Beautiful writing is probably the embodiment of beauty. It is an emotion, an experience and an expression. The following are excerpts from classic English essays I brought. Welcome to read!

Excerpts from Classic English Prose Part I

What is more important than money?

For a well-educated intellectual or brave person, it is impossible to regard money as the main goal of his thought; Just as he can't make dinner their main goal.

A well-educated, intelligent and brave person will never take money as the main consideration, just as he will never take a good meal as the main consideration.

All healthy people like their dinner, but their dinner is not their main goal in life. Therefore, all people with healthy minds like to make money-they should like to make money and enjoy the feeling of winning money; But their main goal in life is not money; It is something better than money.

All healthy people like to enjoy food, but food is not their main goal in life. In the same way, all people with normal thinking like to make money-it makes sense to like and experience the stimulation of making money; However, their main goal in life is not money, but something more precious than money.

For example, a good soldier mainly wants to fight well. When you leave him unpaid for ten months, he will be happy with his salary-this is normal-and have reason to complain; Nevertheless, the main idea of his life is to win the battle, not to get paid for it.

For example, an excellent soldier mainly wants to fight well. He is satisfied with his salary-it's perfectly reasonable; If his salary is deducted for ten months, he should complain. However, his main goal in life is still to win the battle, not to win the battle for salary.

The same is true of doctors. They like fees. There is no doubt that they should be liked. However, the whole goal of their life is not cost. Generally speaking, they are eager to cure patients, and would rather cure their patients and lose their expenses than kill them and get it. The same is true of all other brave and well-trained people: their work comes first, their remuneration comes second, and remuneration is always very important, but it is still second.

The same is true of doctors. There is no doubt that they all like to charge medical fees-this is what they should do; However, their whole goal in life is not consulting fees. Generally speaking, they all want to cure the patient, preferring to cure the patient without getting the consultation fee rather than killing the patient for the consultation fee. The same is true of all other brave and properly trained people: they always work first and then give. Although rewards are always important, they are second to none.

However, in every country, there are a large group of timid, more or less stupid people. For these people, pay comes first, work comes second, just as for brave people, work comes first and pay comes second.

However, in every country, there are a large number of cowardly and somewhat stupid people. For these people, there is no doubt that pay first and work second, just like people with courage work first and pay second.

This is a big difference. This is all the characteristics of a person. You can't serve two masters; You must serve one of them. If your job comes first and your pay comes second, then your job is your master.

This is by no means a subtle difference, it is a fundamental difference that distinguishes a person. You can't serve two masters, you must serve one of them. If work comes first and pay second to you, then work is your master.

Then, please note that all wise work has three main aspects in nature. It is honest, useful and pleasant. I hardly know anything stranger than this. You admit honesty in the game, but you don't admit it at work.

Please note that all clear work is essentially threefold: honesty, usefulness and happiness. People pay attention to honesty in entertainment, but they don't pay attention to honesty in work-as far as I know, there is nothing more strange than this.

In your most relaxed game, someone will always see what you call "fair play" In boxing, you must hit the ball fairly; In the race, start fairly. Your slogan is fair competition; Your hatred, unfair game. Have you ever thought that you need another slogan, fair work, and another hateful, dirty job?

In the least important game, you always ask someone to be the referee to ensure what people often say is fair play. In boxing, you must punch fairly; In the race, you must start fairly. Your slogan is fair competition, and what you hate is breaking the rules. Then, have you ever thought that you need another slogan, that is, work honestly; What you hate most is opportunism.

Excerpts from Classic English Prose Part II

Mother & Child Mother and Child

It was Christmas 196 1. I teach in a small town in Ohio, where 27 third-grade students are eagerly looking forward to the great day of giving gifts.

It was Christmas in 196 1 year. I teach the third grade in a small town in Ohio. All the 27 children in the class are actively participating in the "Gift Day".

A tree covered with metal foil and tacky paper chains decorated a corner. In another place, Zhu created a manger scene with cardboard and poster pigments. Someone brought a doll and put it on the straw of a cardboard box used as a manger. You can pull a holy ring and hear a doll with blue eyes and blonde hair say, "My name is Susie". It doesn't matter, "But Jesus is a boy!" One of the boys declared. Nevertheless, Susie stayed.

A corner of the classroom is decorated with a tree, which is covered with gold, silver, silk and gorgeous colored paper. In the other corner of the classroom is a manger made of cardboard, with posters painted on it, from children's chubby and dirty hands. Someone brought a doll and put it on the straw in the cardboard slot (pretending to be a baby Jesus). Just pull a thread on it and the doll with blue eyes and blonde hair will say "My name is Susie", but it doesn't matter. A boy asked, "Jesus is a little boy!" " But Susie stayed.

Every day, children make some new miracles-strings of popcorn, handmade trinkets, and German wind chimes made of wallpaper samples, which we hang on the ceiling. From beginning to end, she remained indifferent and looked at it from a distance, which seemed to be miles away. I wonder what will happen to this quiet child, who used to be so happy, and now suddenly becomes so withdrawn. I hope the celebration will attract her. But there is nothing. We make cards and gifts for parents, brothers and sisters, grandparents and each other. At home, the students made popular fried marbles and competed with each other to come up with the most beautiful ones. "You put them in a hot oil pan, teacher. You make them very hot, and then observe what happens inside. But don't fry it for too long, or it will go bad. " So, as a gift for them, I made a small bag for each student to hold their fried marbles. I know that each of them has made something for me: bookmarks carefully cut, colored and sometimes glued together; Cards and special drawings; Liquid embroidered tablecloths, of course, are handmade tassels.

Every day, children will make some new things-thin chains made of popcorn, handmade decorations and German wind chimes made of wallpaper samples. We hung these wind chimes on the ceiling. But from beginning to end, she watched from a distance alone, as if separated by a barrier several miles long. I want to know what happened to the silent child and how the happy child suddenly became silent. I hope the holiday activities will attract her, but it still doesn't help. We made many cards and gifts for our parents, brothers and sisters, grandparents and classmates. Students do it at home, which was very popular at that time? Stir-fry "glass marbles, compare them with each other and bring the best." Teacher, put the glass marbles in the hot oil pan, let them heat up, and then look at the changes inside. But don't fry it for too long, or it will go bad. "So, I made a small bag of bomb beads for each student as a gift. I know that each of them also made gifts for me: carefully cut, colored, or glued into a string of bookmarks; Greeting cards and specially drawn pictures; Transparent edge cloth, of course, is hand-woven tassels.

The gift-giving day has finally arrived. When exchanging gifts, we cheered for our handicrafts. From beginning to end, she sat quietly watching. I made a special pouch for her, red and green with white lace. I really want to see her smile. She opened the package so slowly and carefully. I waited, but she turned around. I didn't go through the wall of separation she built around me.

The day of giving gifts has finally arrived. When exchanging gifts, we kept cheering for each other's small gifts. And the whole process, she just sat there quietly watching. The pouch I made for her is very special, with red and green edges. I really want to see her smile. She opened the package slowly and carefully. I waited, but she turned around. I still can't get through the high wall she built around me, which separates her from others.

After school, the children left in groups, chattering about the coming great day, and the long-awaited two-wheeled cart and bright sleigh will appear next to their Christmas tree. She lingered and watched them get dressed and go out the door. I sat in a child-sized chair to catch my breath, almost unaware of what had happened. At this moment, she reached out to me with a small white box in her hand, which was unpacked and a little dirty, as if she had been held by a pair of unwashed naive hands many times. She didn't say anything. "For me?" I asked with a wry smile. She didn't say a word, just nodded. I picked up the box and opened it carefully. Inside, sparkling green, a fried marble hung on a golden chain. Then I looked at the eight-year-old face and saw something wrong in her dark brown eyes. In an instant, I understood that she was doing it for her mother, a mother she would never see again, a mother who would never hug her, comb her hair or share interesting stories, and a mother who would never hear her childish joys and sorrows again. A mother who just ended her life three weeks ago.

After school, the students left in twos and threes, talking about the coming Christmas: their long-cherished bicycles and brand-new shiny sledges will be found next to the Christmas tree at home. She walked slowly behind and watched everyone squeeze out of the door. I sat in the children's little chairs, feeling a little relieved and unprepared for what was going to happen. Then she came up to me, holding a white box in both hands and reaching out to me. The box is unpacked and a little dirty. It seems to have been touched many times by children's unwashed hands. She didn't speak. "For me?" I smiled. She didn't make any noise, just nodded. I picked up the box and opened it very carefully. There is a golden chain in the box with a shiny thing hanging on it? "Glass marbles exploded. Then I looked at her face. Although she is only 8 years old, she is already an adult's expression. I found the answer to the question in her dark brown eyes. I immediately understood-this is the necklace she made for her mother, the mother she will never see again, the mother who can never hug her, comb her hair and tell stories together. Her mother can no longer share her childish happiness and her childish sadness. Her mother just died three weeks ago.

I stretched out the chain. She held it in both hands, reached forward and tied a simple button on the back of my neck. She took a step back as if to see that everything was all right. I looked down at the shiny glass and the tarnished gold chain, and then looked back at the giver. When I whispered, "Oh, Maria, it's so beautiful. She will like it. " Neither of us can stop crying. She stumbled into my arms and we cried together. In that brief moment, I became her mother, because she gave me the greatest gift: herself.

I picked up the chain, and she took it with both hands, leaned forward and tied the simple necklace hook behind my neck. Then she stepped back a few steps, as if to see if it was appropriate. I looked down at the shiny glass beads and the tarnished gold chain, and then looked up at her. I whispered seriously: Oh, Maria, this chain is really beautiful. Your mother will love it. "We can't hold back our tears. She stumbled into my arms and we all cried. I became her mother in that short moment, and she gave me the most precious gift: her trust and love. Patricia Habada

Excerpts from classic English prose III

domestic

Family = (father) and (m) others, (I) (L)OVE (Y) you.

A man came home late from work, tired and annoyed, and found his 5-year-old son waiting for him at the door.

Dad, can I ask you a question?

Sure. What is it? The man replied.

Dad, how much do you earn an hour?

That's none of your business. Why do you ask such a thing? The man said angrily. I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you earn an hour?

The little boy pleaded.

If you must know, I earn $20 an hour.

Oh, the little boy replied with his head down. He looked up and said, "Dad, can I borrow 10 dollars?"

Father is furious. If the only reason you ask this is to borrow money to buy a stupid toy or other boring things, then you can go straight to your room to sleep. Think about why you are so selfish. I work hard every day for this childish behavior.

The little boy crept into his room and closed the door. The man sat down and began to get more angry at the little boy's question. How dare he ask such a question just to get some money? After about an hour or so, the man calmed down and began to think: maybe he really needs to buy something with that 10 dollar, and he really doesn't ask for money very often.

The man went to the door of the little boy's room and opened it.

Are you asleep, son? He asked.

"No, Dad, I'm awake," the boy replied.

I've been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you before, the man said. It's been a long day, and I took my anger out on you. Here's your 10 dollar.

The little boy smiled and sat up straight. Oh, thank you, Dad! He shouted. Then, he reached under the pillow and took out some crumpled bills. Seeing that the boy was rich, the man became angry again. The little boy slowly counted his money, and then looked up at his father.

If you already have some money, why do you need more money? Father complained.

Because I am not enough, but now I am enough, the little boy replied. Dad, I have 20 dollars now. Can I buy you an hour? Please go home early tomorrow. I want to have dinner with you.