为您找到与关于鹦鹉的笑话英文版相关的共200个结果:
一个传教士在买鹦鹉。
“你确信它不会尖叫,大叫或诅咒别人吗?”传教士问。
“噢,绝对不会。它是一只虔诚的鹦鹉。”店主向他保证。
“你看见它腿上的那些细绳了吗?当你拉动右边这根,它会背诵天主经;当你拉动左边那根,它会背诵赞美诗。”
“太棒了!”传教士说,“但是如果我同时拉动两根绳子,会发生什么呢?”
“我会从树干上掉下去,你这个笨蛋!”鹦鹉尖声说道。
【注释】
这个笑话中出现了三个含有“大喊”、“大叫”意思的词语:scream,yell 和 screech。
scream 指“因痛苦、恐惧、惊奇、快乐等而发出尖叫声”,如:
She screamed when she saw the child fall. 当她看见那个孩子跌倒时,她尖声叫了起来。
yell 多指求援、鼓励时的呼叫,也可指因外界因素刺激而发出尖厉声音。如:
yell the team to victory 用喊声鼓励运动队取胜
screech 指“发出尖锐刺耳的声音”,如:
The car screeched to a halt. 车子发出尖嘎声停了下来。
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Mirth is the foremost capsule to keep our life lively. With an honest effort to fill your Thanksgiving Day with laughter, we have brought some jokes to share with family and friends that will keep us laughing and rolling with laughter during Thanksgiving Feast:
欢笑是让生活充满活力的最好良药。为了让您的感恩节充满欢笑,我们诚挚地为您奉上一些笑话供您和您的亲友共享,让您的感恩节大餐笑声不断。
- This pampered young lady had left her family for the first time to join the college and was feeling quite lonely on Thanksgiving. She decided to cook a Thanksgiving dinner for herself. She was narrating her first experience in the kitchen to her mother and mother really wanted to know about the results. When asked how the food was, the lady replied with a shudder that though the ready-made soup and pizza were great, she had quite a trouble with turkey. Trying to get to the root of the problem, the mother asked, "Was it burnt?" The lady replied, "Oh! I couldn't taste it mom. It simply wouldn't sit still!"
一位养尊处优的年轻小姐头一回离家去上大学,到了感恩节她倍感孤单。她决定为自己做一顿感恩节大餐。她正在向自己的母亲描述自己第一次做饭的经历,而母亲也很想知道结果如何。当被问及做得好不好吃,这位小姐打了一个颤说,尽管速食汤和批萨不错,但是烹饪火鸡时却遇到了不小的麻烦。她的母亲想找到问题的根源,于是就问她:“是不是烤焦了?”这位小姐回答道:“哦,我没法品尝它,妈妈。火鸡就是不肯老实地坐着!”
- Here is a funny (and repelling!) trick to do in front of your friends just before dinner, if you do not want them to eat too much on your cost. Load your plate up high with everything including the salad, a piece of turkey, a bit of soup and some bread crumbles. Toss it all in the blender and offer your new Thanksgiving Weight Loss Shake to everyone. You can be sure to delay the dinnertime by an hour at least with this trick.
如果你不想请客吃饭时被朋友吃掉太多钱,以下是开饭前的一个小窍门。把自己盘子里的食物堆得高高的,包括沙拉、一块火鸡、一点汤和一些面包渣。把这些食物全搅在一起,然后请其他人吃你新发明的“感恩节减肥奶昔”。靠这个窍门你绝对能把用餐时间推迟一小时。
- Did you hear the one-liner about turkey crossing the road on Thanksgiving because it was the chicken's day off?
你有听过感恩节的那个一句话笑话吗?感恩节火鸡过马路因为是这天是鸡的休息日。(好冷啊)
- A teacher gave her students of second grade to write an assignment on 'What I'm thankful for on Thanksgiving?' She couldn't agree enough with one of the wisest students in her class who wrote that she was thankful that she was 'not' a turkey.
一个老师让二年级学生写一个作业,标题是“感恩节我为什么而感恩?”当她看到班里最聪明的一个学生写的作业,她简直不能更赞同了,这个学生在作业中写道,她感恩的是她“不是”火鸡。
- The escalating sales of turkey legs inspired a poultry farmer to research and breed a turkey with more legs and thus, reap more profits for him. It was only after many years that he finally succeeded in breeding one with six legs! The news of his success reached the media and reporters questioned him about the taste of the turkey he had bred. The intellectual whispered with a grave face, "What I wouldn't give to catch it!"
火鸡腿的热销让一名家禽饲养员想研究培育出一个有更多条腿的火鸡品种,从而可以获利更多。许多年后,他终于成功培育出一只有六条腿的火鸡!他成功的新闻被媒体获悉,到访的记者们询问他这只火鸡的味道如何。这名智者一脸严肃地低声说道:“我倒是想告诉你呢,但是我压根抓不住啊!”
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想找一些简单又有个性的英文句子来做qq签名吗?下面读文网小编为大家带简单个性英文签名,希望大家喜欢!
Life is a on return journey.
人生是一段没有退路的旅程。
Home is where the heart is.
心在的地方就是家。
Life is tough, my darling, but so are you.
生活很艰难,但是宝贝,你也很坚强。
When it has is lost, brave to give up.
当拥有已经是失去,就勇敢的放弃。
Don't let the fear for losing keep you from trying.
别因为害怕失败而停止尝试。
Real dream is the other shore of reality.
真正的梦就是现实的彼岸。
Sometimes you have to give up on someone in order to respect yourself.
有时候我们必须放弃一些人,来成全自己的自尊。
There is no elevator to success. You have to take the stairs.
成功没有电梯,只有一步一个脚印。
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《丑小鸭》是安徒生的经典童话故事之一,写了一只天鹅蛋在鸭群中破壳后,因相貌怪异,让同类鄙弃,历经千辛万苦、重重磨难之后长成了白天鹅。下面读文网小编为大家带来丑小鸭童话故事英文版及翻译,欢迎大家阅读欣赏!
It was so beautiful out on the country, it was summer- the wheat fields were golden, the oats were green, and down among the green meadows the hay was stacked. There the stork minced about on his red legs, clacking away in Egyptian, which was the language his mother had taught him. Round about the field and meadow lands rose vast forests, in which deep lakes lay hidden. Yes, it was indeed lovely out there in the country.
In the midst of the sunshine there stood an old manor house that had a deep moat around it. From the walls of the manor right down to the water's edge great burdock leaves grew, and there were some so tall that little children could stand upright beneath the biggest of them. In this wilderness of leaves, which was as dense as the forests itself, a duck sat on her nest, hatching her ducklings. She was becoming somewhat weary, because sitting is such a dull business and scarcely anyone came to see her. The other ducks would much rather swim in the moat than waddle out and squat under the burdock leaf to gossip with her.
But at last the eggshells began to crack, one after another. "Peep, peep!" said the little things, as they came to life and poked out their heads.
"Quack, quack!" said the duck, and quick as quick can be they all waddled out to have a look at the green world under the leaves. Their mother let them look as much as they pleased, because green is good for the eyes.
"How wide the world is," said all the young ducks, for they certainly had much more room now than they had when they were in their eggshells.
"Do you think this is the whole world?" their mother asked. "Why it extends on and on, clear across to the other side of the garden and right on into the parson's field, though that is further than I have ever been. I do hope you are all hatched," she said as she got up. "No, not quite all. The biggest egg still lies here. How much longer is this going to take? I am really rather tired of it all," she said, but she settled back on her nest.
"Well, how goes it?" asked an old duck who came to pay her a call.
"It takes a long time with that one egg," said the duck on the nest. "It won't crack, but look at the others. They are the cutest little ducklings I've ever seen. They look exactly like their father, the wretch! He hasn't come to see me at all."
"Let's have a look at the egg that won't crack," the old duck said. "It's a turkey egg, and you can take my word for it. I was fooled like that once myself. What trouble and care I had with those turkey children, for I may as well tell you, they are afraid of the water. I simply could not get them into it. I quacked and snapped at them, but it wasn't a bit of use. Let me see the egg. Certainly, it's a turkey egg. Let it lie, and go teach your other children to swim."
"Oh, I'll sit a little longer. I've been at it so long already that I may as well sit here half the summer."
"Suit yourself," said the old duck, and away she waddled.
At last the big egg did crack. "Peep," said the young one, and out he tumbled, but he was so big and ugly.
The duck took a look at him. "That's a frightfully big duckling," she said. "He doesn't look the least like the others. Can he really be a turkey baby? Well, well! I'll soon find out. Into the water he shall go, even if I have to shove him in myself."
Next day the weather was perfectly splendid, and the sun shone down on all the green burdock leaves. The mother duck led her whole family down to the moat. Splash! she took to the water. "Quack, quack," said she, and one duckling after another plunged in. The water went over their heads, but they came up in a flash, and floated to perfection. Their legs worked automatically, and they were all there in the water. Even the big, ugly gray one was swimming along.
"Why, that's no turkey," she said. "See how nicely he uses his legs, and how straight he holds himself. He's my very own son after all, and quite good-looking if you look at him properly. Quack, quack come with me. I'll lead you out into the world and introduce you to the duck yard. But keep close to me so that you won't get stepped on, and watch out for the cat!"
Thus they sallied into the duck yard, where all was in an uproar because two families were fighting over the head of an eel. But the cat got it, after all.
"You see, that's the way of the world." The mother duck licked her bill because she wanted the eel's head for herself. "Stir your legs. Bustle about, and mind that you bend your necks to that old duck over there. She's the noblest of us all, and has Spanish blood in her. That's why she's so fat. See that red rag around her leg? That's a wonderful thing, and the highest distinction a duck can get. It shows that they don't want to lose her, and that she's to have special attention from man and beast. Shake yourselves! Don't turn your toes in. A well-bred duckling turns his toes way out, just as his father and mother do-this way. So then! Now duck your necks and say quack!"
They did as she told them, but the other ducks around them looked on and said right out loud, "See here! Must we have this brood too, just as if there weren't enough of us already? And-fie! what an ugly-looking fellow that duckling is! We won't stand for him." One duck charged up and bit his neck.
"Let him alone," his mother said. "He isn't doing any harm."
"Possibly not," said the duck who bit him, "but he's too big and strange, and therefore he needs a good whacking."
"What nice-looking children you have, Mother," said the old duck with the rag around her leg. "They are all pretty except that one. He didn't come out so well. It's a pity you can't hatch him again."
"That can't be managed, your ladyship," said the mother. "He isn't so handsome, but he's as good as can be, and he swims just as well as the rest, or, I should say, even a little better than they do. I hope his looks will improve with age, and after a while he won't seem so big. He took too long in the egg, and that's why his figure isn't all that it should be." She pinched his neck and preened his feathers. "Moreover, he's a drake, so it won't matter so much. I think he will be quite strong, and I'm sure he will amount to something."
"The other ducklings are pretty enough," said the old duck. "Now make yourselves right at home, and if you find an eel's head you may bring it to me."
So they felt quite at home. But the poor duckling who had been the last one out of his egg, and who looked so ugly, was pecked and pushed about and made fun of by the ducks, and the chickens as well. "He's too big," said they all. The turkey gobbler, who thought himself an emperor because he was born wearing spurs, puffed up like a ship under full sail and bore down upon him, gobbling and gobbling until he was red in the face. The poor duckling did not know where he dared stand or where he dared walk. He was so sad because he was so desperately ugly, and because he was the laughing stock of the whole barnyard.
So it went on the first day, and after that things went from bad to worse. The poor duckling was chased and buffeted about by everyone. Even his own brothers and sisters abused him. "Oh," they would always say, "how we wish the cat would catch you, you ugly thing." And his mother said, "How I do wish you were miles away." The ducks nipped him, and the hens pecked him, and the girl who fed them kicked him with her foot.
So he ran away; and he flew over the fence. The little birds in the bushes darted up in a fright. "That's because I'm so ugly," he thought, and closed his eyes, but he ran on just the same until he reached the great marsh where the wild ducks lived. There he lay all night long, weary and disheartened.
When morning came, the wild ducks flew up to have a look at their new companion. "What sort of creature are you?" they asked, as the duckling turned in all directions, bowing his best to them all. "You are terribly ugly," they told him, "but that's nothing to us so long as you don't marry into our family."
Poor duckling! Marriage certainly had never entered his mind. All he wanted was for them to let him lie among the reeds and drink a little water from the marsh.
There he stayed for two whole days. Then he met two wild geese, or rather wild ganders-for they were males. They had not been out of the shell very long, and that's what made them so sure of themselves.
"Say there, comrade," they said, "you're so ugly that we have taken a fancy to you. Come with us and be a bird of passage. In another marsh near-by, there are some fetching wild geese, all nice young ladies who know how to quack. You are so ugly that you'll completely turn their heads."
Bing! Bang! Shots rang in the air, and these two ganders fell dead among the reeds. The water was red with their blood. Bing! Bang! the shots rang, and as whole flocks of wild geese flew up from the reeds another volley crashed. A great hunt was in progress. The hunters lay under cover all around the marsh, and some even perched on branches of trees that overhung the reeds. Blue smoke rose like clouds from the shade of the trees, and drifted far out over the water.
The bird dogs came splash, splash! through the swamp, bending down the reeds and the rushes on every side. This gave the poor duckling such a fright that he twisted his head about to hide it under his wing. But at that very moment a fearfully big dog appeared right beside him. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his wicked eyes glared horribly. He opened his wide jaws, flashed his sharp teeth, and - splash, splash - on he went without touching the duckling.
"Thank heavens," he sighed, "I'm so ugly that the dog won't even bother to bite me."
He lay perfectly still, while the bullets splattered through the reeds as shot after shot was fired. It was late in the day before things became quiet again, and even then the poor duckling didn't dare move. He waited several hours before he ventured to look about him, and then he scurried away from that marsh as fast as he could go. He ran across field and meadows. The wind was so strong that he had to struggle to keep his feet.
Late in the evening he came to a miserable little hovel, so ramshackle that it did not know which way to tumble, and that was the only reason it still stood. The wind struck the duckling so hard that the poor little fellow had to sit down on his tail to withstand it. The storm blew stronger and stronger, but the duckling noticed that one hinge had come loose and the door hung so crooked that he could squeeze through the crack into the room, and that's just what he did.
Here lived an old woman with her cat and her hen. The cat, whom she called "Sonny," could arch his back, purr, and even make sparks, though for that you had to stroke his fur the wrong way. The hen had short little legs, so she was called "Chickey Shortleg." She laid good eggs, and the old woman loved her as if she had been her own child.
In the morning they were quick to notice the strange duckling. The cat began to purr, and the hen began to cluck.
"What on earth!" The old woman looked around, but she was short-sighted, and she mistook the duckling for a fat duck that had lost its way. "That was a good catch," she said. "Now I shall have duck eggs-unless it's a drake. We must try it out." So the duckling was tried out for three weeks, but not one egg did he lay.
In this house the cat was master and the hen was mistress. They always said, "We and the world," for they thought themselves half of the world, and much the better half at that. The duckling thought that there might be more than one way of thinking, but the hen would not hear of it.
"Can you lay eggs?" she asked
"No."
"Then be so good as to hold your tongue."
The cat asked, "Can you arch your back, purr, or make sparks?"
"No."
"Then keep your opinion to yourself when sensible people are talking."
The duckling sat in a corner, feeling most despondent. Then he remembered the fresh air and the sunlight. Such a desire to go swimming on the water possessed him that he could not help telling the hen about it.
"What on earth has come over you?" the hen cried. "You haven't a thing to do, and that's why you get such silly notions. Lay us an egg, or learn to purr, and you'll get over it."
"But it's so refreshing to float on the water," said the duckling, "so refreshing to feel it rise over your head as you dive to the bottom."
"Yes, it must be a great pleasure!" said the hen. "I think you must have gone crazy. Ask the cat, who's the wisest fellow I know, whether he likes to swim or dive down in the water. Of myself I say nothing. But ask the old woman, our mistress. There's no one on earth wiser than she is. Do you imagine she wants to go swimming and feel the water rise over her head?"
"You don't understand me," said the duckling.
"Well, if we don't, who would? Surely you don't think you are cleverer than the cat and the old woman-to say nothing of myself. Don't be so conceited, child. Just thank your Maker for all the kindness we have shown you. Didn't you get into this snug room, and fall in with people who can tell you what's what? But you are such a numbskull that it's no pleasure to have you around. Believe me, I tell you this for your own good. I say unpleasant truths, but that's the only way you can know who are your friends. Be sure now that you lay some eggs. See to it that you learn to purr or to make sparks."
"I think I'd better go out into the wide world," said the duckling.
"Suit yourself," said the hen.
So off went the duckling. He swam on the water, and dived down in it, but still he was slighted by every living creature because of his ugliness.
Autumn came on. The leaves in the forest turned yellow and brown. The wind took them and whirled them about. The heavens looked cold as the low clouds hung heavy with snow and hail. Perched on the fence, the raven screamed, "Caw, caw!" and trembled with cold. It made one shiver to think of it. Pity the poor little duckling!
One evening, just as the sun was setting in splendor, a great flock of large, handsome birds appeared out of the reeds. The duckling had never seen birds so beautiful. They were dazzling white, with long graceful necks. They were swans. They uttered a very strange cry as they unfurled their magnificent wings to fly from this cold land, away to warmer countries and to open waters. They went up so high, so very high, that the ugly little duckling felt a strange uneasiness come over him as he watched them. He went around and round in the water, like a wheel. He craned his neck to follow their course, and gave a cry so shrill and strange that he frightened himself. Oh! He could not forget them-those splendid, happy birds. When he could no longer see them he dived to the very bottom. and when he came up again he was quite beside himself. He did not know what birds they were or whither they were bound, yet he loved them more than anything he had ever loved before. It was not that he envied them, for how could he ever dare dream of wanting their marvelous beauty for himself? He would have been grateful if only the ducks would have tolerated him-the poor ugly creature.
The winter grew cold - so bitterly cold that the duckling had to swim to and fro in the water to keep it from freezing over. But every night the hole in which he swam kept getting smaller and smaller. Then it froze so hard that the duckling had to paddle continuously to keep the crackling ice from closing in upon him. At last, too tired to move, he was frozen fast in the ice.
Early that morning a farmer came by, and when he saw how things were he went out on the pond, broke away the ice with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. There the duckling revived, but when the children wished to play with him he thought they meant to hurt him. Terrified, he fluttered into the milk pail, splashing the whole room with milk. The woman shrieked and threw up her hands as he flew into the butter tub, and then in and out of the meal barrel. Imagine what he looked like now! The woman screamed and lashed out at him with the fire tongs. The children tumbled over each other as they tried to catch him, and they laughed and they shouted. Luckily the door was open, and the duckling escaped through it into the bushes, where he lay down, in the newly fallen snow, as if in a daze.
But it would be too sad to tell of all the hardships and wretchedness he had to endure during this cruel winter. When the warm sun shone once more, the duckling was still alive among the reeds of the marsh. The larks began to sing again. It was beautiful springtime.
Then, quite suddenly, he lifted his wings. They swept through the air much more strongly than before, and their powerful strokes carried him far. Before he quite knew what was happening, he found himself in a great garden where apple trees bloomed. The lilacs filled the air with sweet scent and hung in clusters from long, green branches that bent over a winding stream. Oh, but it was lovely here in the freshness of spring!
From the thicket before him came three lovely white swans. They ruffled their feathers and swam lightly in the stream. The duckling recognized these noble creatures, and a strange feeling of sadness came upon him.
"I shall fly near these royal birds, and they will peck me to bits because I, who am so very ugly, dare to go near them. But I don't care. Better be killed by them than to be nipped by the ducks, pecked by the hens, kicked about by the hen-yard girl, or suffer such misery in winter."
So he flew into the water and swam toward the splendid swans. They saw him, and swept down upon him with their rustling feathers raised. "Kill me!" said the poor creature, and he bowed his head down over the water to wait for death. But what did he see there, mirrored in the clear stream? He beheld his own image, and it was no longer the reflection of a clumsy, dirty, gray bird, ugly and offensive. He himself was a swan! Being born in a duck yard does not matter, if only you are hatched from a swan's egg.
He felt quite glad that he had come through so much trouble and misfortune, for now he had a fuller understanding of his own good fortune, and of beauty when he met with it. The great swans swam all around him and stroked him with their bills.
Several little children came into the garden to throw grain and bits of bread upon the water. The smallest child cried, "Here's a new one," and the others rejoiced, "yes, a new one has come." They clapped their hands, danced around, and ran to bring their father and mother.
And they threw bread and cake upon the water, while they all agreed, "The new one is the most handsome of all. He's so young and so good-looking." The old swans bowed in his honor.
Then he felt very bashful, and tucked his head under his wing. He did not know what this was all about. He felt so very happy, but he wasn't at all proud, for a good heart never grows proud. He thought about how he had been persecuted and scorned, and now he heard them all call him the most beautiful of all beautiful birds. The lilacs dipped their clusters into the stream before him, and the sun shone so warm and so heartening. He rustled his feathers and held his slender neck high, as he cried out with full heart: "I never dreamed there could be so much happiness, when I was the ugly duckling."#p#副标题#e#
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小红帽是德国童话作家格林的童话《小红帽》中的人物,故事版本多达一百多个,是如今家户喻晓的经典童话故事,成了不少小朋友最喜欢的睡前故事之一。下面读文网小编为大家带来小红帽童话故事双语版,欢迎大家阅读。
Once upon a time there was a sweet little girl. Everyone who saw her liked her, but most of all her grandmother, who did not know what to give the child next. Once she gave her a little cap made of red velvet. Because it suited her so well, and she wanted to wear it all the time, she came to be known as Little Red Cap.
One day her mother said to her, "Come Little Red Cap. Here is a piece of cake and a bottle of wine. Take them to your grandmother. She is sick and weak, and they will do her well. Mind your manners and give her my greetings. Behave yourself on the way, and do not leave the path, or you might fall down and break the glass, and then there will be nothing for your grandmother. And when you enter her parlor, don't forget to say 'Good morning,' and don't peer into all the corners first."
"I'll do everything just right," said Little Red Cap, shaking her mother's hand.
The grandmother lived out in the woods, a half hour from the village. When Little Red Cap entered the woods a wolf came up to her. She did not know what a wicked animal he was, and was not afraid of him.
"Good day to you, Little Red Cap."
"Thank you, wolf."
"Where are you going so early, Little Red Cap?"
"To grandmother's."
"And what are you carrying under your apron?"
"Grandmother is sick and weak, and I am taking her some cake and wine. We baked yesterday, and they should be good for her and give her strength."
"Little Red Cap, just where does your grandmother live?"
"Her house is good quarter hour from here in the woods, under the three large oak trees. There's a hedge of hazel bushes there. You must know the place," said Little Red Cap.
The wolf thought to himself, "Now that sweet young thing is a tasty bite for me. She will taste even better than the old woman. You must be sly, and you can catch them both."
He walked along a little while with Little Red Cap, then he said, "Little Red Cap, just look at the beautiful flowers that are all around us. Why don't you go and take a look? And I don't believe you can hear how beautifully the birds are singing. You are walking along as though you were on your way to school. It is very beautiful in the woods."
Little Red Cap opened her eyes and when she saw the sunbeams dancing to and fro through the trees and how the ground was covered with beautiful flowers, she thought, "If a take a fresh bouquet to grandmother, she will be very pleased. Anyway, it is still early, and I'll be home on time." And she ran off the path into the woods looking for flowers. Each time she picked one she thought that she could see an even more beautiful one a little way off, and she ran after it, going further and further into the woods. But the wolf ran straight to the grandmother's house and knocked on the door.
"Who's there?"
"Little Red Cap. I'm bringing you some cake and wine. Open the door."
"Just press the latch," called out the grandmother. "I'm too weak to get up."
The wolf pressed the latch, and the door opened. He stepped inside, went straight to the grandmother's bed, and ate her up. Then he put on her clothes, put her cap on his head, got into her bed, and pulled the curtains shut.
Little Red Cap had run after the flowers. After she had gathered so many that she could not carry any more, she remembered her grandmother, and then continued on her way to her house. She found, to her surprise, that the door was open. She walked into the parlor, and everything looked so strange that she thought, "Oh, my God, why am I so afraid? I usually like it at grandmother's."
She called out, "Good morning!" but received no answer.
Then she went to the bed and pulled back the curtains. Grandmother was lying there with her cap pulled down over her face and looking very strange.
"Oh, grandmother, what big ears you have!"
"All the better to hear you with."
"Oh, grandmother, what big eyes you have!"
"All the better to see you with."
"Oh, grandmother, what big hands you have!"
"All the better to grab you with!"
"Oh, grandmother, what a horribly big mouth you have!"
"All the better to eat you with!"
The wolf had scarcely finished speaking when he jumped from the bed with a single leap and ate up poor Little Red Cap. As soon as the wolf had satisfied his desires, he climbed back into bed, fell asleep, and began to snore very loudly.
A huntsman was just passing by. He thought, "The old woman is snoring so loudly. You had better see if something is wrong with her."
He stepped into the parlor, and when he approached the bed, he saw the wolf lying there. "So here I find you, you old sinner," he said. "I have been hunting for you a long time."
He was about to aim his rifle when it occurred to him that the wolf might have eaten the grandmother, and that she still might be rescued. So instead of shooting, he took a pair of scissors and began to cut open the wolf's belly. After a few cuts he saw the red cap shining through., and after a few more cuts the girl jumped out, crying, "Oh, I was so frightened! It was so dark inside the wolf's body!"
And then the grandmother came out as well, alive but hardly able to breathe. Then Little Red Cap fetched some large stones. She filled the wolf's body with them, and when he woke up and tried to run away, the stones were so heavy that he immediately fell down dead.
The three of them were happy. The huntsman skinned the wolf and went home with the pelt. The grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine that Little Red Cap had brought. And Little Red Cap thought, "As long as I live, I will never leave the path and run off into the woods by myself if mother tells me not to."
They also tell how Little Red Cap was taking some baked things to her grandmother another time, when another wolf spoke to her and wanted her to leave the path. But Little Red Cap took care and went straight to grandmother's. She told her that she had seen the wolf, and that he had wished her a good day, but had stared at her in a wicked manner. "If we hadn't been on a public road, he would have eaten me up," she said.
"Come," said the grandmother. "Let's lock the door, so he can't get in."
Soon afterward the wolf knocked on the door and called out, "Open up, grandmother. It's Little Red Cap, and I'm bringing you some baked things."
They remained silent, and did not open the door. Gray-Head crept around the house several times, and finally jumped onto the roof. He wanted to wait until Little Red Cap went home that evening, then follow her and eat her up in the darkness. But the grandmother saw what he was up to. There was a large stone trough in front of the house.
"Fetch a bucket, Little Red Cap," she said to the child. "Yesterday I cooked some sausage. Carry the water that I boiled them with to the trough." Little Red Cap carried water until the large, large trough was clear full. The smell of sausage arose into the wolf's nose. He sniffed and looked down, stretching his neck so long that he could no longer hold himself, and he began to slide. He slid off the roof, fell into the trough, and drowned. And Little Red Cap returned home happily, and no one harmed her.
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英国的教育体系经过几百年的沿革,相当的完善和复杂,这里就有它的英文版介绍。下面读文网小编为大家带来英国教育体系英文简介,希望对你有所帮助!
英国教育体系总体来说分为三个阶段: 义务教育(Compulsory Education),延续教育(Further Education)和高等教育(Higher Education)。
一、义务教育 (Compulsory Education)
英国的学生从四岁开始接受义务教育,享受全免费的国家福利,学校甚至还提供免费的午餐,所有的家长必须把自己的孩子送到学校读书。小学教育一般持续到11岁,然后进入中学。英国的中学不分初中高中,从中一(Form 1)到中五(Form 5)共五年的时间。
二、延续教育(Further Education)
延续教育是英国教育体系中最有特色也最精彩的部分,它是继小学(Primary)中学(Secondary)教育之后的“第三级教育”(Tertiary)。为进入高等教育或者就业打下基础。也是中国的高中学生留学英国的关键阶段。一般来说接受延续教育的学生介于16和18岁之间。它分为两种体系:学业路线(Academic Route)和职业路线(Vocational Route)。学业路线着重于培养学术研究方面的人才,职业路线则结合社会各层面的职业需要,培养在各种行业中具有专门技能和知识的人才。这两种体系在英国受到同等的重视。
三、高等教育(Higher Education)
顾名思义,高等教育是英国教育体系中的高级阶段,它包括:
本科(Bachelor Degree)
研究生(Master Degree)
博士生(Doctorial Degree)
高级国家文凭(HND-Higher National Diploma)。
高等教育通常都是由大学(University)提供,但许多学院(College)也提供Bachelor和HND课程。
看了英国教育体系英文版介绍这篇文章
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《假如给我三天光明》是作者海伦·凯勒的自传,被誉为“世界文学史上无与伦比的杰作”。她以自己的经历告诫人们应珍惜生命,珍惜造物主赐予的一切。如果你想欣赏一下这篇经典名作的话,那么就不要错过下面读文网小编为大家带来假如给我三天光明完整英文版及中文翻译,希望大家喜欢!
All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live. Sometimes it was as long as a year; sometimes as short as twenty-four hours.
But always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed man chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak, of course, of free men who have a choice, not condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.
Such stories set us thinking, wondering what we should do under similar circumstances. What events, what experiences, what associations should we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings? What happiness should we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?
Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the Epicurean motto of "Eat, drink, and be merry," but most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.
In stories the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune, but almost always his sense of values is changed. he becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It ahs often been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do.
Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly aware of our listless attitude toward life.
The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not being conscious of health until we are ill.
I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would tech him the joys of sound.
Now and them I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. Recently I was visited by a very good friends who hadjust returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed.. "Nothing in particular, " she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such reposes, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.
How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In the spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush thought my open finger. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the page ant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my finger tips.
At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. the panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere conveniences rather than as a means of adding fullness to life.
If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory course in "How to Use Your Eyes". The professor would try to show his pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them. He would try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.
Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to see if I were given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I am imagining, suppose you, too, set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see. If with the on-coming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?
I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you into the night that loomed before you.
If, by some miracle, I were granted three seeing days, to be followed by a relapse into darkness, I should divide the period into three parts.
The First Day
On the first day, I should want to see the people whose kindness and gentleness and companionship have made my life worth living. First I should like to gaze long upon the face of my dear teacher, Mrs. Anne Sullivan Macy, who came to me when I was a child and opened the outer world to me. I should want not merely to see the outline of her face, so that I could cherish it in my memory, but to study that face and find in it the living evidence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which she accomplished the difficult task of my education. I should like to see in her eyes that strength of character which has enabled her to stand firm in the face of difficulties, and that compassion for all humanity which she has revealed to me so often.
I do not know what it is to see into the heart of a friend through that "Window of the soul", the eye. I can only "see" through my finger tips the outline of a face. I can detect laughter, sorrow, and many other obvious emotions. I know my friends from the feel of their faces. But I cannot really picture their personalities by touch. I know their personalities, of course, through other means, through the thoughts they express to me, through whatever of their actions are revealed to me. But I am denied that deeper understanding of them which I am sure would come through sight of them, through watching their reactions to various expressed thoughts and circumstances, through noting the immediate and fleeting reactions of their eyes and countenance.
Friends who are near to me I know well, because through the months and years they reveal themselves to me in all their phases; but of casual friends I have only an incomplete impression, an impression gained from a handclasp, from spoken words which I take from their lips with my finger tips, or which they tap into the palm of my hand.
How much easier, how much more satisfying it is for you who can see to grasp quickly the essential qualities of another person by watching the subtleties of expression, the quiver of a muscle, the flutter of a hand. But does it ever occur to you to use your sight to see into the inner nature of a friends or acquaintance/ Do not most of you seeing people grasp casually the outward features of a face and let it go at that?
For instance can you describe accurately the faces of five good friends? some of you can, but many cannot. As an experiment, I have questioned husbands of long standing about the color of their wives' eyes, and often they express embarrassed confusion and admit that they do not know. And, incidentally, it is a chronic complaint of wives that their husbandsdo not notice new dresses, new hats, and changes in household arrangements.
The eyes of seeing persons soon become accustomed to the routine of their surroundings, and they actually see only the startling and spectacular. But even in viewing the most spectacular sights the eyes are lazy. Court records reveal every day how inaccurately "eyewitnesses" see. A given event will be "seen" in several different ways by as many witnesses. Some see more than others, but few see everything that is within the range of their vision.
Oh, the things that I should see if I had the power of sight for just three days!
The first day would be a busy one.
I should call to me all my dear friends and look long into their faces, imprinting upon my mind the outward evidences of the beauty that is within them. I should let my eyes rest, too, on the face of a baby, so that I could catch a vision of the eager, innocent beauty which precedes the individual's consciousness of the conflicts which life develops.
And I should like to look into the loyal, trusting eyes of my dogs - the grave, canny little Scottie, Darkie, and the stalwart, understanding Great Dane, Helga, whose warm, tender , and playful friendships are so comforting to me.
On that busy first day I should also view the small simple things of my home. I want to see the warm colors in the rugs under my feet, the pictures on the walls, the intimate trifles that transform a house into home. My eyes would rest respectfully on the books in raised type which I have read, but they would be more eagerly interested in the printed books which seeing people can read, for during the long night of my life the books I have read and those which have been read to me have built themselves into a great shining lighthouse, revealing to me the deepest channels of human life and the human spirit.
In the afternoon of that first seeing day. I should take a long walk in the woods and intoxicate my eyes on the beauties of the world of Nature trying desperately to absorb in a few hours the vast splendor which is constantly unfolding itself to those who can see. On the way home from my woodland jaunt my path would lie near a farm so that I might see the patient horses ploughing in the field 9perhaps I should see only a tractor!) and the serene content of men living close to the soil. And I should pray for the glory of a colorful sunset.
When dusk had fallen, I should experience the double delight of being able to see by artificial light which the genius of man has created to extend the power of his sight when Nature decrees darkness.
In the night of that first day of sight, I should not be able to sleep, so full would be my mind of the memories of the day.
The Second Day
The next day - the second day of sight - I should arisewith the dawn and see the thrilling miracle by which night is transformed into day. I should behold with awe the magnificent panorama of light with which the sun awakens the sleeping earth.
This day I should devote to a hasty glimpse of the world, past and present. I should want to see the pageant of man's progress, the kaleidoscope of the ages. How can so much be compressed into one day? Through the museums, of course. Often I have visited the New York Museum of Natural History to touch with my hands many of the objects there exhibited, butI have longed to see with my eyes the condensed history of the earth and its inhabitants displayed there - animals and the races of men pictured in their native environment; gigantic carcasses of dinosaurs and mastodons which roamed the earth long before man appeared, with his tiny stature and powerful brain, to conquer the animal kingdom; realistic presentations of the processes of development in animals, in man, and in the implements which man has used to fashion for himself a secure home on this planet; and a thousand and one other aspects of natural history.
I wonder how many readers of this article have viewed this panorama of the face of living things as pictured in that inspiring museum. Many, of course, have not had the opportunity, but I am sure that many who have had the opportunity have not made use of it. there, indeed, is a place to use your eyes. You who see can spend many fruitful days there, but I with my imaginary three days of sight, could only take a hasty glimpse, and pass on.
My next stop would be the Metropolitan Museum of Art, for just as the Museum of Natural History reveals the material aspects of the world, so does the Metropolitan show the myriad facets of the human spirit. Throughout the history of humanity the urge to artistic expression has been almost as powerful as the urge for food, shelter, and procreation. And here , in the vast chambers of the Metropolitan Museum, is unfolded before me the spirit of Egypt, Greece, and Rome, as expressed in their art. I know well through my hands the sculptured gods and goddesses of the ancient Nile-land. I have felt copies of Parthenon friezes, and I have sensed the rhythmic beauty of charging Athenian warriors. Apollos and Venuses and the Winged Victory of Samothrace are friends of my finger tips. The gnarled, bearded features of Homer are dear to me, for he, too, knew blindness.
My hands have lingered upon the living marble of roman sculpture as well as that of later generations. I have passed my hands over a plaster cast of Michelangelo's inspiring and heroic Moses; I have sensed the power of Rodin; I have been awed by the devoted spirit of Gothic wood carving. These arts which can be touched have meaning for me, but even they were meant to be
seen rather than felt, and I can only guess at the beauty which remains hidden from me. I can admire the simple lines of a Greek vase, but its figured decorations are lost to me.
So on this, my second day of sight, I should try to probe into the soul of man through this art. The things I knew through touch I should now see. More splendid still, the whole magnificent world of painting would be opened to me, from the Italian Primitives, with their serene religious devotion, to the Moderns, with their feverish visions. I should look deep into the canvases of Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Titian, Rembrandt. I should want to feast my eyes upon the warm colors of Veronese, study the mysteries of E1 Greco, catch a new vision of Nature from Corot. Oh, there is so much rich meaning and beauty in the art of the ages for you who have eyes to see!
Upon my short visit to this temple of art I should not be able to review a fraction of that great world of art which is open to you. I should be able to get only a superficial impression. Artists tell me that fordeep and true appreciation of art one must educated the eye. One must learn through experience to weigh the merits of line, of composition, of form and color. If I had eyes, how happily would I embark upon so fascinating a study! Yet I am told that, to many of you who have eyes to see, the world of art is a dark night,unexplored and unilluminated.
It would be with extreme reluctance that I should leave the Metropolitan Museum, which contains the key to beauty -- a beauty so neglected. Seeing persons, however, do not need a metropolitan to find this key to beauty. The same key lies waiting in smaller museums, and in books on the shelves of even small libraries. But naturally, in my limited time of imaginary sight, I should choose the place where the key unlocks the greatest treasures in the shortest time.
The evening of my second day of sight I should spend at a theatre or at the movies. Even now I often attend theatrical performances of all sorts, but the action of the play must be spelled into my hand by a companion. But how I should like to see with my own eyes the fascinating figure of Hamlet, or the gusty Falstaff amid colorful Elizabethan trappings! How I should like to follow each movement of the graceful Hamlet, each strut of the hearty Falstaff! And since I could see only one play, I should be confronted by a many-horned dilemma, for there are scores of plays I should want to see. You who have eyes can see any you like. How many of you, I wonder, when you gaze at a play, a movie, or any spectacle, realize and give thanks for the miracle of sight which enables you to enjoy its color , grace, and movement?
I cannot enjoy the beauty of rhythmic movement except in a sphere restricted to the touch of my hands. I can vision only dimly the grace of a Pavlowa, although I know something of the delight of rhythm, for often I can sense the beat of music as it vibrates through the floor. I can well imagine that cadenced motion must be one of the most pleasing sights in the world. I have been able to gather something of this by tracing with my fingers the lines in sculptured marble; if this static grace can be so lovely, how much more acute must be the thrill of seeing grace in motion.
One of my dearest memories is of the time when Joseph Jefferson allowed me to touch his face and hands as he went through some of the gestures and speeches of his beloved Rip Van Winkle. I was able to catch thus a meager glimpse of the world of drama, and I shall never forget the delight of that moment. But, oh, how much I must miss, and how much pleasure you seeing ones can derive from watching and hearing the interplay of speech and movement in the unfolding of a dramatic performance! If I could see only one play, I should know how to picture in mymind the action of a hundred plays which I have read or had transferred to me through the medium of the manual alphabet.
So, through the evening of my second imaginary day of sight, the great fingers of dramatic literature would crowd sleep from my eyes.
The Third Day
The following morning, I should again greet the dawn, anxious to discover new delights, for I am sure that, for those who have eyes which really see, the dawn of each day must be a perpetually new revelation of beauty.
This, according to the terms of my imagined miracle, is to be my third and last day of sight. I shall have no time to waste in regrets or longings; there is too much to see. The first day I devoted to my friends, animate and inanimate. The second revealed to me the history of man and Nature. Today I shall spend in the workaday world of the present, amid the haunts of men going about the business of life. And where can one find so many activities and conditions of men as in New York? So the city becomes my destination.
I start from my home in the quiet little suburb of Forest Hills, Long Island. Here , surrounded by green lawns, trees, and flowers, are neat little houses, happy with the voices and movements of wives and children, havens of peaceful rest for men who toil in the city. I drive across the lacy structure of steel which spans the East River, and I get a new and startling vision of the power and ingenuity of the mind of man. Busy boasts chug and scurry about the river - racy speed boat, stolid, snorting tugs. If I had long days of sight ahead, I should spend many of them watching the delightful activity upon the river.
I look ahead, and before me rise the fantastic towers of New York, a city that seems to have stepped from the pages of a fairy story. What an awe-inspiring sight, these glittering spires. these vast banks of stone and steel-structures such as the gods might build for themselves! This animated picture is a part of the lives of millions of people every day.
How many, I wonder, give it so much as a seconds glance? Very few, I fear, Their eyes are blind to this magnificent sight because it is so familiar to them.
I hurry to the top of one of those gigantic structures, the Empire State Building, for there , a short time ago, I "saw" the city below through the eyes of my secretary. I am anxious to compare my fancy with reality. I am sure I should not be disappointed in the panorama spread out before me, for to me it would be a vision of another world.
Now I begin my rounds of the city. First, I stand at a busy corner, merely looking at people, trying by sight of them to understand something of their live. I see smiles, and I am happy. I see serious determination, and I am proud, I see suffering, and I am compassionate.
I stroll down Fifth Avenue. I throw my eyes out of focus, so that I see no particular object but only a seething kaleidoscope of colors. I am certain that the colors of women's dresses moving in a throng must be a gorgeous spectacle of which I should never tire. But perhaps if I had sight I should be like most other women -- too interested in styles and the cut of individual dresses to give much attention to the splendor of color in the mass. And I am convinced, too, that I should become an inveterate window shopper, for it must be a delight to the eye to view the myriad articles of beauty on display.
From Fifth Avenue I make a tour of the city-to Park Avenue, to the slums, to factories, to parks where children play. I take a stay-at-home trip abroad by visiting the foreign quarters. Always my eyes are open wide to all the sights of both happiness and misery so that I may probe deep and add to my understanding of how people work and live. my heart is full of the images of people and things. My eye passes lightly over no single trifle; it strives to touch and hold closely each thing its gaze rests upon. Some sights are pleasant, filling the heart with happiness; but some are miserably pathetic. To these latter I do not shut my eyes, for they, too, are part of life. To close the eye on them is to close the heart and mind.
My third day of sight is drawing to an end. Perhaps there are many serious pursuits to which I should devote the few remaining hours, but I am afraid that on the evening of that last day I should again run away to the theater, to a hilariously funny play, so that I might appreciate the overtones of comedy in the human spirit.
At midnight my temporary respite from blindness would cease, and permanent night would close in on me again. Naturally in those three short days I should not have seen all I wanted to see. Only when darkness had again descended upon me should I realize how much I had left unseen. But my mind would be so crowded with glorious memories that I should have little time for regrets. Thereafter the touch of every object would bring a glowing memory of how that object looked.
Perhaps this short outline of how I should spend three days of sight does not agree with the program you would set for yourself if you knew that you were about to be stricken blind. I am, however, sure that if you actually faced that fate your eyes would open to things you had never seen before, storing up memories for the long night ahead. You would use your eyes as never before. Everything you saw would become dear to you. Your eyes would touch and embrace every object that came within your range of vision. Then, at last, you would really see, and a new world of beauty would open itself before you.
I who am blind can give one hint to those who see -- one admonition to those who would make full use of the gift of sight: Use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind.
And the same method can be applied to the other senses. Hear the music of voices, the song of a bird, the mighty strains of an orchestra, as if you would be stricken deaf tomorrow.
Touch each object you want to touch as if tomorrow your tactile sense would fail. Smell the perfume of flowers, taste with relish each morsel, as if tomorrow you could never s
mell and taste again. Make the most of every sense: glory in all the facets of pleasure and beauty which the world reveals to you through the several means of contact which Nature provides. But of all the senses, I am sure that sight must be the most delightful.#p#副标题#e#
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笑话能够使我们在紧张的工作生活当中获得一丝的放松,想放松一下心情的话,那么请阅读下面读文网小编为大家带来英语经典笑话带翻译,希望大家喜欢!
A Sunday school teacher was telling her pupils the importance of making others glad."Now,children,"said she,"has anyone of you ever made someone else glad?"
学校的老师正在对学生讲使别人高兴的重要性。“现在,孩子们,”她说:“她们当中有谁让别人高兴过?”
"Please,teacher:said a small boy,:I’ve made someone glad yesterday."
“我,老师,”一个小男孩说:“昨天我就使别人高兴过。”
"Well done. Who was that”
“做得好。是谁呢?”
"My granny."
“我奶奶。”
"Good boy. Now tell us how you made your grandmother glad."
“好孩子。现在告诉我们,你是怎样使你奶奶高兴的。”
"Please,teacher,I went to see her yesterday,and stayed with her three hours.Then I said to her,‘Granny, I’m going home’,and she said,‘Well,I'm glad!’”
“是这样的,老师。我昨天去看她,在她那儿待了三个小时。然后我跟她说:‘奶奶,我要回家了。’她说:‘啊,我很高兴!’”
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《安妮日记》是安妮·弗兰克遇难前两年藏身密室时写下的生活和情感的记录。今天读文网小编为大家带来安妮日记英文版摘抄,欢迎大家阅读!
MONDAY, JUNE 15, 1942
I had my birthday party on Sunday afternoon. The Rin Tin Tin movie was a big hit with my classmates. I got two brooches, a bookmark and two books. I'll start by saying a few things about my school and my class, beginning with the students.
Betty Bloemendaal looks kind of poor, and I think she probably is. She lives on some obscure street in West Amsterdam, and none of us know where it is. She does very well at school, but that's because she works so hard, not because she's so smart. She's pretty quiet.
Jacqueline van Maarsen is supposedly my best friend, but I've never had a real friend. At first I thought Jacque would be one, but I was badly mistaken.
D.Q.* [* Initials have been assigned at random to those persons who prefer to remain anonymous.] is a very nervous girl who's always forgetting things, so the teachers keep assigning her extra homework as punishment. She's very kind, especially to G.Z.
E.S. talks so much it isn't funny. She's always touching your hair or fiddling with your buttons when she asks you something. They say she can't stand me, but I don't care, since I don't like her much either.
Henny Mets is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, except that she talks in a loud voice and is really childish when we're playing outdoors. Unfortunately, Henny has a girlfriend named Beppy who's a bad influence on her because she's dirty and vulgar.
J.R. - I could write a whole book about her. J. is a detestable, sneaky, stuck-up, two-faced gossip who thinks she's so grown-up. She's really got Jacque under her spell, and that's a shame. J. is easily offended, bursts into tears at the slightest thing and, to top it all off, is a terrible show-off. Miss J. always has to be right. She's very rich, and has a closet full of the most adorable dresses that are way too old for her. She thinks she's gorgeous, but she's not. J. and I can't stand each other.
Ilse Wagner is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, but she's extremely fInicky and can spend hours moaning and groaning about something. Ilse likes me a lot. She's very smart, but lazy.
Hanneli Goslar, or Lies as she's called at school, is a bit on the strange side. She's usually shy -- outspoken at horne, but reserved around other people. She blabs whatever you tell her to her mother. But she says what she thinks, and lately I've corne to appreciate her a great deal.
Nannie van Praag-Sigaar is small, funny and sensible. I think she's nice. She's pretty smart. There isn't much else you can say about Nannie. Eefje de Jong is, in my opinion, terrific. Though she's only twelve, she's quite the lady. She acts as if I were a baby. She's also very helpful, and I like her.
G.Z. is the prettiest girl in our class. She has a nice face, but is kind of dumb. I think they're going to hold her back a year, but of course I haven't told her that.
COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE AT A LATER DATE: To my areat surprise, G.Z. wasn't held back a year after all.
And sitting next to G.Z. is the last of us twelve girls, me.
There's a lot to be said about the boys, or maybe not so much after all.
Maurice Coster is one of my many admirers, but pretty much of a pest. Sallie Springer has a filthy mind, and rumor has it that he's gone all the way. Still, I think he's terrific, because he's very funny.
Emiel Bonewit is G.Z.'s admirer, but she doesn't care. He's pretty boring. Rob Cohen used to be in love with me too, but I can't stand him anymore. He's an obnoxious, two-faced, lying, sniveling little goof who has an awfully high opinion of himself.
Max van de Velde is a farm boy from Medemblik, but eminently suitable, as Margot would say.
Herman Koopman also has a filthy mind, just like Jopie de Beer, who's a terrible flirt and absolutely girl-crazy.
Leo Blom is Jopie de Beer's best friend, but has been ruined by his dirty mind.
Albert de Mesquita came from the Montessori School and skipped a grade. He's really smart.
Leo Slager came from the same school, but isn't as smart.
Ru Stoppelmon is a short, goofy boy from Almelo who transferred to this school in the middle of the year.
C.N. does whatever he's not supposed to.
Jacques Kocernoot sits behind us, next to C., and we (G. and I) laugh ourselves silly.
Harry Schaap is the most decent boy in our class. He's nice.
Werner Joseph is nice too, but all the changes taking place lately have made him too quiet, so he seems boring. Sam Salomon is one of those tough guys from across the tracks. A real brat. (Admirer!)
Appie Riem is pretty Orthodox, but a brat too.
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笑话能够使我们在紧张的工作生活当中获得一丝的放松,想放松一下心情的话,那么请阅读下面读文网小编为大家带来经典英语小笑话带翻译,欢迎大家阅读!
A group from Chicago spent a weekend gambling in Las Vegas. One of the men on the train won$100,000. He didn’t want anyone to know about it,so he decided not to return with others,but took a later plane home,arriving back at 3 am.
周末,有一个从芝加哥来的旅行团在拉斯维加斯赌钱。其中一个人赢了10万美元。他不愿意让别人知道,所以他决定不和别人一起回去,他乘了一架晚一些的飞机回家,到家的时候已是凌晨3点。他立刻来到房子的后花园,挖了一个洞,把钱埋了进去。
He immediately went out to the back garden of his house,dug a hole and planted the money in it. The following morning he walked outside and found only an empty hole. He noticed footsteps leading from the hole to the house next door,which was owned by a deaf mute. On the same street lived a professor who understood sign language and was a friend of the deaf man. Grabbing his pistol,the enraged man went to awaken the professor and dragged him to the deaf man’s house.
第二天早晨,他出去发现洞是空的。他看到有脚印延伸到他的邻居家里,那里住着一个聋哑人。在同一条街道上,还住着一位教授,他懂得手语,是那个聋哑人的朋友。这个人非常生气,他带了一把手枪,把教授叫醒,然后把他拖到聋哑人家里。
"You tell the guy that if he doesn't give me back my$100 000,I’m going to kill him,”He screamed at the professor. The professor conveyed the message to his friend,and his friend replied in sign language,“I hid in my backyard,under the cherry tree.”
“告诉他如果不还我10万美元,我就把他杀了!”他对教授吼道。教授把他的意思告诉了他的朋友‘他的朋友用手语告诉教授:“我把它藏在了后院的樱桃树下了。”
The professor turned to the man with the gun and said,“He’s not going to tell you. He says he he’d rather die first.”
教授转身对持枪的人说道:“他说他宁愿去死也不会告诉你。”
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想用轻松愉快的心情来学习英语吗?下面读文网小编为大家带来英语幽默短笑话带翻译,希望大家喜欢!
Our teacher was telling us about a new system of memory training being used in someschools today.
我们的老师正在给我们介绍现在某些学校使用的一种新的记忆训练系统。
“It works like this,”she said. "Suppose you wanted to remember the name of a poet-Robert Burns,for instance.”She told us to think of him as Bobby Burns.“Now get in your head a picture of a London policeman,a bobby in flames. See? Bobby Burns!”
“这个系统是这样的,”她说。“假定你要记住一个诗人的名字一一例如,要记住罗伯特·彭斯的名字。”她告诉我们把他当作博比·彭斯。“让你的脑海里闪现出一个伦敦警察的形象,燃烧着的警察。明白吗?警察燃烧!”
“I see what you mean,”said the class know it all.“But how can you tell that it's not Robert Browning?”
“我明白你的意思,”班上的万事通说。“但是你怎么能说那就不是罗伯特·布朗宁呢?”
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想边看英语笑话边学英语吗?下面读文网小编为大家带来英语小笑话图片带翻译,欢迎大家阅读学习!
Can I take the last piece of cake?
我可以拿走最后一块蛋糕吗?
The moment it gets real tense at the Apocalypse
那一刻才是世界末日真正的紧张
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笑话是人们生活中不可缺少的“调剂品”,在我们的日常生活中起着重要放松作用。下面读文网小编为大家带来经典幽默英语小笑话带翻译,希望大家喜欢!
Jack had gone to the university to study history, but at the end of his first year,his history professor failed him in his examinations,and he was told that he would have to leave the university. However,his father decided that he would go to see the professor to urge him to let Jack continue his studies the following year.
杰克在一所大学学历史。第一学期结束时,历史课教授没让他及格。学校让他退学。然而,杰克的父亲决定去见教授,强烈要求让杰克继续来年的学业。
"He’s a good boy,"said Jack’s father,"and if you let him pass this time,I’m sure he’II improve a lot next year and pass the examinations at the end of it really well.”
“他是个好孩子,”杰克的父亲说,“您要是让他这次及格,我相信他明年会有很大进步,学期结束时,他一定会考好的。”
"No,no,that’s quite impossible,"replied the professor immediately.“Do you know,last month I asked him when Napoleon had died,he didn't know”
“不,不,那不可能,”教授马上回答,“你知道吗?上个月我问他拿破仑什么时候死的,他都不知道。”
"Please sir, give him another chance,"said Jack’s father. "You see I'm afraid we don’t take any newspaper in our house,so none of us even knows that Napoleon was ill,"
“先生,请再给他一次机会吧。”杰克的父亲说,“你不知道,恐怕是因为我们家没有订报纸。我们家的人连拿破仑病了都不知道。”
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幽默英语小笑话不仅是放松的一种方式,还是我们学习英语的一种方法。下面读文网小编为大家带来轻松幽默英语笑话精选,欢迎大家阅读!
A little boy is in school working on his arithmetic. The teacher says,“Imagine there are five blackbirds sitting on a fence. You pick up your gun and shoot one. How many blackbirds are left”
一个小男孩在上算术课。老师问他:“假设篱笆上站着5只画眉。你用枪打死了一只,还剩几只?”
The litter boy thinks for a moment and says“None !”
小男孩想了一会回答说:“一只也没有了!
The teacher replies,“None,how do youfigure that?”
老师说:“一只也没了?你是怎么想出来的?”
The little boy says,“If I shoot one,all the other birds will fly away scared,leaving none on the fence.”
小男孩答道:“打死一只,其他的都吓飞了,篱笆上自然一只画眉也没有了。”
The teacher replies,"Hmmmmm, not exactly,but I do like the way you think"
老师赞许地说:“嗯,不全对,但我欣赏你思考问题的方式!”
The little boy then says,"Teacher, can I ask you a question?There are three women sitting on a park bench eating ice cream cones. One is licking her cone,another is biting it, and the third one is sucking it.How can you tell me which one of the women is married?”
小男孩于是说:“老师,我能问你一个问题吗?有三个妇女坐在公园的长椅上吃甜筒冰激凌。一个用舌头舔,一个用牙咬,一个用嘴吸,你说她们中哪一个结婚了?”
The teacher ponders the question uncomfortably and then finally replies,"Well,I guess the one sucking her cone.”
老师感到很不自在,他想了很大一会儿,最后回答说:“嗯,我猜应该是那个用嘴吸的吧。”
To which the little boy replies,“Actually,it’s the one with the wedding ring,but I do like the way you think”
听了老师的话,小男孩说:“答案是那个戴戒指的,虽然你答错了,但是我真的很欣赏您思考问题的方式。”
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笑话使人们在刻板的生活中感到一丝快意和放松,在人们的日常生活中起着重要调剂作用。下面读文网小编为大家带来幽默搞笑双语笑话,希望大家喜欢!
Mother asked her litter daughter who was reading a book,"What are you reading,dear?”
妈妈问正在读书的女儿:“亲爱的,你读的是什么书?
"I don’t know,”the litter girl answered.
女儿回答道:“我不知道。”
"You don't know? But you were reading aloud,so you must know.”
“你不知道?你不是在朗读吗?你应该知道的。”
"I was reading aloud,mummy,but I wasn't listening,”explained the child.
女儿解释说:“我是在朗读,可我没有听。”
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阅读英语笑话是我们放松的一种方式,下面读文网小编为大家带来幽默搞笑英语小笑话,欢迎大家阅读收藏!
On her return from school,little Dolly, aged ten,was pulled on to her Daddy's knee,and informed that the fairies had that day brought a big surprise-a little baby brother.She seemed glad,and presently said:
放学回到家里,十岁的小多莉被拉过来坐在她爸爸的膝上,她被告知那天仙女们带来了一个大大的惊奇—一个婴儿小弟弟。她似乎很高兴,马上说:
"Will you give me a stamp,daddy?I want to write and tell brother Tom.
“爸爸,你能不能给我一张邮票?我要写信告诉汤姆哥哥。”
The father was touched by this,and provided the little lass with the materials to write a letter to her brother,who was away at school.Later,curious to know how she would tell the news,he took an opportunity to read what she had written.He received something of a shock on reading the following:
父亲被这话感动了,他为小姑娘提供了给她哥哥写信所需的各种用具,她的哥哥住在学校里。后来,想知道她是怎么报告这个消息的,他找机会读了她写的信。在读到下面这两行字时,他差点儿惊呆了:
“Dear Tom,
“亲爱的汤姆:
It's come off today.You've lost;it's a boy.”
今天结果出来了,你输了;是个男孩。”
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笑话使人们在刻板的生活中感到一丝快意和放松,在人们的日常生活中起着重要调剂作用。下面读文网小编为大家带来幽默趣味英语笑话精选,欢迎大家阅读!
Creighton was going along a West end square when he saw a little fellow trying to reach the knocker of a large house.
当克莱顿教授沿着伦敦西区的一个广场走着的时候,他看见一个小家伙正试图抓住一所大房子的门环。
"Can’t you reach up so high? "asked the professor kindly.
“你是不是够不到这么高的地方呢?”教授好意地问。
"No,Slr,”said the small youngster.
“是的,先生。”那小孩说。
"Well, then, let me help you,”and the professor mounted the three steps and gave a splendid rat-tat.
“那好,让我来帮你。”教授登上那三级台阶,在门上重重扣了几下。
The little boy glanced hastily at the gentleman of the cloth. "Come on,”he yelled,"we must both run away.”
那个小男孩急忙给教授递上一个眼色。“快跑,”他喊着:“我们俩都得跑。”
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笑话是人们生活中不可缺少的“调剂品”。在人们的日常生活中起着重要调剂作用。下面读文网小编为大家带来双语幽默短笑话,欢迎大家阅读!
Richer Allan was so forgetful that sometimes he forgot what he was talking about in the middle of a sentence. His wife has to constantly remind him about his appointments,his classes一even his meals.Since Allan was a professor at a well一known university,his forgetfulness was often an embarrassment. It was not that he was not intelligent,as some critical people,tended to say. He was just very,very absent-minded.
理查德·艾伦非常健忘,以至于有时候他会忘记自己在说什么,因此他的妻子不得不经常提醒他去赴约,去上课—甚至去吃饭。可是作为一名知名大学的教授,艾伦的健忘症却经常让他很难堪。但这并不像一些吹毛求疵的人说的那样是因为他并不聪明,他只不过非常、非常健忘。
One hot summer day,Professor Allan decided to take his children to the beach. The seaside town he planed to visit was about a three一hour train ride away. To make the trip more interesting for his children,he kept the name of the town a secret. Unfortunately,by the time Allan had arrived the train station,the poor forgetful man had forgotten the name of the destination himself. Luckily,a friend of his happened to be in the station. He offered to take care of his children,while Allan went back home to find out where he was going.
在一个炎热的夏日,艾伦教授打算带上他的孩子们到海滩去。去海边小镇大约得坐三个小时的火车。为了让这次旅行更有趣,他一直没告诉孩子小镇的名字。不幸得很,当艾伦到达火车站的时候,这个可怜的健忘的人把目的地忘得一干二净了。不过幸亏他的一个朋友恰好在火车站,于是他帮助艾伦照顾孩子们,而艾伦则回家问问他到底要去哪儿。
The professor's wife was surprised to see him again so soon,but she was amused when she heard what the matter was. She distributed his memory,so she wrote the name of the town on a piece of paper. Satisfied that she had solved the problem,she sent her husband off again. Ten minutes later she was astonished to see him outside the house again. What was the matter now? The professor had forgotten where he had left his children.
教授的妻子见他这么快就回来了,感到非常吃惊,但当她知道事情始末的时候却被逗乐了。她信不过丈夫的记忆力,于是就把小镇的名字写在一张纸上。当解决完问题之后,她满意地目送丈夫又一次离去。但是十分钟之后他又回到了门外,她大吃一惊。现在又怎么了?原来是教授忘了他把孩引门留在哪儿了。
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