英语阅读文章推荐

提升英语阅读能力是我们学习英语的关键，下面我为大家带来英语阅读小文章，希望大家喜欢!

The expensive shops in a famous arcade near Piccadilly were just opening. At this time of the morning, the arcade was almost empty. Mr Taylor, the owner of a jewellery shop was admiring a new window display. Two of his assistants had been working busily since 8 o'clock and had only just finished. Diamond necklaces and rings had been beautifully arranged on a background of black velvet. After gazing at the display for several minutes, Mr Taylor went back into his shop.

The silence was suddenly broken when a large car, with its headlights on and its horn blaring, roared down the arcade. It came to a stop outside the jeweler's. One man stayed at the wheel while two others with black stockings over their faces jumped out and smashed the window of the shop with iron bars. While this was going on, Mr Taylor was upstairs. He and his staff began throwing furniture out of the window. Chairs and tables went flying into the arcade. One of the thieves was struck by a heavy statue, but he was too busy helping himself to diamonds to notice any pain. The raid was all over in three minutes, for the men scrambled back into the car and it moved off at a fantastic speed. Just as it was leaving, Mr Taylor rushed out and ran after it throwing ashtrays and vases, but it was impossible to stop the thieves. They had got away with thousands of pounds worth of diamonds.

皮卡迪利大街附近的一条著名拱廊街道上，几家高档商店刚刚开始营业。在早晨的这个时候，拱廊街上几乎空无一人。珠宝店主泰勒先生正在欣赏新布置的橱窗。他手下两名店员从早上8点就开始忙碌，这时刚刚布置完毕。钻石项链、戒指漂亮地陈列在黑色丝绒上面。泰勒先生站在橱窗外凝神欣赏了几分钟就回到了店里。

宁静突然被打破，一辆大轿车亮着前灯，响着喇叭，呼啸着冲进了拱廊街，在珠宝店门口停了下来。一人留在驾驶座上，另外两个用黑色长筒丝袜蒙面的人跳下车来。他们用铁棒把商店橱窗的玻璃砸碎。这开始发生时，泰勒先生正在楼上。他与店员动手向窗外投掷家具，椅子，桌子飞落花流水在拱廊街上。一个窃贼被一尊很重的雕像击中，但由于他忙着抢钻石首饰，竟连疼痛都顾不上了。这场抢劫只持续了3分钟，因为窃贼争先恐后地爬上轿车，以惊人的速度开跑了。就在轿车离开的时候，泰勒先生从店里冲了出来，跟在车后追赶，一边还往车上扔烟灰缸、花瓶。但他已无法抓住那些窃贼了。他们已带着价值数千镑的首饰逃之夭夭了。

Yesterday afternoon Frank Hawkins was telling me about his experiences as a young man. Before he retired, Frank was the head of a very large business company, but as a boy he used to work in a small shop. It was his job to repair bicycles and at that time he used to work fourteen hours a day. He saved money for years and in 1958 he bought a small workshop of his own. In his twenties Frank used to make spare parts for aeroplanes. At that time he had two helpers. In a few years the small workshop had become a large factory which employed seven hundred and twenty-eight people. Frank smiled when he remembered his hard early years and the long road to success. He was still smiling when the door opened and his wife came in. She wanted him to repair their grandson's bicycle!

昨天下午弗兰克·霍金斯向我讲述了他年轻时的经历。在他退休之前，弗兰克是一家非常大的事务公司头，但作为一个男孩，他曾经工作在一个小商店。他的工作是修理自行车，那时他一天工作十四小时。他积蓄多年，并在1958他买了属于自己的小作坊。在他二十几岁的弗兰克曾生产飞机零配件。那时他有两个帮手。在几年的小作坊已经成为一个雇用七百二十八人的大工厂。弗兰克回想着他早年的艰难经历和走过的漫长的成功之路。他正笑着的时候，门开了，他的妻子走了进来。她叫他去修理他们孙子的自行车!

Nearly a week passed before the girl was able to explain what had happened to her. One afternoon she set out from the coast in a small boat and was caught in a storm. Towards evening, the boat struck a rock and the girl jumped into the sea. Then she swam to the shore after spending the whole night in the water. During that time she covered a distance of eight miles. Early next morning, she saw a light ahead. She knew she was near the shore because the light was high up on the cliffs. On arriving at the shore, the girl struggled up the cliff towards the light she had seen. That was all she remembered. When she woke up a day later, she found herself in hospital.

教育 的进步是在改变的基础上实现的,改变的第一步就是摒弃墨守成规的教学思维,英语作为国际沟通交流的语言工具,其在全球化进程中扮演着重要的角色。下面是我带来的经典英语 文章 阅读，欢迎阅读!经典英语文章阅读篇一 十二月的玫瑰 Roses in December Coaches more times than not use their hearts instead of their heads to make tough decisions. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case when I realized we had a baseball conference game scheduled when our seniors would be in Washington, . for the annual senior field trip. We were a team dominated by seniors, and for the first time in many years, we were in the conference race for first place. I knew we couldn’t win without our seniors, so I called the rival coach and asked to reschedule the game when everyone was available to play. “No way,” he replied. The seniors were crushed and offered to skip the much-awaited traditional trip. I assured them they needed to go on the trip as part of their educational experience, though I really wanted to accept their offer and win and go on to the conference championship. But I did not, and on that fateful Tuesday, I wished they were there to play. I had nine underclass players eager and excited that they finally had a chance to play. The most excited player was a young mentally challenged boy we will call Billy. Billy was, I believe, overage, but because he loved sports so much, an understanding principal had given him permission to be on the football and baseball teams. Billy lived and breathed sports and now he would finally get his chance to play. I think his happiness captured the imagination of the eight other substitute players. Billy was very small in size, but he had a big heart and had earned the respect of his teammates with his effort and enthusiasm. He was a left-handed hitter and had good baseball skills. His favorite pastime, except for the time he practiced sports, was to sit with the men at a local rural store talking about sports. On this day, I began to feel that a loss might even be worth Billy’s chance to play. Our opponents jumped off to a four-run lead early in the game, just as expected. Somehow we came back to within one run, and that was the situation when we went to bat in the bottom of the ninth. I was pleased with our team’s effort and the constant grin on Billy’s face. If only we could win..., I thought, but that’s asking too much. If we lose by one run, it will be a victory in itself. The weakest part of our lineup was scheduled to hit, and the opposing coach put his ace pitcher in to seal the victory. To our surprise, with two outs, a batter walked, and the tying run was on first base. Our next hitter was Billy. The crowd cheered as if this were the final inning of the conference championship, and Billy waved jubilantly. I knew he would be unable to hit this pitcher, but what a day it had been for all of us. Strike one. Strike two. A fastball. Billy hit it down the middle over the right fielder’s head for a triple to tie the score. Billy was beside himself, and the crowd went wild. Ben, our next hitter, however, hadn’t hit the ball even once in batting practice or intrasquad games. I knew there was absolutely no way for the impossible dream to continue. Besides, our opponents had the top of their lineup if we went into overtime. It was a crazy situation and one that needed reckless strategy. I called a time-out, and everyone seemed confused when I walked to third base and whispered something to Billy. As expected, Ben swung on the first two pitches, not coming close to either. When the catcher threw the ball back to the pitcher Billy broke from third base sprinting as hard as he could. The pitcher didn’t see him break, and when he did he whirled around wildly and fired the ball home. Billy dove in head first, beat the throw, and scored the winning run. This was not the World Series, but don’t tell that to anyone present that day. Tears were shed as Billy, the hero, was lifted on the shoulders of all eight team members. If you go through town today, forty-two years later, you’ll likely see Billy at that same country store relating to an admiring group the story of the day he won the game that no one expected to win. Of all the spectacular events in my sports career, this memory is the highlight. It exemplified what sports can do for people, and Billy’s great day proved that to everyone who saw the game. J. M. Barrie, the playwright, may have said it best when he wrote, “God gave us memories so that we might have roses in December.” Billy gave all of us a rose garden. 经典英语文章阅读篇二 Big Red The first time we set eyes on "Big Red," father, mother and I were trudging through the freshly fallen snow on our way to Hubble's Hardware store on Main Street in Huntsville, Ontario. We planned to enter our name in the annual Christmas drawing for a chance to win a hamper filled with fancy tinned cookies, tea, fruit and candy. As we passed the Eaton's department store's window, we stopped as usual to gaze and do a bit of dreaming. The gaily decorated window display held the best toys ever. I took an instant hankering for a huge green wagon. It was big enough to haul three armloads of firewood, two buckets of swill or a whole summer's worth of pop bottles picked from along the highway. There were skates that would make Millar's Pond well worth shovelling and dolls much too pretty to play with. And they were all nestled snugly beneath the breathtakingly flounced skirt of Big Red. Mother's eyes were glued to the massive flare of red shimmering satin, dotted with twinkling sequin-centred black velvet stars. "My goodness," she managed to say in trancelike wonder. "Would you just look at that dress!" Then, totally out of character, mother twirled one spin of a waltz on the slippery sidewalk. Beneath the heavy, wooden-buttoned, grey wool coat she had worn every winter for as long as I could remember, mother lost her balance and tumbled. Father quickly caught her. Her cheeks redder than usual, mother swatted dad for laughing. "Oh, stop that!" she ordered, shooing his fluttering hands as he swept the snow from her coat. "What a silly dress to be perched up there in the window of Eaton's!" She shook her head in disgust. "Who on earth would want such a splashy dress?" As we continued down the street, mother turned back for one more look. "My goodness! You'd think they'd display something a person could use!" Christmas was nearing, and the red dress was soon forgotten. Mother, of all people, was not one to wish for, or spend money on, items that were not practical. "There are things we need more than this," she'd always say, or, "There are things we need more than that." Father, on the other hand, liked to indulge whenever the budget allowed. Of course, he'd get a scolding for his occasional splurging, but it was all done with the best intention. Like the time he brought home the electric range. In our old Muskoka farmhouse on Oxtongue Lake, Mother was still cooking year-round on a wood stove. In the summer, the kitchen would be so hot even the houseflies wouldn't come inside. Yet, there would be Mother – roasting - right along with the pork and turnips. One day, Dad surprised her with a fancy new electric range. She protested, of course, saying that the wood stove cooked just dandy, that the electric stove was too dear and that it would cost too much hydro to run it. All the while, however, she was polishing its already shiny chrome knobs. In spite of her objections, Dad and I knew that she cherished that new stove. There were many other modern things that old farm needed, like indoor plumbing and a clothes dryer, but Mom insisted that those things would have to wait until we could afford them. Mom was forever doing chores - washing laundry by hand, tending the pigs and working in our huge garden - so she always wore mended, cotton-print housedresses and an apron to protect the front. She did have one or two "special" dresses saved for church on Sundays. And with everything else she did, she still managed to make almost all of our clothes. They weren't fancy, but they did wear well. That Christmas I bought Dad a handful of fishing lures from the Five to a Dollar store, and wrapped them individually in matchboxes so he'd have plenty of gifts to open from me. Choosing something for Mother was much harder. When Dad and I asked, she thought carefully then hinted modestly for some tea towels, face cloths or a new dishpan. On our last trip to town before Christmas, we were driving up Main Street when Mother suddenly exclaimed in surprise: "Would you just look at that!" She pointed excitedly as Dad drove past Eaton's. "That big red dress is gone," she said in disbelief. "It's actually gone." "Well . . . I'll be!" Dad chuckled. "By golly, it is!" "Who'd be fool enough to buy such a frivolous dress?" Mother questioned, shaking her head. I quickly stole a glance at Dad. His blue eyes were twinkling as he nudged me with his elbow. Mother craned her neck for another glimpse out the rear window as we rode on up the street. "It's gone . . ." she whispered. I was almost certain that I detected a trace of yearning in her voice. I'll never forget that Christmas morning. I watched as Mother peeled the tissue paper off a large box that read "Eaton's Finest Enamel Dishpan" on its lid. "Oh Frank," she praised, "just what I wanted!" Dad was sitting in his rocker, a huge grin on his face. "Only a fool wouldn't give a priceless wife like mine exactly what she wants for Christmas," he laughed. "Go ahead, open it up and make sure there are no chips." Dad winked at me, confirming his secret, and my heart filled with more love for my father than I thought it could hold! Mother opened the box to find a big white enamel dishpan - overflowing with crimson satin that spilled out across her lap. With trembling hands she touched the elegant material of Big Red. "Oh my goodness!" she managed to utter, her eyes filled with tears. "Oh Frank . . ." Her face was as bright as the star that twinkled on our tree in the corner of the small room. "You shouldn't have . . ." came her faint attempt at scolding. "Oh now, never mind that!" Dad said. "Let's see if it fits," he laughed, helping her slip the marvellous dress over her shoulders. As the shimmering red satin fell around her, it gracefully hid the patched and faded floral housedress underneath. I watched, my mouth agape, captivated by a radiance in my parents I had never noticed before. As they waltzed around the room, Big Red swirled its magic deep into my heart. "You look beautiful," my dad whispered to my mom - and she surely did! 经典英语文章阅读篇三 你才是我的幸福 She was dancing. My crippled grandmother was dancing. I stood in the living room doorway absolutely stunned. I glanced at the kitchen table and sure enough-right under a small, framed drawing on the wall-was a freshly baked peach pie. I heard her sing when I opened the door but did not want to interrupt the beautiful song by yelling I had arrived, so I just tiptoed to the living room. I looked at how her still-lean body bent beautifully, her arms greeting the sunlight that was pouring through the window. And her legs... Those legs that had stiffly walked, aided with a cane, insensible shoes as long as I could remember. Now she was wearing beautiful dancing shoes and her legs obeyed her perfectly. No limping. No stiffness. Just beautiful, fluid motion. She was the pet of the dancing world. And then she’d had her accident and it was all over. I had read that in an old newspaper clipping. She turned around in a slow pirouette and saw me standing in the doorway. Her song ended, and her beautiful movements with it, so abruptly that it felt like being shaken awake from a beautiful dream. The sudden silence rang in my ears. Grandma looked so much like a kid caught with her hand in a cookie jar that I couldn’t help myself, and a slightly nervous laughter escaped. Grandma sighed and turned towards the kitchen. I followed her, not believing my eyes. She was walking with no difficulties in her beautiful shoes. We sat down by the table and cut ourselves big pieces of her delicious peach pie. "So...” I blurted, “How did your leg heal?" "To tell you the truth—my legs have been well all my life," she said. "But I don’t understand!" I said, "Your dancing career... I mean... You pretended all these years? "Very much so," Grandmother closed her eyes and savored the peach pie, "And for a very good reason." "What reason?" "Your grandfather." "You mean he told you not to dance?" "No, this was my choice. I am sure I would have lost him if I had continued dancing. I weighed fame and love against each other and love won." She thought for a while and then continued. “We were talking about engagement when your grandfather had to go to war. It was the most horrible day of my life when he left. I was so afraid of losing him, the only way I could stay sane was to dance. I put all my energy and time into practicing—and I became very good. Critics praised me, the public loved me, but all I could feel was the ache in my heart, not knowing whether the love of my life would ever return. Then I went home and read and re-read his letters until I fell asleep. He always ended his letters with ‘You are my Joy. I love you with my life’ and after that he wrote his name. And then one day a letter came. There were only three sentences: ‘I have lost my leg. I am no longer a whole man and now give you back your freedom. It is best you forget about me.’” "I made my decision there and then. I took my leave, and traveled away from the city. When I returned I had bought myself a cane and wrapped my leg tightly with bandages. I told everyone I had been in a car crash and that my leg would never completely heal again. My dancing days were over. No one suspected the story—I had learned to limp convincingly before I returned home. And I made sure the first person to hear of my accident was a reporter I knew well. Then I traveled to the hospital. They had pushed your grandfather outside in his wheelchair. There was a cane on the ground by his wheelchair. I took a deep breath, leaned on my cane and limped to him. " By now I had forgotten about the pie and listened to grandma, mesmerized. “What happened then?” I hurried her when she took her time eating some pie. "I told him he was not the only one who had lost a leg, even if mine was still attached to me. I showed him newspaper clippings of my accident. ‘So if you think I’m going to let you feel sorry for yourself for the rest of your life, think again. There is a whole life waiting for us out there! I don’t intend to be sorry for myself. But I have enough on my plate as it is, so you’d better snap out of it too. And I am not going to carry you-you are going to walk yourself.’" Grandma giggled, a surprisingly girlish sound coming from an old lady with white hair. "I limped a few steps toward him and showed him what I’d taken out of my pocket. ‘Now show me you are still a man,’ I said, ‘I won’t ask again.’ He bent to take his cane from the ground and struggled out of that wheelchair. I could see he had not done it before, because he almost fell on his face, having only one leg. But I was not going to help. And so he managed it on his own and walked to me and never sat in a wheelchair again in his life." "What did you show him?" I had to know. Grandma looked at me and grinned. "Two engagement rings, of course. I had bought them the day after he left for the war and I was not going to waste them on any other man." I looked at the drawing on the kitchen wall, sketched by my grandfather’s hand so many years before. The picture became distorted as tears filled my eyes. “You are my Joy. I love you with my life.” I murmured quietly. The young woman in the drawing sat on her park bench and with twinkling eyes smiled broadly at me, an engagement ring carefully drawn on her finger. 看了“经典英语文章阅读”的人还看了： 1. 经典美文阅读:生命在于完整 2. 英语经典美文阅读:品味现在 3. 经典美文佳作英汉阅读 4. 励志经典英语美文阅读 5. 一生必读的英文经典美文