found meat." And I was the meat!Soon his hunting partner came to join him. Any time now, I thought, their teeth would pierce my bones.Suddenly the world exploded in snarls. I was thrown against the branches of the shelter. But I felt no pain. And a great silence had come. Slowly I worked my way out of the snow and raised my head. There, about 50 feet away, crouched my two attackers with their tails between their legs. Then I heard a noise to my side and turned my head. There stood a giant black wolf. It was Maheegun, and he had driven off the others."Maheegun... Maheegun...," I sobbed, as I moved through the snow toward him. "My brother, my brother," I said, giving him my hand. He reached out and licked at the dried blood.I got my little fire going again, and as I squatted by it, I started to cry. Maybe it was relief or weakness or both —I don't know. Maheegun whimpered too.Maheegun stayed with me through the long night, watching me with those big eyes. The cold and loss of blood were taking their toll.The sun was midway across the sky when I noticed how restless Maheegun had become. He would run away a few paces —head up, listening — then run back to me. Then I heard. It was dogs. It was the searching party! I put the last of my birch bark on the fire and fanned itinto life.The sound of the dogs grew louder. Then the voices of men. Suddenly, as if by magic, the police dog team came up out of the creek bed, and a man came running toward my fire. It was my grandfather.The old hunter stopped suddenly when he saw the wolf. He raised his rifle. "Don't shoot!" I screamed and ran toward him, falling through the snow. "It's Maheegun. Don't shoot!"He lowered his rifle. Then I fell forward on my face, into the snow.I woke up in my bedroom. It was quite some time before my eyes came into focus enough to see my grandfather sitting by my bed."You have slept three days," he said softly. "The doc says you will be all right in a week or two.""And Maheegun" I asked weakly."He should be fine. He is with his own kind."Unit3More Crime and Less PunishmentIf you are looking for an explanation of why we don't get tough with criminals, you need only look at the numbers. Each year almost a third of the households in America are victims of violence or theft. This amounts to more than 41 million crimes, many more than we are able to punish. There are also too many criminals. The best estimates suggest that 36million to 40 million people (16 to 18 percent of the U. S. population)have arrest records for nontraffic offenses. We already have 2. 4 million people under some form of correctional supervision, 412, 000 of them locked away in a prison cell. We don't have room for any more!The painful fact is that the more crime there is the less we are able to punish it. This is why the certainty and severity of punishment must go down when the crime rate goes up. Countries like Saudi Arabia can afford to give out harsh punishments precisely because they have so little crime. But can we afford to cut off the hands of those who committed more than 35 million property crimes each year Can we send them to prison Can we execute more than 22,000 murderersWe need to think about the relationship between punishment and crime in a new way. A decade of careful research has failed to provide clear and convincing evidence that the threat of punishment reduces crime. We think that punishment deters crime, but it just might be the other way around. It just might be that crime deters punishment: that there is so much crime that it simply cannot be punished.This is the situation we find ourselves in today. Just as the decline in the number of high-school graduates has made it easier to gain admission to the college of one's choice, the gradual increase in the criminal population has made it more difficult to get into prison. While elite colleges and universities still have high standards of admissions, some ofthe most "exclusive" prisons now require about five prior serious crimesbefore an inmate is accepted into their correctional program. Our current crop of prisoners is an elite group, on the whole much more serious offenders than those who were once imprisoned in Alcatraz.These features show that it makes little sense to blame the police, judges or correctional personnel for being soft on criminals. There is not much else they can do. The police can't find most criminals and those they do find are difficult and costly to convict. Those convicted can't all be sent to prison. The society demands that we do everything we can against crime. The practical reality is that there is very little the police, courts or prisons can do about the crime problem. The criminal justice system must then become as powerless as a parent who has charge of hundreds of teenage children and who is nonetheless expected to answer the TV message: "It's 10 o'clock! Do you know where your children are"A few statistics from the Justice Department's recent "Report to the Nation on Crime and Justice" illustrate my point. Of every 100 serious crimes committed in America, only 33 are actually reported to the police. Of the 33 reported, about six lead to arrest. Of the six arrested, only three are prosecuted and convicted. The others are rejected or dismissed due to evidence or witness problems or are sent elsewhere for medical treatment instead of punishment. Of the three convicted, only one is sent to prison. The other two are allowed to live in their communityunder supervision. Of the select few sent to prison, more than halfreceive a maximum sentence of five years. The average inmate, however, leaves prison in about two years. Most prisoners gain early release not because parole boards are too easy on crime, but because it is much cheaper to supervise a criminal in the community. And, of course, prison officials must make room for the new prisoners sent almost daily from the courts.We could, of course, get tough with the people we already have in prison and keep them locked up for longer periods of time. Yet when measured against the lower crime rates this would probably produce, longer prison sentences are not worth the cost to state and local governments. Besides, those states that have tried to gain voters' approval for bonds to build new prisons often discover that the public is unwilling to pay for prison construction.And if it were willing to pay, long prison sentences may not be effective in reducing crime. In 1981, 124,000 convicts were released from prison. If we had kept them in jail for an additional year, how many crimes would have been prevented While it is not possible to know the true amount of crime committed by people released from prison in any given year, we do know the extent to which those under parole are jailed again for major crime convictions. This number is a surprisingly low 6 percent (after three years it rises to only 11 percent). Even if released prisoners commit an average of two crimes each, this would amount to only15,000 crimes prevented: a drop in the bucket when measured against the 41 million crimes committed each year.More time spent in prison is also more expensive. The best estimates are that it costs an average of $13,000 to keep a person in prison for one year. If we had a place to keep the 124,000 released prisoners, it would have cost us $1.6 billion to prevent 15,000 crimes. This works out to more than $100,000 per crime prevented. But there is more. With the average cost of prison construction running around $50,000 per bed, it would cost more than $6 billion to build the necessary cells. The first-year operating cost would be $150,000 per crime prevented, worth it if the victim were you or me, but much too expensive to be feasible as a national policy.Faced with the reality of the numbers, I will not be so foolish as to suggest a solution to the crime problem. My contribution to the public debate begins and ends with this simple observation: getting tough with criminals is not the answer.Unit4The Nightingale and the Rose"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student, "but in all my garden there is no red rose."From her nest in the oak tree the Nightingale heard him and she looked out through the leaves and wondered."No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose my life is made wretched.""Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, and now I see him."The Prince gives a ball tomorrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be there. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely and my heart will break.""Here, indeed, is the true lover," said the Nightingale. Surely love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds and opals."The musicians will play upon their stringed instruments," said the young Student, "and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her," and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept. "Why is he weeping" asked a green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tailin the air."Why, indeed" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam. "Why, indeed" whispered a Daisy to his neighbor, in a soft, low voice. "He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale."For a red rose" they cried, "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright. But the Nightingale understood the Student's sorrow, and sat silent in the Oak-tree. Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.In the centre of the grass-plot stood a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."But the Tree shook its head."My roses are white," it answered, "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial."Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head."My roses are yellow," it answered, "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms In the meadow. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window."Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head."My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.""One red rose is all that I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it""There is a way," answered the Tree, "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.""Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid.""If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's blood.You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and yourlife-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.""Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and life is very dear to all. Yet love is better than life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man"So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.The young Student was still lying on the grass, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. "Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy, you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover."The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him. But the Oak-tree understood and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale. "Sing me one last song," he whispered. "I shall feel lonely when you are gone."So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.When she had finished her song, the Student got up."She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away. "That cannot be denied. But has she got feeling I am afraid not. In fact, like most artists,she is all style without any sincerity." And he went to his room, and lay down on his bed, and after a time, he fell asleep.And when the Moon shone in the heaven, the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song.But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart so the rose's heart remained white.And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."。

英语阅读二(第三课)中英对照ARE THESE THE BEST YEARS OF YOUR LIFE

The ups and downs of life may seem to have no predictable (1a. that can be seen or told in advance 可预言的) plan. But scientists now know there are very definite life patterns that almost all people share. Today, when we live 20 years longer than our great-grandparents, and when women mysteriously outlive (v. live longer than 活过……，比……活得长) men by seven years, it is clearer than ever that the “game of life” is really a game of trade-offs. As we age, we trade strength for ingenuity (n. skill and cleverness in making and arranging thins 机灵，独创性), speed for thoroughness, passion for reason. These exchanges may not always seem fair, but at every age, there are some advantages. So it is reassuring to note that even if you’ve passed some of your “prime (n. the time of greatest perfection, strenth or activity 全盛时期)”青春的，精华的, you still have other prime years to experience in the future. Certain important primes seem to peak later in time.生活中的沉浮似乎并没有什么可预见的计划，但现在科学家们知道，几乎所有的人都有一些非常固定的生活模式。今天，当我们比祖辈多活20年的时候，当女性神秘地比男性寿长７岁的时候，“人生的游戏”实际上就是“交换的游戏”，这一点比以往任何时候都更加清楚。随着年龄的增长，我们用智慧代替力量，用全面代替速度，用理性代替激情。这些交换似乎并不总是那么公正的，但在每一个年龄段上，人都有各自的某些优势。所以，不妨尽可放心地看到，尽管你已经逾越了生命中的某些黄金时期，你在未来仍然有另外的黄金岁月去度过，某些重要的颠峰时期在时间上出现得比较晚。

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文档下载后可定制修改，请根据实际需要进行调整和使用，谢谢!并且，本店铺为大家提供各种类型的经典范文，如工作总结、计划大全、策划方案、报告大全、心得体会、演讲致辞、条据文书、作文大全、教案资料、其他范文等等，想了解不同范文格式和写法，敬请关注!Download tips: This document is carefully compiled by this editor. I hope that after you download it, it can help you solve practical problems. The document can be customized and modified after downloading, please adjust and use it according to actual needs, thank you!Moreover, this store provides various types of classic sample essays for everyone, such as work summaries, plan summaries, planning plans, report summaries, insights, speeches, written documents, essay summaries, lesson plan materials, and other sample essays. If you want to learn about different formats and writing methods of sample essays, please stay tuned!英语经典美文诵读材料英语经典诵读文章优秀4篇经常性的读一些经典的英语美文是可以提高英语的写作水平的。

现代大学英语阅读2课文翻译

现代大学英语阅读2课文翻译引言本文将翻译现代大学英语阅读2课文。

该课文选择自现代大学英语阅读2教材，旨在帮助学生提高英语阅读能力。

以下是课文翻译的详细内容。

课文翻译以下是现代大学英语阅读2课文的翻译。

Lesson 1: The World of Work课文1：工作的世界Text 1: Finding Jobs文本1：寻找工作英语原文：Job hunting is a major concern for college stu dents. Many students start looking for jobs long before they graduate. They may attend job fairs, send out dozens of resumes, and go on a number ofinterviews. The process of finding a job can be challenging and stressful.There are various ways to find a job. Some people rely on personal connections, such as friends or family members, to help them find job opportunit ies. Others use online job boards or professional networking websites to search for available posi tions. It is also common for companies to visit c ollege campuses to recruit students directly. Regardless of the method used, the key is to be p roactive. Students should do their research on po tential employers, prepare a well-written resume and cover letter, and practice their interview sk ills. It is important to make a good first impres sion and showcase one's qualifications and abilit ies.Job hunting is a competitive process, and rejecti on is common. However, it is important not to get discouraged and to keep trying. With determinati on and perseverance, students can eventually find a job that suits their interests and career goal s.译文：找工作是大学生最关注的问题。

最新现代大学英语精读2课文文本

Lesson OnePre-class Work Read the text a third time. Learn the new words and expressions listed below.Glossaryaccomplishment n. the act of finishing sth. completely and successfully; achievementacquire v. to gain; to get for oneself by one's own workarrogantly adv. behaving in a proud and self-important wayaspirin n. 阿司匹林（解热镇痛药）assume v. to take as a fact; to supposeavailable adj. able to be used or easily foundbachelor n. ～'s degree: the first university degreebeanpole n. (infml) a very tall and thin personbull n. a male cowcertify v. to state that sth. is true or correct, esp. after some kind of testcivilized adj. educated and refined; having an advanced cultureclient n. a person who pays for help or advice from a person or organizationcontinuity n. the state of being continuouscyanide n. 氰化物democratic adj. based on the idea that everyone should have equal rights and should be involved in making important decisions 民主的disaster n. a sudden event such as a flood, storm, or accident which causes great damage or suffering. Here: a complete failuredrugstore n. (AmE) a shop which sells medicine (and a variety of other things)enroll v. to officially arrange to join a school or universityexpertise n. skill in a particular fieldexpose v. to enable sb. to see or experience new things or learn about new beliefs, ideas, etc.faculty n. (AmE) all the teachers of a university or collegefragment n. a small piece of sth.generate v. to producegrind v. to crush into small pieces or powder by pressing between hard surfaceship n. the fleshy part of either side of the human body above the legshumanity n. the qualities of being humanimplicitly adv. in an implied way 含蓄地inevitable adj. certain to happen and impossible to avoidliteral adj. in the basic meaning of a wordmaintain v. to continue to have as beforeNeanderthal n. an early type of human being who lived in Europe during the Stone Agenevertheless adv. in spite of that; yetpeculiar adj. belonging only to a particular person; special; oddpenetrating adj. showing the ability to understand things clearly and deeplypest n. (infml) an annoying personpharmacy n. a shop where medicines are prepared and sold. Here: the study of preparing drugs or medicines philosophy n. the study of the nature and meaning of existence, reality, etc. 哲学pill n. a small solid piece of medicine that you swallow wholepreside v. to lead; to be in chargeprofessional adj. relating to the work that a person does for an occupation, esp. work that requires special trainingpursuit n. the act of trying to achieve sth. in a determined waypush-button adj. using computers or electronic equipment rather than traditional methodsqualified adj. having suitable knowledge or experience for a particular jobrear v. to care for a person or an animal until they are fully grownresources n. possessions in the form of wealth, property, skills, etc. that you have 资源savage n. an uncivilized human beingscroll n. Here: a certificate of an academic degreesemester n. one of the two periods into which the year is divided in American high schools and universities (=term in BrE) sensitive adj. able to understand or appreciate art, music or literatureshudder v. to shake uncontrollably for a momentspecialize v. to limit all or most of one's study to particular subjects 专修species n. (infml) a type; a sortspecimen n. Here: a person who is unusual in some way and has a quality of a particular kindspiritual adj. related to your spirit rather than to your body or mindstore v. to keepsuffice v. to be enoughProper Names : Aristotle 亚里士多德Bach 巴赫Chaucer 乔叟Dante 但丁Einstein 爱因斯坦Hamlet 哈姆雷特Homer 荷马La Rochefoucauld 拉罗什富科Shakespeare 莎士比亚Virgil 维吉尔Another School Year — What ForJohn CiardiRead the text once for the main idea. Do not refer to the notes, dictionaries or the glossary yet.Let me tell you one of the earliest disasters in my career as a teacher. It was January of 1940 and I was fresh out of graduate school starting my first semester at the University of Kansas City. Part of the student body was a beanpole with hair on top who came into my class, sat down, folded his arms, and looked at me as if to say "All right, teach me something." Two weeks later we started Hamlet. Three weeks later he came into my office with his hands on his hips. "Look," he said, "I came here to be a pharmacist. Why do I have to read this stuff" And not having a book of his own to point to, he pointed to mine which was lying on the desk.New as I was to the faculty, I could have told this specimen a number of things. I could have pointed out that he had enrolled, not in a drugstore-mechanics school, but in a college and that at the end of his course meant to reach for a scroll that read Bachelor of Science. It would not read: Qualified Pill-Grinding Technician. It would certify that he had specialized in pharmacy, but it would further certify that he had been exposed to some of the ideas mankind has generated within its history. That is to say, he had not entered a technical training school but a university and in universities students enroll for both training and education.I could have told him all this, but it was fairly obvious he wasn't going to be around long enough for it to matter. Nevertheless, I was young and I had a high sense of duty and I tried to put it this way: "For the rest of your life," I said, "your days are going to average out to about twenty-four hours. They will be a little shorter when you are in love, and a little longer when you are out of love, but the average will tend to hold. For eight of these hours, more or less, you will be asleep." "Then for about eight hours of each working day you will, I hope, be usefully employed. Assume you have gone through pharmacy school —or engineering, or law school, or whatever —during those eight hours you will be using your professional skills. You will see to it that the cyanide stays out of the aspirin, that the bull doesn't jump the fence, or that your client doesn't go to the electric chair as a result of your incompetence. These are all useful pursuits. They involve skills every man must respect, and they can all bring you basic satisfactions. Along with everything else, they will probably be what puts food on your table, supports your wife, and rears your children. They will be your income, and may it always suffice.""But having finished the day's work, what do you do with those other eight hours Let's say you go home to your family. What sort of family are you raising Will the children ever be exposed to a reasonably penetrating idea at home Will you be presiding over a family that maintains some contact with the great democratic intellect Will there be a book in the house Willthere be a painting a reasonably sensitive man can look at without shuddering Will the kids ever get to hear Bach"That is about what I said, but this particular pest was not interested. "Look," he said, "you professors raise your kids your way; I'll take care of my own. Me, I'm out to make money.""I hope you make a lot of it," I told him, "because you're going to be badly stuck for something to do when you're not signing checks."Fourteen years later I am still teaching, and I am here to tell you that the business of the college is not only to train you, but to put you in touch with what the best human minds have thought. If you have no time for Shakespeare, for a basic look at philosophy, for the continuity of the fine arts, for that lesson of man's development we call history —then you have no business being in college. You are on your way to being that new species of mechanized savage, the push-button Neanderthal. Our colleges inevitably graduate a number of such life forms, but it cannot be said that they went to college; rather the college went through them — without making contact.No one gets to be a human being unaided. There is not time enough in a single lifetime to invent for oneself everything one needs to know in order to be a civilized human.Assume, for example, that you want to be a physicist. You pass the great stone halls of, say, M. I. T., and there cut into the stone are the names of the scientists. The chances are that few, if any, of you will leave your names to be cut into those stones. Yet any of you who managed to stay awake through part of a high school course in physics, knows more about physics than did many of those great scholars of the past. You know more because they left you what they knew, because you can start from what the past learned for you.And as this is true of the techniques of mankind, so it is true of mankind's spiritual resources. Most of these resources, both technical and spiritual, are stored in books. Books are man's peculiar accomplishment. When you have read a book, you have added to your human experience. Read Homer and your mind includes a piece of Homer's mind. Through books you can acquire at least fragments of the mind and experience of Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare — the list is endless. For a great book is necessarily a gift; it offers you a life you have not the time to live yourself, and it takes you into a world you have not the time to travel in literal time. A civilized mind is, in essence, one that contains many such lives and many such worlds. If you are too much in a hurry, or too arrogantly proud of your own limitations, to accept as a gift to your humanity some pieces of the minds of Aristotle, or Chaucer, or Einstein, you are neither a developed human nor a useful citizen of a democracy.I think it was La Rochefoucauld who said that most people would never fall in love if they hadn't read about it. He might have said that no one would ever manage to become human if they hadn't read about it.I speak, I'm sure, for the faculty of the liberal arts college and for the faculties of the specialized schools as well, when I say that a university has no real existence and no real purpose except as it succeeds in putting you in touch, both as specialists and as humans, with those human minds your human mind needs to include. The faculty, by its very existence, says implicitly: "We have been aided by many people, and by many books, in our attempt to make ourselves some sort of storehouse of human experience. We are here to make available to you, as best we can, that expertise."Lesson Twoalert adj. watchful and ready to meet dangerbirch n. 桦树bough n. a main branch of a treecabin n. a small roughly built housechase v. to drive away; to cause to leavecreek n. a long narrow streamcrouch v. to lower the body close to the ground by bending the knees and backcub n. a young meat-eating wild animal like bear, lion, tiger, wolf, etc.detain v. to keep sb. from leaving during a certain timedim v. to become less brightdoc n. (infml AmE) a doctordrift v. to be driven along by windflake n. a very small flat thin piece that breaks away easily from sth. else; snow ～: 雪花grasshopper n. 蚱蜢howl n. a long loud cry, esp. made by wolves as in pain, anger, etc.leap v. to jump high into the airlick v. to move the tongue across the surface of sth. in order to eat it or clean itmantle n. a loose outer sleeveless garment. Here it is used figuratively.meadow n. a field with wild grass and flowersmischievous adj. eager to have fun by playing harmless tricksmuzzle n. the nose and mouth of an animal such as a dog, a wolf or a horsenumb adj. unable to feel anything because of coldnesspace n. a single step in running or walkingpartner n. sb. who does the same activity with you 伙伴paw n. an animal's foot that has nails or clawspierce v. to make a hole in or through (sth.) using sth. with a sharp pointpine n. 松树poke v. to push or move sth. through a space or openingpuppy n. a young dog ("puppy-wool" here refers to the wool of the wolf cub)realize v. to understandrestless adj. unwilling or unable to stay quiet and stillrifle n. a type of gun fired from the shoulderrocket n. 火箭rooster n. (AmE) a cockrumble n. a deep continuous rolling soundshack n. a small and not very strong buildingshiver v. to shake, esp. from cold or fearslash v. to make a long deep cut with sth. sharp like a knifesmother v. to cover thicklysnarl n. a low angry sound while showing the teethsoaked adj. very wet with some liquidspear v. 用鱼叉刺spurt v. to come out quickly and suddenly in a thin, powerful streamsquat v. to sit with your knees bent under you, your bottom off the ground, and balancing on your feet 蹲；蹲坐squirrel n. a small animal with a long furry tail that climbs trees and eats nuts 松鼠stir v. to move slightlythicken v. to become thickerthrill v. to feel very happy and excitedtoll n. to take a ～: to have a very bad effect on sb. or sth.trapper n. a person who catches wild animals for their furunchained adj. without a chainwhimper v. to make low crying soundswiggle v. (infml) to move in small movements from side to side, or up and downwolf n. a wild animal that looks like a large dog and lives and hunts in groupswool n. the soft thick hair of sheep and some goats (Here it refers to the hair of the wolf.)Text A Maheegun My Brother Eric AclandThe year I found Maheegun, spring was late in coming. That day, I was spearing fish with my grandfather when I heard the faint crying and found the shivering wolf cub.As I bent down, he moved weakly toward me. I picked him up and put him inside my jacket. Little Maheegun gained strength after I got the first few drops of warm milk in him. He wiggled and soon he was full and warm.My grandfather finally agreed to let me keep him. That year, which was my 14th, was the happiest of my life.Not that we didn't have our troubles. Maheegun was the most mischievous wolf cub ever. He was curious too. Like looking into Grandma's sewing basket — which he upset, scattering thread and buttons all over the floor. At such times, she would chase him out with a broom and Maheegun would poke his head around the corner, waiting for things to quiet down.That summer Maheegun and I became hunting partners. We hunted the grasshoppers that leaped about like little rockets. And in the fall, after the first snow our games took us to the nearest meadows in search of field mice. By then, Maheegun was half grown. Gone was the puppy-wool coat. In its place was a handsome black mantle.The winter months that came soon after were the happiest I could remember. They belonged only to Maheegun and myself. Often we would make a fire in the bushes. Maheegun would lay his head between his front paws, with his eyes on me as I told him stories.It all served to fog my mind with pleasure so that I forgot my Grandpa's repeated warnings, and one night left Maheegun unchained. The following morning in sailed Mrs. Yesno, wild with anger, who demanded Maheegun be shot because he had killed her rooster. The next morning, my grandpa announced that we were going to take Maheegun to the north shack.By the time we reached the lake where the trapper's shack stood, Maheegun seemed to have become restless. Often he would sit with his nose to the sky, turning his head this way and that as if to check the wind.The warmth of the stove soon brought sleep to me. But something caused me to wake up with a start. I sat up, and in the moon-flooded cabin was my grandfather standing beside me. "Come and see, son," whispered my grandfather.Outside the moon was full and the world looked all white with snow. He pointed to a rock that stood high at the edge of the lake. On the top was the clear outline of a great wolf sitting still, ears pointed, alert, listening."Maheegun," whispered my grandfather.Slowly the wolf raised his muzzle. "Oooo-oo-wow-wowoo-oooo!"The whole white world thrilled to that wild cry. Then after a while, from the distance came a softer call in reply. Maheegun stirred, with the deep rumble of pleasure in his throat. He slipped down the rock and headed out across the ice."He's gone," I said."Yes, he's gone to that young she-wolf." My grandfather slowly filled his pipe. "He will take her for life, hunt for her, protect her. This is the way the Creator planned life. No man can change it."I tried to tell myself it was all for the best, but it was hard to lose my brother.For the next two years I was as busy as a squirrel storing nuts for the winter. But once or twice when I heard wolf cries from distant hills, I would still wonder if Maheegun, in his battle for life, found time to remember me.It was not long after that I found the answer.Easter came early that year and during the holidays I went to visit my cousins.My uncle was to bring me home in his truck. But he was detained by some urgent business. So I decided to come back home on my own.A mile down the road I slipped into my snowshoes and turned into the bush. The strong sunshine had dimmed. I had not gone far before big flakes of snow began drifting down.The snow thickened fast. I could not locate the tall pine that stood on the north slope of Little Mountain. I circled to my right and stumbled into a snow-filled creek bed. By then the snow had made a blanket of white darkness, but I knew only too well there should have been no creek there.I tried to travel west but only to hit the creek again. I knew I had gone in a great circle and I was lost.There was only one thing to do. Camp for the night and hope that by morning the storm would have blown itself out. I quickly made a bed of boughs and started a fire with the bark of an old dead birch. The first night I was comfortable enough. But when the first gray light came I realized that I was in deep trouble. The storm was even worse. Everything had beensmothered by the fierce whiteness.The light of another day still saw no end to the storm. I began to get confused. I couldn't recall whether it had been storming for three or four days.Then came the clear dawn. A great white stillness had taken over and with it, biting cold. My supply of wood was almost gone. There must be more.Slashing off green branches with my knife, I cut my hand and blood spurted freely from my wound. It was some time before the bleeding stopped. I wrapped my hand with a piece of cloth I tore off from my shirt. After some time, my fingers grew cold and numb, so I took the bandage off and threw it away.How long I squatted over my dying fire I don't know. But then I saw the gray shadow between the trees. It was a timber wolf. He had followed the blood spots on the snow to the blood-soaked bandage."Yap... yap... yap... yoooo!" The howl seemed to freeze the world with fear.It was the food cry. He was calling, "Come, brothers, I have found meat." And I was the meat!Soon his hunting partner came to join him. Any time now, I thought, their teeth would pierce my bones.Suddenly the world exploded in snarls. I was thrown against the branches of the shelter. But I felt no pain. And a great silence had come. Slowly I worked my way out of the snow and raised my head. There, about 50 feet away, crouched my two attackers with their tails between their legs. Then I heard a noise to my side and turned my head. There stood a giant black wolf. It was Maheegun, and he had driven off the others."Maheegun... Maheegun...," I sobbed, as I moved through the snow toward him. "My brother, my brother," I said, giving him my hand. He reached out and licked at the dried blood.I got my little fire going again, and as I squatted by it, I started to cry. Maybe it was relief or weakness or both — I don't know. Maheegun whimpered too.Maheegun stayed with me through the long night, watching me with those big eyes. The cold and loss of blood were taking their toll.The sun was midway across the sky when I noticed how restless Maheegun had become. He would run away a few paces —head up, listening — then run back to me. Then I heard. It was dogs. It was the searching party! I put the last of my birch bark on the fire and fanned it into life.The sound of the dogs grew louder. Then the voices of men. Suddenly, as if by magic, the police dog team came up out of the creek bed, and a man came running toward my fire. It was my grandfather.The old hunter stopped suddenly when he saw the wolf. He raised his rifle. "Don't shoot!" I screamed and ran toward him, falling through the snow. "It's Maheegun. Don't shoot!"He lowered his rifle. Then I fell forward on my face, into the snow.I woke up in my bedroom. It was quite some time before my eyes came into focus enough to see my grandfather sitting by my bed."You have slept three days," he said softly. "The doc says you will be all right in a week or two.""And Maheegun" I asked weakly. "He should be fine. He is with his own kind."Lesson Threeapproval n. official permissionbond n. a written document in which a government or company promises to pay back money that it has borrowed, often with interest 债券certainty n. the state of being certaincommit v. to do sth. wrong or illegalcontribution n. sth. you say or do in order to help make sth. successful 贡献convict v. to find sb. guilty of a crime, esp. in a court of lawn. a person who has been found guilty of a crime and sent to prisoncostly adj. having a high price; expensivecourt n. a place where legal matters are decided by a judge and jurycurrent adj. belonging to the present timedecade n. a period of 10 yearsdeter v. to discourage; to persuade sb. not to do sth., by making him realize it will be difficult or will have unpleasant resultsdismiss v. to ～a court case: to stop a court case before a result is reachedelite adj. considered to be the best of their kind 属于精英的，最好的estimate n. a calculation of a quantity or number 估计evidence n. the information used in a court of law to try to prove sth.execute v. to kill sb. as a lawful punishment for a serious crimefeasible adj. able to be carried out or donefeature n. a typical part or qualityillustrate v. to show sth. by giving related examplesimprison v. to put in prisoninmate n. one who is kept in a prisonmaximum adj. the largest number or amountnonetheless adv. in spite of that; yet; neverthelessnontraffic adj. not related to trafficobservation n. what one has noticedoffender n. sb. who is guilty of a crime; a criminaloffense n. an illegal action or a crimeper prep. for eachpersonnel n. all the people employed in a particular organizationprecisely adv. exactlyprior adj. happening beforeproperty n. belongings; possessionsprosecute v. to bring a criminal charge against sb. in a court of lawrate n. the speed at which sth. happens over a period of timereality n. the real situation; the real state of affairsreject v. to refuse to acceptSaudi Arabia 沙特阿拉伯severity n. the state of being severesocial adj. relating to societysolution n. a way of solving a problem or dealing with a difficult situationstatistics n. facts shown in numbersteenage adj. aged between 13 and 19theft n. the crime of stealingtough adj. determined and strictvictim n. a person who suffers as a result of other people's criminal actions, etc.violence n. the use of force to hurt other people physicallyvoter n. a person who has the legal right to vote, esp. in a political electionwitness n. a person who tells in a court of law what he saw or what he knows about a crimeProper Name Alcatraz 阿尔卡特拉兹（美国圣弗兰西斯科湾——即旧金山湾——的小岛，1933—1963年为一座联邦监狱所在地。

英文短篇小说阅读unit 2 text B

Question 1
Conradin is believed to have only five more years to live. What is significant about this detail?
Answer 1
Conradin is allocated to the category of the weak and the ill. Plus he is only ten years old, he is the object of oppression and control. The fact that his guardian accepts the doctor’s opinion readily doctor’ reflects her cruel and dominating nature.
Question 2
In the first two paragraphs how many times is Conradin’s imagination metioned? metioned? What can we learn about the relationship between the boy and his guardian?
Question 5
Read the descriptions below and find out all the words with religious connotations. In which sense is Conradin’s religion a parody of his cousin’s religion for example?
3) …from the realm of his imagination she was locked out-an unclean thing, which should find no entrance.

英语经典名篇阅读中英文对照版

英语经典名篇阅读中英文对照版英语经典名篇阅读(二)论读书Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and forability.Their chief use for delight, is in privatenessand retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and forability, is in the judgment and disposition ofbusiness.For expert men can execute, and perhapsjudge of particulars, one by one; but the generalcounsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs, come best from those that are learned. To spend toomuch time in studies is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to makejugment wholly by their rules, isthe humour of a scholar. They perfect nature, and are perfectedby experience: for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need pruning by study; andstudies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in byexperience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them; forthey teach not their own use; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won byobservation. Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor tofind talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to beswallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only inparts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligenceand attention.Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that would be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books, elsedistilled books are, like common distilled waters, flashy things.Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man writelittle, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had need have apresent wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that hedoth not. Histories make men wise; poetswitty; the mathematics subtitle; natural philosophydeep; moral grave; logic and rhetoric able to contend.Abeunt studia in mores. Nay there isno stand or impediment in the wit, but may be wrought out by fit studies: like as diseases ofthe body may have appropriate exercises. Bowling is good for the stone and reins:shootingfor the lungs and breast; gentle walking for the stomach; riding for the head; and the like. So ifa man’s wit be wandering, let him study the mathematics; for in demonstrations, if his wit becalled away never so little, he must begin again. If his wit be not apt to distinguish or finddifferences, let himstudy the Schoolmen; for they are cymini sectores. If he be not apt to beatover matters, and to call up one thing to prove and illustrate another, let him study thelawyers’cases. So every defect of the mind may have a special receipt.读书足以怡情，足以傅彩,足以长才。

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The ScarI always felt ugly. Then I learned that beauty and perfection are two very differentthings.By Joanna SlanHis thumb softly rubbed the twisted flesh on my cheek. The plastic surgeon, a good fifteen years my senior, was a very attractive man. His masculinity and the intensity of his gaze seemed almost overpowering.“Hmmm,” he said quietly. “Are you a model?”Is this a joke? Is he kidding? I asked myself, and I searched his handsome face for signs of mockery. No way would anyone ever confuse me with a fashion model. I was ugly. My mother casually referred to my sister as her pretty child. Anyone could see I was homely. After all, I had the scar to prove it.The accident happened in fourth grade, when a neighbor boy picked up a hunk of concrete and heaved the mass through the side of my face. An emergency room doctor stitched together the shreds of skin, pulling cat-gut through the tattered outside of my face and then suturing the shards flesh inside my mouth. For the rest of the year, a huge bandage from cheekbone to jaw covered the raised angry welt.A few weeks after the accident, an eye exam revealed I was nearsighted. Above the ungainly bandage sat a big, thick pair of glasses. Around my head, a short fuzzy glob of curls stood out like mold growing on old bread. To save money, mom had taken me to a beauty school where a student cut my hair. The overzealous girl hacked away cheerfully. Globs of hair piled up on the floor. By the time her instructor wandered over, the damage was done. A quick conference followed, and we were given a coupon for a free styling on our next visit.“Well,” sighed my father that evening, “you’ll always be pretty to me,” and he hesitated, “even if you aren’t to the rest of the world.”Right. Thanks. As i f I couldn’t hear the taunts of the other kids at school. As if I couldn’t see how different I looked from the little girls whom the teachers fawned over. As if I didn’t occasionally catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. In a culture that values beauty, an ugly girl is an outcast. My looks caused me no end of pain. I sat in my room and sobbed every time my family watched a beauty pageant or a “talent” search show.Eventually, I decided that if I couldn’t be pretty, I would at least be well-groomed. Over the course of years, I learned to style my hair, wear contact lenses and apply make-up. Watching what worked for other women, I learned to dress myself to best advantage. And now, I was engaged to be married. The scar, shrunken and faded withage, stood between me and a new life.“Of course, I’m not a model,” I replied with a small amount of indignation.The plastic surgeon crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me appraisingly. “Then why are you concerned about his scar? If there i s no professional reason to have it removed, what brought you here today?”Suddenly he represented all the men I’d ever known. The eight boys who turned me down when I invited them to the girls-ask-boys dance. The sporadic dates I’d had in college. The parade of men who had ignored me since then. The man whose ring I wore on my left hand. My hand rose to my face. The scar confirmed it; I was ugly. The room swam before me as my eyes filled with tears.The doctor pulled a rolling stool up next to me and sat down. His knees almost touched mine. His voice was low and soft.“Let me tell you what I see. I see a beautiful woman. Not a perfect woman, but a beautiful woman. Lauren Hutton has a gap between her front teeth. Elizabeth Taylor has a tiny, tiny scar on her forehead,” he almost whispered. Then he paused and handed me a mirror. “I think to myself how every remarkable woman has an imperfection, and I believe that imperfection makes her beauty more remarkable because it assures us she is human.”He pushed back the stool and stood up. “I won’t touch it. Don’t let anyone fool with your face. Y ou are delightful just the way you are. Beauty really does come from within a woman. Believe me. It is my business to know.”Then he left.I turned to the face in the mirror. He was right. Somehow over the years, that ugly child had become a beautiful woman. Since that day in his office, as a woman who makes her living speaking before hundreds of people, I have been told may times by people of both sexes that I am beautiful. And, I know I am.When I changed how I saw myself, others were forced to change how they saw me. The doctor didn’t remove the scar on my face; he removed the scar on my heart.。