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英语背诵文选

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20. Books (1)



The good books of the hour, then, --I do not speak of the bad ones—is simply the useful or pleasant talk of some person whom you cannot otherwise converse with, printed for you. Very useful often, telling you what you need to know; very pleasant often, as a sensible friend’s present talk would be. These bright accounts of travels; good-humoured and witty discussion of questions; lively or pathetic story—telling in the form of novel; firm fact-telling, by the real agents concerned in the events of passing history; --all these books of the hour, multiplying among us as education becomes more general, are a peculiar characteristic and possession of the present age: we ought to be entirely thankful for them, and entirely ashamed of ourselves if we make no good use of them. But we make the worse possible use, if we allow them to usurp the place of true books: for, strictly speaking, they are not books at all, but merely letters or newspapers in good print. Our friend’s letter may be delightful, or necessary, today: whether worth keeping or not, is to be considered.

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21. Books (2)



The newspaper may be entirely proper at breakfast time, but assuredly it is not reading for all day. So though bound up in a volume, the long letter which gives you so pleasant an account of the inns, the roads, and weather last year at such a place, or which tells you that amusing story, or gives you the real circumstances of such and such events, however valuable for occasional reference, may not be, in the real sense of the word, a “book” at all, nor, in the real sense, to be “read”. A book is essentially not a talked thing, but a written thing; and written, not with the view of mere communication, but of permanence. The book of talk is printed only because its author cannot speak to thousands of people at once; if he could, he would—the volume is mere multiplication of his voice. You cannot talk to your friend in India; if you could, you would; you write instead: that is mere conveyance of voice. But a book is written, not to multiply the voice merely, not to carry it merely, but to preserve it.

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22. Books (3)



The author has something to say which he perceives to be true and useful, or helpfully beautiful. So far as he knows, no one has yet said it; so far as he knows, no one else can say it. He is bound to say it, clearly and melodiously if he may; clearly, at all events. In the sum of his life he finds this to be the thing, or group of things, manifest to him; --this the piece of true knowledge, or sight, which his share of sunshine and earth has permitted him to seize. He would fain set it down for ever; engrave it on rock, if he could; saying, “this is the best of me; for the rest, I ate, and drank, and slept, loved and hated, like another; my life was as the vapour, and is not; but this I saw and knew: this, if anything of mine, is worth your memory, ” That is his “writing”; it is, in his small human way, and with whatever degree of true inspiration is in him, his inscription, or scripture. That is a “Book”.

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24. The Value of Time (1)



“Time” says the proverb “is money”. This means that every moment well spent may put some money into our pockets. If our time is usefully employed, it will either turn out some useful and important piece of work which will fetch its price in the market, or it will add to our experience and increase our capacities so as to enable us to earn money when the proper opportunity comes. There can thus be no doubt that time is convertible into money. Let those who think nothing of wasting time, remember this; let them remember that an hour misspent is equivalent to the loss of a bank-note; an that an hour utilized is tantamount to so much silver or gold; and then they will probably think twice before they give their consent to the loss of any part of their time.
Moreover, our life is nothing more than our time. To kill time is therefore a form of suicide. We are shocked when we think of death, and we spare no pains, no trouble, and no expense to preserve life. But we are too often indifferent to the loss of an hour or of a day, forgetting that our life is the sum total of the days and of the hours we live. A day of an hour wasted is therefore so much life forfeited. Let us bear this in mind, and waste of time will appear to us in the light of a crime as culpable as suicide itself.

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25. The Value of Time (2)



There is a third consideration which will also tend to warn us against loss of time. Our life is a brief span measuring some sixty or seventy years in all, but nearly one half of this has to be spent in sleep; some years have to be spent over our meals; some over dressing and undressing; some in making journeys on land and voyages by sea; some in merry-making, either on our own account or for the sake of others; some in celebrating religious and social festivities; some in watching over the sick-beds of our nearest and dearest relatives. Now if all these years were to be deducted from the tern over which our life extends we shall find about fifteen or twenty years at our disposal for active work. Whoever remembers this can never willingly waste a single moment of his life. “It is astonishing” says Lord Chesterfield “that anyone can squander away in absolute idleness one single moment of that portion of time which is allotted to us in this world. Know the true value of time; snatch, seize, and enjoy every moment of it!”

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26. The Value of Time (3)



All time is precious; but the time of our childhood and of our youth is more precious than any other portion of our existence. For those are the periods when alone we can acquire knowledge and develop our faculties and capacities. If we allow these morning hours of life to slip away unutilized, we shall never be able to recoup the loss. As we grow older, our power of acquisition gets blunted, so that the art or science which is not acquired in childhood or youth will never be acquired at all. Just as money laid out at interest doubles and trebles itself in time, so the precious hours of childhood and youth, if properly used, will yield us incalculable advantages. “Every moment you lose” says Lord Chesterfield “is so much character and advantage lost; as on the other hand, every moment you now employ usefully is so much time wisely laid out at prodigious interest.”
A proper employment of time is of great benefit to us from a moral point of view. Idleness is justly said to be the rust of the mind and an idle brain is said to be Satan’s workshop. It is mostly when you do not know what to do with yourself that you do something ill or wrong. The mind of the idler preys upon itself. As Watt has said:

In works of labour or of skill


Let me be busy too;


For Satan finds some mischief still


For idle hands to do.

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27. Spell of the Rising Moon



As the moon lifted off the ridge it gathered firmness and authority. Its complexion changed from red, to orange, to gold, to impassive yellow. It seemed to draw light out of the darkening earth, for as it rose, the hills and valleys below grew dimmer. By the time the moon stood clear of the horizon, full chested and round and the color of ivory, the valley were deep shadows in the landscape. The dogs, reassured that this was the familiar moon, stopped barking.
The drama took an hour. Moonrise is slow and serried with subtleties. To watch it, we must slip into an older, more patient sense of time. To watch the moon move inexorably higher is to find an unusual stillness within ourselves. Our imaginations become aware of the vast distances of space, the immensity of the earth and the huge improbability of our own existence. We feel small but privileged.
Moonlight shows us none of life’s harder edges. Hillsides seem silken and silvery, the oceans still and blue in its light. In moonlight we become less calculating, more drawn to our feelings.

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28. The Enchantment of Creeks (1)



Nearly everybody has a creek in his past, a confiding waterway that rose in the spring of youth.…….
My creek wound between Grandfather’s apricot orchard and a neighbor’s hillside pasture. It banks were shaded by cottonwoods and redwood trees and a thick tangle of blackberries and wild grapevines. On hot summer days the quiet water flowed clear and cold over gravel bars where I fished for trout.
Nothing historic ever happens in these recollected creeks. But their persistence in memory suggests that creeks are bigger than they seem, more a part of our hearts and minds than mighty rivers.
Creek time is measured in the lives of strange creatures, in sandflecked caddis worms under the rocks, sudden gossamer clouds of mayflies in the afternoon, or minnows of darting like silvers of inspiration into the dimness of creek fate. Mysteries float in creeks’ riffles, crawl over their pebbled bottoms and slink under the roots of trees.
While rivers are heavy with sophistication and sediment, creeks are clear, innocent, boisterous, full of dream and promise. A child can wade across them without a parent’s cautions. You can go it along, jig for crayfish, swing from ropes along the bank. Creeks belong to childhood, drawing you into the wider world, teaching you the curve of the earth.
(214 words)

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29. The Enchantment of Creeks (2)



Above all, a creek offers the mind a chance to penetrate the alien universe of water, of tadpoles and trout. What drifts in creek water is the possibility of other worlds inside and above our own. Poet Robert Frost wrote: “It flows between us, over us, and with us. And it is time, strength, tone, light, life, and love.
Creeks lead one on, like perfume on the wind. A creek is something that disappears around a bend, into the ground, into the next dimension. To follow a creek is to seek new acquaintance with life.
I still find myself following creeks. In high mountain meadows I’ll trace their course into the limegreen grass and deep glacial duff, marveling at the sparkle of quartz and mica. The pursuit liquefies my citified haste and lifts weight from my shoulders. Once, in the California desert, as hummingbirds darted from cactus blossoms, I heard the babble of rushing water. My ears led me over dusty hillsides and sown scabrous ravines to an unexpected ribbon of clear, cold water, leaping from rock to rock, filling little pools. The discovery seemed Biblical. It filled me with joy.

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30. “Why Measure Life in Heartbeats?”



If one realizes that our time on this earth is but a tiny fraction of that within the cosmos, then life calculation in years may not be as important as we think. Why measure life in heartbeats? When life is so dependent on such an unreliable function as the beating f the heart, then it is fragile indeed. The only thing that one can depend upon with absolute certainty is death.
I believe that death may be the most important part of life. I believe that life is infinitesimally brief in relation to the immensity of eternity. I believe, because of my religious faith, that I shall “return to the Father” in an afterlife that is beyond description. I believe that though my life was short in years, it was full in experience, joy, love and accomplishment; that my own immortality will reside in the memories of my loved ones left behind, mother, brother, wife, children, dear friends. I believe that I will die with loved ones close by and, one hopes, achieve that great gift of God—death in peace, and with dignity.

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