大学英语综合教程三 Unit 1至Unit 8 课文内容英译中 中英翻译
大家好，我叫亓官劼（qí guān jié ），在CSDN中记录学习的点滴历程，时光荏苒，未来可期，加油~博客地址为：亓官劼的博客
大学英语 综合教程 一到四 课文文章翻译 英译中 所有文章的目录导航为：大学英语 综合教程 一到四 课文文章翻译 英译中 目录导航
Book III Unit 1 Mr. Doherty Builds His Dream Life
1 There are two things I have always wanted to do -- write and live on a farm. Today I'm doing both. I am not in E. B. White's class as a writer or in my neighbors' league as a farmer, but I'm getting by. And after years of frustration with city and suburban living, my wife Sandy and I have finally found contentment here in the country.
2 It's a self-reliant sort of life. We grow nearly all of our fruits and vegetables. Our hens keep us in eggs, with several dozen left over to sell each week. Our bees provide us with honey, and we cut enough wood to just about make it through the heating season.
3 It's a satisfying life too. In the summer we canoe on the river, go picnicking in the woods and take long bicycle rides. In the winter we ski and skate. We get excited about sunsets. We love the smell of the earth warming and the sound of cattle lowing. We watch for hawks in the sky and deer in the cornfields.
4 But the good life can get pretty tough. Three months ago when it was 30 below, we spent two miserable days hauling firewood up the river on a sled. Three months from now, it will be 95 above and we will be cultivating corn, weeding strawberries and killing chickens. Recently, Sandy and I had to retile the back roof. Soon Jim, 16 and Emily, 13, the youngest of our four children, will help me make some long-overdue improvements on the outdoor toilet that supplements our indoor plumbing when we are working outside. Later this month, we'll spray the orchard, paint the barn, plant the garden and clean the hen house before the new chicks arrive.
5 In between such chores, I manage to spend 50 to 60 hours a week at the typewriter or doing reporting for the freelance articles I sell to magazines and newspapers. Sandy, meanwhile, pursues her own demanding schedule. Besides the usual household routine, she oversees the garden and beehives, bakes bread, cans and freezes, drives the kids to their music lessons, practices with them, takes organ lessons on her own, does research and typing for me, writes an article herself now and then, tends the flower beds, stacks a little wood and delivers the eggs. There is, as the old saying goes, no rest for the wicked on a place like this -- and not much for the virtuous either.
6 None of us will ever forget our first winter. We were buried under five feet of snow from December through March. While one storm after another blasted huge drifts up against the house and barn, we kept warm inside burning our own wood, eating our own apples and loving every minute of it.
7 When spring came, it brought two floods. First the river overflowed, covering much of our land for weeks. Then the growing season began, swamping us under wave after wave of produce. Our freezer filled up with cherries, raspberries, strawberries, asparagus, peas, beans and corn. Then our canned-goods shelves and cupboards began to grow with preserves, tomato juice, grape juice, plums, jams and jellies. Eventually, the basement floor disappeared under piles of potatoes, squash and pumpkins, and the barn began to fill with apples and pears. It was amazing.
8 The next year we grew even more food and managed to get through the winter on firewood that was mostly from our own trees and only 100 gallons of heating oil. At that point I began thinking seriously about quitting my job and starting to freelance. The timing was terrible. By then, Shawn and Amy, our oldest girls were attending expensive Ivy League schools and we had only a few thousand dollars in the bank. Yet we kept coming back to the same question: Will there ever be a better time? The answer, decidedly, was no, and so -- with my employer's blessings and half a year's pay in accumulated benefits in my pocket -- off I went.
9 There have been a few anxious moments since then, but on balance things have gone much better than we had any right to expect. For various stories of mine, I've crawled into black-bear dens for Sports Illustrated, hitched up dogsled racing teams for Smithsonian magazine, checked out the Lake Champlain "monster" for Science Digest, and canoed through the Boundary Waters wilderness area of Minnesota for Destinations.
10 I'm not making anywhere near as much money as I did when I was employed full time, but now we don't need as much either. I generate enough income to handle our $600-a-month mortgage payments plus the usual expenses for a family like ours. That includes everything from music lessons and dental bills to car repairs and college costs. When it comes to insurance, we have a poor man's major-medical policy. We have to pay the first $500 of any medical fees for each member of the family. It picks up 80% of the costs beyond that. Although we are stuck with paying minor expenses, our premium is low -- only $560 a year -- and we are covered against catastrophe. Aside from that and the policy on our two cars at $400 a year, we have no other insurance. But we are setting aside $2,000 a year in an IRA.
11 We've been able to make up the difference in income by cutting back without appreciably lowering our standard of living. We continue to dine out once or twice a month, but now we patronize local restaurants instead of more expensive places in the city. We still attend the opera and ballet in Milwaukee but only a few times a year. We eat less meat, drink cheaper wine and see fewer movies. Extravagant Christmases are a memory, and we combine vacations with story assignments...
12 I suspect not everyone who loves the country would be happy living the way we do. It takes a couple of special qualities. One is a tolerance for solitude. Because we are so busy and on such a tight budget, we don't entertain much. During the growing season there is no time for socializing anyway. Jim and Emily are involved in school activities, but they too spend most of their time at home.
13 The other requirement is energy -- a lot of it. The way to make self-sufficiency work on a small scale is to resist the temptation to buy a tractor and other expensive laborsaving devices. Instead, you do the work yourself. The only machinery we own (not counting the lawn mower) is a little three-horsepower rotary cultivator and a 16-inch chain saw.
14 How much longer we'll have enough energy to stay on here is anybody's guess -- perhaps for quite a while, perhaps not. When the time comes, we'll leave with a feeling of sorrow but also with a sense of pride at what we've been able to accomplish. We should make a fair profit on the sale of the place, too. We've invested about $35,000 of our own money in it, and we could just about double that if we sold today. But this is not a good time to sell. Once economic conditions improve, however, demand for farms like ours should be strong again.
15 We didn't move here primarily to earn money though. We came because we wanted to improve the quality of our lives. When I watch Emily collecting eggs in the evening, fishing with Jim on the river or enjoying an old-fashioned picnic in the orchard with the entire family, I know we've found just what we were looking for.
Fergus M. Bordewich
1 A gentle breeze swept the Canadian plains as I stepped outside the small two-story house. Alongside me was a slender woman in a black dress, my guide back to a time when the surrounding settlement in Dresden, Ontario, was home to a hero in American history. As we walked toward a plain gray church, Barbara Carter spoke proudly of her great-great-grandfather, Josiah Henson. "He was confident that the Creator intended all men to be created equal. And he never gave up struggling for that freedom."
2 Carter's devotion to her ancestor is about more than personal pride: it is about family honor. For Josiah Henson has lived on through the character in American fiction that he helped inspire: Uncle Tom, the long-suffering slave in Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin. Ironically, that character has come to symbolize everything Henson was not. A racial sellout unwilling to stand up for himself? Carter gets angry at the thought. "Josiah Henson was a man of principle," she said firmly.
3 I had traveled here to Henson's last home -- now a historic site that Carter formerly directed -- to learn more about a man who was, in many ways, an African-American Moses. After winning his own freedom from slavery, Henson secretly helped hundreds of other slaves to escape north to Canada -- and liberty. Many settled here in Dresden with him.
4 Yet this stop was only part of a much larger mission for me. Josiah Henson is but one name on a long list of courageous men and women who together forged the Underground Railroad, a secret web of escape routes and safe houses that they used to liberate slaves from the American South. Between 1820 and 1860, as many as 100,000 slaves traveled the Railroad to freedom.
5 In October 2000, President Clinton authorized $16 million for the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center to honor this first great civil-rights struggle in the U. S. The center is scheduled to open in 2004 in Cincinnati. And it's about time. For the heroes of the Underground Railroad remain too little remembered, their exploits still largely unsung. I was intent on telling their stories.
6 John Parker tensed when he heard the soft knock. Peering out his door into the night, he recognized the face of a trusted neighbor. "There's a party of escaped slaves hiding in the woods in Kentucky, twenty miles from the river," the man whispered urgently. Parker didn't hesitate. "I'll go," he said, pushing a pair of pistols into his pockets.
7 Born a slave two decades before, in the 1820s, Parker had been taken from his mother at age eight and forced to walk in chains from Virginia to Alabama, where he was sold on the slave market. Determined to live free someday, he managed to get trained in iron molding. Eventually he saved enough money working at this trade on the side to buy his freedom. Now, by day, Parker worked in an iron foundry in the Ohio port of Ripley. By night he was a "conductor" on the Underground Railroad, helping people slip by the slave hunters. In Kentucky, where he was now headed, there was a $1000 reward for his capture, dead or alive.
8 Crossing the Ohio River on that chilly night, Parker found ten fugitives frozen with fear. "Get your bundles and follow me, " he told them, leading the eight men and two women toward the river. They had almost reached shore when a watchman spotted them and raced off to spread the news.
9 Parker saw a small boat and, with a shout, pushed the escaping slaves into it. There was room for all but two. As the boat slid across the river, Parker watched helplessly as the pursuers closed in around the men he was forced to leave behind.
10 The others made it to the Ohio shore, where Parker hurriedly arranged for a wagon to take them to the next "station" on the Underground Railroad -- the first leg of their journey to safety in Canada. Over the course of his life, John Parker guided more than 400 slaves to safety.
11 While black conductors were often motivated by their own painful experiences, whites were commonly driven by religious convictions. Levi Coffin, a Quaker raised in North Carolina, explained, "The Bible, in bidding us to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, said nothing about color."
12 In the 1820s Coffin moved west to Newport (now Fountain City), Indiana, where he opened a store. Word spread that fleeing slaves could always find refuge at the Coffin home. At times he sheltered as many as 17 fugitives at once, and he kept a team and wagon ready to convey them on the next leg of their journey. Eventually three principal routes converged at the Coffin house, which came to be the Grand Central Terminal of the Underground Railroad.
13 For his efforts, Coffin received frequent death threats and warnings that his store and home would be burned. Nearly every conductor faced similar risks -- or worse. In the North, a magistrate might have imposed a fine or a brief jail sentence for aiding those escaping. In the Southern states, whites were sentenced to months or even years in jail. One courageous Methodist minister, Calvin Fairbank, was imprisoned for more than 17 years in Kentucky, where he kept a log of his beatings: 35,105 stripes with the whip.
14 As for the slaves, escape meant a journey of hundreds of miles through unknown country, where they were usually easy to recognize. With no road signs and few maps, they had to put their trust in directions passed by word of mouth and in secret signs -- nails driven into trees, for example -- that conductors used to mark the route north.
15 Many slaves traveled under cover of night, their faces sometimes caked with white powder. Quakers often dressed their "passengers," both male and female, in gray dresses, deep bonnets and full veils. On one occasion, Levi Coffin was transporting so many runaway slaves that he disguised them as a funeral procession.
16 Canada was the primary destination for many fugitives. Slavery had been abolished there in 1833, and Canadian authorities encouraged the runaways to settle their vast virgin land. Among them was Josiah Henson.
17 As a boy in Maryland, Henson watched as his entire family was sold to different buyers, and he saw his mother harshly beaten when she tried to keep him with her. Making the best of his lot, Henson worked diligently and rose far in his owner's regard.
18 Money problems eventually compelled his master to send Henson, his wife and children to a brother in Kentucky. After laboring there for several years, Henson heard alarming news: the new master was planning to sell him for plantation work far away in the Deep South. The slave would be separated forever from his family.
19 There was only one answer: flight. "I knew the North Star," Henson wrote years later. "Like the star of Bethlehem, it announced where my salvation lay. "
20 At huge risk, Henson and his wife set off with their four children. Two weeks later, starving and exhausted, the family reached Cincinnati, where they made contact with members of the Underground Railroad. "Carefully they provided for our welfare, and then they set us thirty miles on our way by wagon."
21 The Hensons continued north, arriving at last in Buffalo, N. Y. There a friendly captain pointed across the Niagara River. "'Do you see those trees?' he said. 'They grow on free soil.'" He gave Henson a dollar and arranged for a boat, which carried the slave and his family across the river to Canada.
22 "I threw myself on the ground, rolled in the sand and danced around, till, in the eyes of several who were present, I passed for a madman. 'He's some crazy fellow,' said a Colonel Warren."
23 "'Oh, no! Don't you know? I'm free!'" “‘不，不是的！知道吗？我自由了！’”
Book III Unit 3 The Land of the Lock
1 In the house where I grew up, it was our custom to leave the front door on the latch at night. I don't know if that was a local term or if it is universal; "on the latch" meant the door was closed but not locked. None of us carried keys; the last one in for the evening would close up, and that was it.
2 Those days are over. In rural areas as well as in cities, doors do not stay unlocked, even for part of an evening.
3 Suburbs and country areas are, in many ways, even more vulnerable than well-patroled urban streets. Statistics show the crime rate rising more dramatically in those allegedly tranquil areas than in cities. At any rate, the era of leaving the front door on the latch is over.
4 It has been replaced by dead-bolt locks, security chains, electronic alarm systems and trip wires hooked up to a police station or private guard firm. Many suburban families have sliding glass doors on their patios, with steel bars elegantly built in so no one can pry the doors open.
5 It is not uncommon, in the most pleasant of homes, to see pasted on the windows small notices announcing that the premises are under surveillance by this security force or that guard company.
6 The lock is the new symbol of America. Indeed, a recent public-service advertisement by a large insurance company featured not charts showing how much at risk we are, but a picture of a child's bicycle with the now-usual padlock attached to it.
7 The ad pointed out that, yes, it is the insurance companies that pay for stolen goods, but who is going to pay for what the new atmosphere of distrust and fear is doing to our way of life? Who is going to make the psychic payment for the transformation of America from the Land of the Free to the Land of the Lock?
8 For that is what has happened. We have become so used to defending ourselves against the new atmosphere of American life, so used to putting up barriers, that we have not had time to think about what it may mean.
9 For some reason we are satisfied when we think we are well-protected; it does not occur to us to ask ourselves: Why has this happened? Why are we having to barricade ourselves against our neighbors and fellow citizens, and when, exactly, did this start to take over our lives?
10 And it has taken over. If you work for a medium- to large-size company, chances are that you don't just wander in and out of work. You probably carry some kind of access card, electronic or otherwise, that allows you in and out of your place of work. Maybe the security guard at the front desk knows your face and will wave you in most days, but the fact remains that the business you work for feels threatened enough to keep outsiders away via these "keys."
11 It wasn't always like this. Even a decade ago, most private businesses had a policy of free access. It simply didn't occur to managers that the proper thing to do was to distrust people.
12 Look at the airports. Parents used to take children out to departure gates to watch planes land and take off. That's all gone. Airports are no longer a place of education and fun; they are the most sophisticated of security sites.
13 With electronic X-ray equipment, we seem finally to have figured out a way to hold the terrorists, real and imagined, at bay; it was such a relief to solve this problem that we did not think much about what such a state of affairs says about the quality of our lives. We now pass through these electronic friskers without so much as a sideways glance; the machines, and what they stand for, have won.
14 Our neighborhoods are bathed in high-intensity light; we do not want to afford ourselves even so much a luxury as a shadow.
15 Businessmen, in increasing numbers, are purchasing new machines that hook up to the telephone and analyze a caller's voice. The machines are supposed to tell the businessman, with a small margin of error, whether his friend or client is telling lies.
16 All this is being done in the name of "security"; that is what we tell ourselves. We are fearful, and so we devise ways to lock the fear out, and that, we decide, is what security means.
17 But no; with all this "security," we are perhaps the most insecure nation in the history of civilized man. What better word to describe the way in which we have been forced to live? What sadder reflection on all that we have become in this new and puzzling time?
18 We trust no one. Suburban housewives wear rape whistles on their station wagon key chains. We have become so smart about self-protection that, in the end, we have all outsmarted ourselves. We may have locked the evils out, but in so doing we have locked ourselves in.
19 That may be the legacy we remember best when we look back on this age: In dealing with the unseen horrors among us, we became prisoners of ourselves. All of us prisoners, in this time of our troubles.
1 Albert Einstein was exhausted. For the third night in a row, his baby son Hans, crying, kept the household awake until dawn. When Albert finally dozed off ... it was time to get up and go to work. He couldn't skip a day. He needed the job to support his young family.
2 Walking briskly to the Patent Office, where he was a "Technical Expert, Third Class," Albert worried about his mother. She was getting older and frail, and she didn't approve of his marriage to Mileva. Relations were strained. Albert glanced at a passing shop window. His hair was a mess; he had forgotten to comb it again.
3 Work. Family. Making ends meet. Albert felt all the pressure and responsibility of any young husband and father.
To relax, he revolutionized physics.
4 In 1905, at the age of 26 and four years before he was able to get a job as a professor of physics, Einstein published five of the most important papers in the history of science--all written in his "spare time." He proved that atoms and molecules existed. Before 1905, scientists weren't sure about that. He argued that light came in little bits (later called "photons") and thus laid the foundation for quantum mechanics. He described his theory of special relativity: space and time were threads in a common fabric, he proposed, which could be bent, stretched and twisted.
5 Oh, and by the way, E=mc2.
5. 对了，顺便提一下，E = mc2。
6 Before Einstein, the last scientist who had such a creative outburst was Sir Isaac Newton. It happened in 1666 when Newton secluded himself at his mother's farm to avoid an outbreak of plague at Cambridge. With nothing better to do, he developed his Theory of Universal Gravitation.
7 For centuries historians called 1666 Newton's “miracle year”. Now those words have a different meaning: Einstein and 1905. The United Nations has declared 2005 "The World Year of Physics" to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Einstein's “miracle year.”
8 Modern pop culture paints Einstein as a bushy-haired superthinker. His ideas, we're told, were improbably far ahead of other scientists. He must have come from some other planet--maybe the same one Newton grew up on.
9 "Einstein was no space alien," laughs Harvard University physicist and science historian Peter Galison. "He was a man of his time." All of his 1905 papers unraveled problems being worked on, with mixed success, by other scientists. "If Einstein hadn't been born, [those papers] would have been written in some form, eventually, by others," Galison believes.
10 What's remarkable about 1905 is that a single person authored all five papers, plus the original, irreverent way Einstein came to his conclusions.
11 For example: the photoelectric effect. This was a puzzle in the early 1900s. When light hits a metal, like zinc, electrons fly off. This can happen only if light comes in little packets concentrated enough to knock an electron loose. A spread-out wave wouldn't do the photoelectric trick.
12 The solution seems simple--light is particulate. Indeed, this is the solution Einstein proposed in 1905 and won the Nobel Prize for in 1921. Other physicists like Max Planck (working on a related problem: blackbody radiation), more senior and experienced than Einstein, were closing in on the answer, but Einstein got there first. Why?
It's a question of authority. 这是对权威的看法问题
13 "In Einstein's day, if you tried to say that light was made of particles, you found yourself disagreeing with physicist James Clerk Maxwell. Nobody wanted to do that," says Galison. Maxwell's equations were enormously successful, unifying the physics of electricity, magnetism and optics. Maxwell had proved beyond any doubt that light was an electromagnetic wave. Maxwell was an Authority Figure.
14 Einstein didn't give a fig for authority. He didn't resist being told what to do, not so much, but he hated being told what was true. Even as a child he was constantly doubting and questioning. "Your mere presence here undermines the class's respect for me," spat his 7th grade teacher, Dr. Joseph Degenhart. (Degenhart also predicted that Einstein "would never get anywhere in life.") This character flaw was to be a key ingredient in Einstein's discoveries.
15 "In 1905," notes Galison, "Einstein had just received his Ph.D. He wasn't beholden to a thesis advisor or any other authority figure." His mind was free to roam accordingly.
16 In retrospect, Maxwell was right. Light is a wave. But Einstein was right, too. Light is a particle. This bizarre duality baffles Physics 101 students today just as it baffled Einstein in 1905. How can light be both? Einstein had no idea.
17 That didn't slow him down. Disdaining caution, Einstein adopted the intuitive leap as a basic tool. "I believe in intuition and inspiration," he wrote in 1931. "At times I feel certain I am right while not knowing the reason."
18 Although Einstein's five papers were published in a single year, he had been thinking about physics, deeply, since childhood. "Science was dinner-table conversation in the Einstein household," explains Galison. Albert's father Hermann and uncle Jakob ran a German company making such things as dynamos, arc lamps, light bulbs and telephones. This was high-tech at the turn of the century, "like a Silicon Valley company would be today," notes Galison. "Albert's interest in science and technology came naturally."
19 Einstein's parents sometimes took Albert to parties. No babysitter was required: Albert sat on the couch, totally absorbed, quietly doing math problems while others danced around him. Pencil and paper were Albert's GameBoy!
20 He had impressive powers of concentration. Einstein's sister, Maja, recalled "...even when there was a lot of noise, he could lie down on the sofa, pick up a pen and paper, precariously balance an inkwell on the backrest and engross himself in a problem so much that the background noise stimulated rather than disturbed him."
21 Einstein was clearly intelligent, but not outlandishly more so than his peers. "I have no special talents," he claimed, "I am only passionately curious." And again: "The contrast between the popular assessment of my powers ... and the reality is simply grotesque." Einstein credited his discoveries to imagination and pesky questioning more so than orthodox intelligence.
22 Later in life, it should be remembered, he struggled mightily to produce a unified field theory, combining gravity with other forces of nature. He failed. Einstein's brainpower was not limitless.
23 Neither was Einstein's brain. It was removed without permission by Dr. Thomas Harvey in 1955 when Einstein died. He probably expected to find something extraordinary:Einstein's mother Pauline had famously worried that baby Einstein's head was lopsided. (Einstein's grandmother had a different concern: "Much too fat!") But Einstein's brain looked much like any other, gray, crinkly, and, if anything, a trifle smaller than average.
1 It was 1943, during World War II, and I was a young U. S. coastguardsman. My ship, the USS Murzim, had been under way for several days. Most of her holds contained thousands of cartons of canned or dried foods. The other holds were loaded with five-hundred-pound bombs packed delicately in padded racks. Our destination was a big base on the island of Tulagi in the South Pacific.
2 I was one of the Murzim's several cooks and, quite the same as for folk ashore, this Thanksgiving morning had seen us busily preparing a traditional dinner featuring roast turkey.
3 Well, as any cook knows, it's a lot of hard work to cook and serve a big meal, and clean up and put everything away. But finally, around sundown, we finished at last.
4 I decided first to go out on the Murzim's afterdeck for a breath of open air. I made my way out there, breathing in great, deep draughts while walking slowly about, still wearing my white cook's hat.
5 I got to thinking about Thanksgiving, of the Pilgrims, Indians, wild turkeys, pumpkins, corn on the cob, and the rest.
6 Yet my mind seemed to be in quest of something else -- some way that I could personally apply to the close of Thanksgiving. It must have taken me a half hour to sense that maybe some key to an answer could result from reversing the word "Thanksgiving" -- at least that suggested a verbal direction, "Giving thanks."
7 Giving thanks -- as in praying, thanking God, I thought. Yes, of course. Certainly.
8 Yet my mind continued turning the idea over.
9 After a while, like a dawn's brightening, a further answer did come -- that there were people to thank, people who had done so much for me that I could never possibly repay them. The embarrassing truth was I'd always just accepted what they'd done, taken all of it for granted. Not one time had I ever bothered to express to any of them so much as a simple, sincere "Thank you."
10 At least seven people had been particularly and lastingly helpful to me. I realized, swallowing hard, that about half of them had since died -- so they were forever beyond any possible expression of gratitude from me. The more I thought about it, the more ashamed I became. Then I pictured the three who were still alive and, within minutes, I was down in my cabin.
11 Sitting at a table with writing paper and memories of things each had done, I tried composing genuine statements of heartfelt appreciation and gratitude to my dad, Simon A. Haley, a professor at the old Agricultural Mechanical Normal College in Pine Bluff, Arkansas; to my grandma, Cynthia Palmer, back in our little hometown of Henning, Tennessee; and to the Rev. Lonual Nelson, my grammar school principal, retired and living in Ripley, six miles north of Henning.
12 The texts of my letters began something like, "Here, this Thanksgiving at sea, I find my thoughts upon how much you have done for me, but I have never stopped and said to you how much I feel the need to thank you -- " And briefly I recalled for each of them specific acts performed on my behalf.
13 For instance, something uppermost about my father was how he had impressed upon me from boyhood to love books and reading. In fact, this graduated into a family habit of after-dinner quizzes at the table about books read most recently and new words learned. My love of books never diminished and later led me toward writing books myself. So many times I have felt a sadness when exposed to modern children so immersed in the electronic media that they have little or no awareness of the marvelous world to be discovered in books.
14 I reminded the Reverend Nelson how each morning he would open our little country town's grammar school with a prayer over his assembled students. I told him that whatever positive things I had done since had been influenced at least in part by his morning school prayers.
15 In the letter to my grandmother, I reminded her of a dozen ways she used to teach me how to tell the truth, to share, and to be forgiving and considerate of others. I thanked her for the years of eating her good cooking, the equal of which I had not found since. Finally, I thanked her simply for having sprinkled my life with stardust.
16 Before I slept, my three letters went into our ship's office mail sack. They got mailed when we reached Tulagi Island.
17 We unloaded cargo, reloaded with something else, then again we put to sea in the routine familiar to us, and as the days became weeks, my little personal experience receded. Sometimes, when we were at sea, a mail ship would rendezvous and bring us mail from home, which, of course, we accorded topmost priority.
18 Every time the ship's loudspeaker rasped, "Attention! Mail call!" two hundred-odd shipmates came pounding up on deck and clustered about the two seamen, standing by those precious bulging gray sacks. They were alternately pulling out fistfuls of letters and barking successive names of sailors who were, in turn, shouting back "Here! Here!" amid the pushing.
19 One "mail call" brought me responses from Grandma, Dad, and the Reverend Nelson -- and my reading of their letters left me not only astonished but more humbled than before.
20 Rather than saying they would forgive that I hadn't previously thanked them, instead, for Pete's sake, they were thanking me -- for having remembered, for having considered they had done anything so exceptional.
21 Always the college professor, my dad had carefully avoided anything he considered too sentimental, so I knew how moved he was to write me that, after having helped educate many young people, he now felt that his best results included his own son.
22 The Reverend Nelson wrote that his decades as a "simple, old-fashioned principal" had ended with schools undergoing such swift changes that he had retired in self-doubt. "I heard more of what I had done wrong than what I did right," he said, adding that my letter had brought him welcome reassurance that his career had been appreciated.
23 A glance at Grandma's familiar handwriting brought back in a flash memories of standing alongside her white rocking chair, watching her "settin' down" some letter to relatives. Character by character, Grandma would slowly accomplish one word, then the next, so that a finished page would consume hours. I wept over the page representing my Grandma's recent hours invested in expressing her loving gratefulness to me -- whom she used to diaper!
24 Much later, retired from the Coast Guard and trying to make a living as a writer, I never forgot how those three "thank you" letters gave me an insight into how most human beings go about longing in secret for more of their fellows to express appreciation for their efforts.
25 Now, approaching another Thanksgiving, I have asked myself what will I wish for all who are reading this, for our nation, indeed for our whole world -- since, quoting a good and wise friend of mine, "In the end we are mightily and merely people, each with similar needs." First, I wish for us, of course, the simple common sense to achieve world peace, that being paramount for the very survival of our kind.
26 And there is something else I wish -- so strongly that I have had this line printed across the bottom of all my stationery: "Find the good -- and praise it."
大家好，我叫亓官劼（qí guān jié ），在CSDN中记录学习的点滴历程，时光荏苒，未来可期，加油~博客地址为：亓官劼的博客
Book III Unit 6 The Last Leaf
1 At the top of a three-story brick building, Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at a cafe on Eighth Street and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so much in tune that the joint studio resulted.
2 That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the district, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Johnsy was among his victims. She lay, scarcely moving on her bed, looking through the small window at the blank side of the next brick house.
3 One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a bushy, gray eyebrow.
4 "She has one chance in ten," he said. "And that chance is for her to want to live. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?
5 "She -- she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day," said Sue.
6 "Paint? -- bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking about twice -- a man, for instance?"
7 "A man?" said Sue. "Is a man worth -- but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."
8 "Well," said the doctor. "I will do all that science can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines." After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried. Then she marched into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling a merry tune.
9 Johnsy lay, scarcely making a movement under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. She was looking out and counting -- counting backward.
10 "Twelve," she said, and a little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven," almost together.
11 Sue looked out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had blown away its leaves, leaving it almost bare.
12 "Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
13 "Five what, dear? "
14 "Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"
15 "Oh, I never heard of such nonsense. What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? Don't be so silly. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were ten to one! Try to take some soup now, and let Sudie go and buy port wine for her sick child."
16 "You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any soup. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves."
17 "Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old miner. I'll not be gone a minute."
18 Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a long white beard curling down over his chest. Despite looking the part, Behrman was a failure in art. For forty years he had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who mocked terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as guard dog to the two young artists in the studio above.
19 Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of gin in his dimly lighted studio below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float ..away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker. Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt for such foolish imaginings.
20 "What!" he cried. "Are there people in the world foolish enough to die because leafs drop off from a vine? I have never heard of such a thing. Why do you allow such silly ideas to come into that head of hers? God! This is not a place in which one so good as Miss Johnsy should lie sick. Some day I will paint a masterpiece, and we shall all go away. Yes."
21 Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.
22 When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.
23 "Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.
24 Wearily Sue obeyed. 苏带着疲倦，遵命拉起窗帘。
25 But, Lo! after the beating rain and fierce wind that had endured through the night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, but with its edges colored yellow, it hung bravely from a branch some twenty feet above the ground.
26 "It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall today, and I shall die at the same time."
27 The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed.
28 When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.
29 The ivy leaf was still there.
30 Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken soup over the gas stove.
31 "I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring me a little soup now, and some milk with a little port in it and -- no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."
32 An hour later she said:
33 "Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."
34 The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left.
35 "Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his.
36 "With good nursing you'll win. And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is -- some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital today to be made more comfortable."
37 The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You've won. The right food and care now -- that's all."
38 And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay and put one arm around her.
39 "I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia today in the hospital. He was ill only two days. He was found on the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a terrible night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, and -- look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece -- he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."
大家好，我叫亓官劼（qí guān jié ），在CSDN中记录学习的点滴历程，时光荏苒，未来可期，加油~博客地址为：亓官劼的博客
Tom Hallman Jr.
1 The alarm rings. It's 5:45. He could linger under the covers, listening to the radio and a weatherman who predicts rain. People would understand. He knows that.
2 A surgeon's scar cuts across his lower back. The fingers on his right hand are so twisted that he can't tie his shoes. Some days, he feels like surrendering. But his dead mother's challenge echoes in his soul. So, too, do the voices of those who believed him stupid, incapable of living independently. All his life he's struggled to prove them wrong. He will not quit.
3 And so Bill Porter rises.
4 He takes the first unsteady steps on a journey to Portland's streets, the battlefield where he fights alone for his independence and dignity. He's a door-to-door salesman. Sixty-three years old. And his enemies -- a crippled body that betrays him and a changing world that no longer needs him -- are gaining on him.
5 With trembling hands he assembles his weapons: dark slacks, blue shirt and matching jacket, brown tie, tan raincoat and hat. Image, he believes, is everything.
6 He stops in the entryway, picks up his briefcase and steps outside. A fall wind has kicked up. The weatherman was right. He pulls his raincoat tighter.
7 He tilts his hat just so.
8 On the 7:45 bus that stops across the street, he leaves his briefcase next to the driver and finds a seat in the middle of a pack of bored teenagers.
9 He leans forward, stares toward the driver, sits back, then repeats the process. His nervousness makes him laugh uncontrollably. The teenagers stare at him. They don't realize Porter's afraid someone will steal his briefcase, with the glasses, brochures, order forms and clip-on tie that he needs to survive.
10 Porter senses the stares. He looks at the floor.
11 His face reveals nothing. In his heart, though, he knows he should have been like these kids, like everyone on this bus. He's not angry. But he knows. His mother explained how the delivery had been difficult, how the doctor had used an instrument that crushed a section of his brain and caused cerebral palsy, a disorder of the nervous system that affects his speech, hands and walk.
12 Porter came to Portland when he was 13 after his father, a salesman, was transferred here. He attended a school for the disabled and then Lincoln High School, where he was placed in a class for slow kids.
13 But he wasn't slow. 但他并不笨。
14 His mind was trapped in a body that didn't work. Speaking was difficult and took time. People were impatient and didn't listen. He felt different -- was different -- from the kids who rushed about in the halls and planned dances he would never attend.
15 What could his future be? Porter wanted to do something and his mother was certain that he could rise above his limitations. With her encouragement, he applied for a job with the Fuller Brush Co. only to be turned down. He couldn't carry a product briefcase or walk a route, they said.
16 Porter knew he wanted to be a salesman. He began reading help wanted ads in the newspaper. When he saw one for Watkins, a company that sold household products door-to-door, his mother set up a meeting with a representative. The man said no, but Porter wouldn't listen. He just wanted a chance. The man gave in and offered Porter a section of the city that no salesman wanted.
17 It took Porter four false starts before he found the courage to ring the first doorbell. The man who answered told him to go away, a pattern repeated throughout the day.
18 That night Porter read through company literature and discovered the products were guaranteed. He would sell that pledge. He just needed people to listen.
19 If a customer turned him down, Porter kept coming back until they heard him. And he sold.
20 For several years he was Watkins' top retail salesman. Now he is the only one of the company's 44,000 salespeople who sells door-to-door.
21 The bus stops in the Transit Mall, and Porter gets off.
22 His body is not made for walking. Each step strains his joints. Headaches are constant visitors. His right arm is nearly useless. He can't fully control the limb. His body tilts at the waist; he seems to be heading into a strong, steady wind that keeps him off balance. At times, he looks like a toddler taking his first steps.
23 He walks 10 miles a day. 他每天要走10英里的路程。
24 His first stop today, like every day, is a shoeshine stand where employees tie his laces. Twice a week he pays for a shine. At a nearby hotel one of the doormen buttons Porter's top shirt button and slips on his clip-on tie. He then walks to another bus that drops him off a mile from his territory.
25 He left home nearly three hours ago. 他是差不多3个小时前从家里动身的。
26 The wind is cold and raindrops fall. Porter stops at the first house. This is the moment he's been preparing for since 5:45 a.m. He rings the bell.
27 A woman comes to the door. 一位妇人开了门。
28 "Hello." “你好。”
29 "No, thank you, I'm just preparing to leave." “不，多谢了。我这就要出门。”
30 Porter nods. 波特点点头。
31 "May I come back later?" he asks. “那我过会儿来，可以吗？”他问。
32 "No," says the woman. “不用了，”那妇人回答道。
33 She shuts the door. 她关上了门。
34 Porter's eyes reveal nothing. 波特眼里没有流露丝毫神情。
35 He moves to the next house. 他转向下一个人家。
36 The door opens. 门开了。
37 Then closes. 随即又关上。
38 He doesn't get a chance to speak. Porter's expression never changes. He stops at every home in his territory. People might not buy now. Next time. Maybe. No doesn't mean never. Some of his best customers are people who repeatedly turned him down before buying.
39 He makes his way down the street. 他沿着街道往前走。
40 "I don't want to try it." “我不想试用这个产品。”
41 "Maybe next time." “也许下次试一试。”
42 "I'm sorry. I'm on the phone right now." “对不起。我在打电话。”
43 "No." “不要。”
44 Ninety minutes later, Porter still has not made a sale. But there is always another home.
45 He walks on. 他继续向前走。
46 He knocks on a door. A woman appears from the backyard where she's gardening. She often buys, but not today, she says, as she walks away.
47 "Are you sure?" Porter asks. “你真的不买什么？”波特问。
48 She pauses. 她迟疑了一下。
49 "Well..." “那么……”
50 That's all Porter needs. He walks as fast as he can, tailing her as she heads to the backyard. He sets his briefcase down and opens it. He puts on his glasses, removes his brochures and begins his sales talk, showing the woman pictures and describing each product.
51 Spices? 调料？
52 "No." “不要。”
53 Jams? 果酱？
54 "No. Maybe nothing today, Bill." “不要。恐怕今天不要什么，比尔。”
55 Porter's hearing is the one perfect thing his body does. Except when he gets a live one. Then the word "no" does not register.
56 Pepper? 胡椒粉？
57 "No." “不要。”
58 Laundry soap? 洗衣皂？
59 "Hmm." “嗯。”
60 Porter stops. He smells blood. He quickly remembers her last order.
61 "Say, aren't you about out of soap? That's what you bought last time. You ought to be out right about now."
62 "You're right, Bill. I'll take one." “没错，比尔。我买一块。”
63 He arrives home, in a rainstorm, after 7 p.m. Today was not profitable. He tells himself not to worry. Four days left in the week.
64 At least he's off his feet and home. 至少他回到了家，不用再站立了。
65 Inside, an era is preserved. The telephone is a heavy, rotary model. There is no VCR, no cable.
66 His is the only house in the neighborhood with a television antenna on the roof.
67 He leads a solitary life. Most of his human contact comes on the job. Now, he heats the oven and slips in a frozen dinner because it's easy to fix.
68 The job usually takes him 10 hours. 他的工作通常要花去他10个小时。
69 He's a weary man who knows his days -- no matter what his intentions -- are numbered.
70 He works on straight commission. He gets no paid holidays, vacations or raises. Yes, some months are lean.
71 In 1993, he needed back surgery to relieve pain caused from decades of walking. He was laid up for five months and couldn't work. He was forced to sell his house. The new owners, familiar with his situation, froze his rent and agreed to let him live there until he dies.
72 He doesn't feel sorry for himself. 他并不因此自悲自怜。
73 The house is only a building. A place to live, nothing more.
74 His dinner is ready. He eats at the kitchen table and listens to the radio. The afternoon mail brought bills that he will deal with later this week. The checkbook is upstairs in the bedroom.
75 His checkbook. 他的私人支票簿。
76 He types in the recipient's name and signs his name.
77 The signature is small and scrawled. 签名小小的，字迹潦草。
78 Unreadable. 难以辨认。
79 But he knows. 可他认得出来。
80 Bill Porter. 比尔·波特。
81 Bill Porter, salesman. 推销员比尔·波特。
82 From his easy chair he hears the wind lash his house and the rain pound the street outside his home. He must dress warmly tomorrow. He's sleepy. With great care he climbs the stairs to his bedroom.
83 In time, the lights go off. 没过一会儿，灯就灭了。
84 Morning will be here soon. 早晨很快就会来临。
大家好，我叫亓官劼（qí guān jié ），在CSDN中记录学习的点滴历程，时光荏苒，未来可期，加油~博客地址为：亓官劼的博客
Book III Unit 8 Human Cloning: A Scientist's Story
Dr. Samuel Wood via interview
1. I was extremely close with my mother all my life. She was a brilliant educator, writer and wonderful woman. Sadly, she developed complications related to diabetes. When she lost her eyesight and most of her ability to walk, it was absolutely horrifying for me. She passed away from a fall seven or eight years ago. At her funeral, I swore that one day I'd do something about conditions like hers.
2. Years passed and I read about the work the South Koreans had done with stem cells. In 2004 and 2005 Hwang Woo-Suk fraudulently reported that he had succeeded in creating human embryonic stem cells by cloning.
3. Back then it wasn't known it was a fraud, so it was very exciting to think that a long list of diseases could be treated.
4. I founded the stem cell research company Stemagen with another gentleman whose father had died of ALS. We went out for drinks one night and we started talking about our parents. We wanted to do something that would be a legacy for them.
5. For Better Or Worse? 是福是祸？
6. The moment we decided to start Stemagen, I read all there was to read about the various cloning efforts in the past. The cloned sheep Dolly in 1997 was very interesting, but at that stage people were not focusing on the stem cell aspect of cloning; they were focusing on the reproductive possibilities of cloning.
7. Human reproductive cloning is just simply wrong ethically from a medical standpoint and a scientific standpoint, even ignoring any religious issues associated with it. The reason is that the majority of reproductive clones in other species are actually abnormal, with very high miscarriage rates, very high stillbirth rates, fetal anomalies, death soon after birth, et cetera.
8. It would just be absolutely wrong to take a human being and put them through what may well involve significant suffering for really no good end. Even though people could take the techniques that we've developed and attempt to do it (or perhaps even be successful doing it), we hope that they would not.
9. On the other hand, therapeutic cloning does not involve any type of risk to human life and actually provides tremendous potential for the relief of suffering in real human beings who are going through some awful things.
10. I'm a pure scientist in some ways, and I know that many different studies or findings could be used for evil. Our job as scientists is to make the most of this technology and make it available to the greatest number of other scientists who can help us do good things with it. There's really no effective way for an individual scientist to stop someone else from using the knowledge for something they shouldn't.
11. We need to be honest about the techniques that we used. They need to be able to be replicated by other people, and so, we are providing a roadmap. I would hope that the legislation that's in place and the great public disapproval that would result from any attempt to clone a human would dissuade anyone from going down that path.
12. What is it they say? There is no technology that hasn't been used for some evil purpose at some point. Quite honestly I do think that someone will attempt human reproductive cloning. I do think it's inevitable, and it's virtually impossible to legislate that away.
13. Claim to Fame 出名
14. I am spoken of as the first man to "clone himself." There are different types of cloning. At the cellular level, yes, it's true I am the first man to clone himself. We thought a great deal about how to deal with the issue of whose cells we should use and whether we should let the world and the scientific community know who the first cellular clone was.
15. In the end we decided that we wanted to put a human face on cloning.
16. I didn't anticipate it would create the firestorm of controversy that it's created, but I'm still glad we went down that path. We received thousands of e-mails and phone calls from people who need help.
17. I think by coming forward and putting a face to it we made it very real, and now people around the world know that cloning is here. I believe that very soon it will be used therapeutically, so I think our purpose was served.
18. Pure Science 纯科学
19. What happens is an informed and consenting woman donates an egg and we remove her genetic material from the egg. Then we place a single skin cell inside that egg.
20. What we're really interested in is creating disease-specific and person-specific stem cell lines. The procedure of taking cells from a person takes no more than a minute or two. You can take some skin cells from the arm, for example, and in one to two minutes, you can get the cells that you need to carry out this process.
21. This process enables us to study the causes of specific diseases, such as Alzheimer's Disease, ALS or Parkinson's Disease, and then research a variety of treatments for these diseases. If the stem cell lines are created for any given individual and are later transplanted back into the individual, they will not be rejected by the individual.
22. Sweet Success 甜蜜的成功
23. I always thought that when our research was successful I would just be pleased that we had accomplished this when others had not. In reality, it is transcendent — when you look through the microscope, you see what you may
have looked like a long time ago, at least in part.
24. When I looked down and saw that cloned blastocyst, it brought tears to my eyes. I had done this for my mother, and I realized, had she only been able to live a few years longer, maybe we could have used this technology to help her. It was emotional to see that potential, which she never had a chance to experience.
25. There's a big misconception out there that we decided to destroy these embryos for some reason. There was so much skepticism about this process because of the scientific fraud from the past that it was critical that there be no doubt that they were clones.
26. In the process of analysis, the embryos were destroyed by necessity. In other words, to get the genetic material from inside the cells to analyze it, you have to destroy the cell. We would have loved to have been able to avoid destroying them.
27. Now we're working full-time on creating stem cell lines, and people are watching with great interest.
28. The Pope And The President 教皇和总统
29. There are a variety of opponents to our work. 我们的工作遭到各方人士的反对。
30. We were condemned by theVaticanand mentioned in a negative light in President Bush's State of the Union address. In a sense it's an honor because it shows that we're doing something significant. It's not every day that you get condemned by theVaticanand President Bush in the same week.
31. There's usually no dialogue between the researchers in the embryonic stem cell field and those who oppose it.
32. It doesn't make sense to me that it's such an emotional and contentious topic. Logically, this is not life. I agree it's a potential life, but the vast majority of embryos never become life. The majority generate, don't implant and die. A fetus is a life. That argument makes sense to me, but it doesn't make sense to me to look at an embryo in a lab and give it all the rights of a human life.