高中生英語美文摘抄3篇

時(shí)間：2016-11-09 13:49:13 韋彥867由分享

　　學(xué)生通過大量的經(jīng)典美文閱讀能夠開闊自己的視野,通過經(jīng)典的美文閱讀可以增加文化積淀和思想內(nèi)涵,通過經(jīng)典美文導(dǎo)讀可以陶冶情操,提高素養(yǎng)。學(xué)習(xí)啦小編整理了高中生英語美文，歡迎閱讀!

　　高中生英語美文：About water

　　My dictation:

　　Now the VOA special English program - words and their stories.

　　Expressions about water are almostly as common as water itself. But many of the expressions using water have unpleasent meannings.

　　The expression "to be in hot water " is one of them. It is a very old expression. Hot water was used five hundred years ago to mean being in trouble. One story says it got that meaning from the custom of throwing extremely hot water down on enemies attacking a castle. That no longer happens. But we still get "in hot water". When we are in hot water, we are in trouble.It can be any kinds of trouble, serious or not so serious. A person who breaks a law can be in hot water with the police. A young boy can be in hot water with his mother if he walks in the house with dirty shoes.

　　"Being in deepwater" is almost the same as being in hot water.When you are in deep water, you are in a difficult position. Imaging a person who can not swim being thrown in water over his head. You are in deep water when you are facing a problem that you don’t have the ability to solve. You can be in deep water, for example, if you invest in stocks without knowing anything about the stock market.

　　"To keep your head above water" is a colorful expression that meaning staying out of debt. A company seeks to keep it's head above water during economic hard times. A man who loses his job tries to keep his head above water until he finds a new job.

　　"Water over the dam" is another expression about past event. It is something that it is finished, and it cannot be changed. The expression comes from the idea that water has floated over a dam cannot be brought back again. When a friend is troubled by a mistake she have made. You might tell her to forget about it, you say it is water over the dam.

　　Another common expression" to holdwater" is about the strength or weakness of an idea or opinion that you may be arguing about. It probably comes from a way of testing the condition of a container.If it can hold water, it is strong and has no holes in it. If your argument can hold water, it is strong and does not have any holes;if it does not hold water, then, it is weak and not worth debating.

　　"Throwing coldwater "also is an expression that deals with ideas or proposles, it means to not like an idea. For example, you want to buy a new car because the old one has some problems, but your wife throws cold water on the idea because she says a new car costs too much.

　　This VOA special English program - words and their stories was written by Mellon Christiana. I’m Rich Frankfort.

　　高中生英語美文：My Father, My Son, My Self

　　My father still looks remarkably like I remember him when I was growing up: hair full, body trim, face tanned, eyes sharp. What’s different is his gentleness and patience. I had remembered neither as a boy, and I wondered which of us had changed.

　　My son Matthew and I had flown to Arizona for a visit, and his 67-year-old grandfather was tuning up his guitar to play for the boy. “You know ‘Oh, Give Me a Home Where the Buffalo Roam’?” my father asked.

　　All the while, four-year-old Matthew was bouncing on the couch, furtively strumming the guitar he wasn’t supposed to touch and talking incessantly.

　　My father and I were once at great odds. We went through all the classic resentful and rebellious teen stuff: shouting matches, my weird friends, clothes and beliefs. I still vividly recall the revelation that finally came to me one day that I was not my father, and that I could stop trying to prove I wasn’t.

　　When I was a boy, my father wasn’t around much. He worked seven days a week as a milkman. But even at work he was the task-master in absentia. Infractions were added up, and at night he dispensed punishment, though rarely beyond a threatening voice or a scolding finger.

　　I believed that manhood required that I stand up to him, even if it meant fists. One day some friends and I buried our high school’s parking-lot barriers under the woodpile for the annual home-coming bonfire.

　　We hated the things because they kept us from leaving school in our cars until after the buses had left. I thought the prank was pretty funny, and I mentioned it to my father. He didn’t think it was funny, and he ordered me to go with him to dig the barriers out.

　　Can you imagine anything more humiliating at age 16? I refused, and we stood toe to toe. Dad was in a rage, and I thought for an instant that the test had come.

　　But then he shook his head and calmly walked away. The next day my friends told me that they had seen him at the bonfire celebration. He’d climbed into the woodpile in front of hundreds of kids, pulled out the barriers and left. He never mentioned it to me. He still hasn’t.

　　Despite our father-son struggles, I never doubted my father’s love, which was our lifeline through some pretty rough times. There are plenty of warm memories – he and I on the couch watching TV together, walking a gravel road in Crete, Ill. , as dusk, riding home in a car, singing “Red River Valley.”

　　He had this way of smiling at me, this way of tossing a backhanded compliment, letting me know he was prod of me and my achievements. He was a rugged teaser, and it was during his teasing that I always sensed his great, unspoken love. When I was older, I would understand that this is how many men show affection without acknowledging vulnerability. And I imitated his way of saying “I love you” by telling him his nose was too big or his ties too ugly.

　　But I can’t recall a time my father hugged or hissed me or said he loved me. I remember snuggling next to him on Sunday mornings. I remember the strong, warm feeling of dozing off in his arms. But men, even little men, did not kiss or hug; they shook hands.

　　There were times much later when I would be going back to college, times when I wanted so badly to hug him. But the muscles wouldn’t move with the emotion. I hugged my mother. I shook hands with my father.

　　“It’s not what a man says, but what he does that counts,” he would say. Words and emotions were suspect. He went to work every day, he protected me, he taught me right from wrong, he made me tough in mind and spirit. It was our bond. It was our barrier.

　　I’ve tried not to repeat what I saw as my father’s mistake. Matthew and I cuddle and kiss good-bye. This is the new masculinity, and it’s as common today as the old masculinity of my father’s day. But, honestly, I don’t believe that in the end the new masculinity will prevent the growing-up conflicts between fathers and sons. All I hope is that Matthew and I build some repository of unconscious joy so that it will remain a lifeline between us through the rough times ahead.

　　It was only after having a boy of my own that I began to think a lot about the relationship between fathers and sons and to see – and to understand – my own father with remarkable clarity.

　　If there is a universal complaint from men about their fathers, it is that their dads lacked patience. I remember one rainy day when I was about six and my father was putting a new roof on his mother’s house, a dangerous job when it’s dry, much less wet. I wanted to help. He was impatient and said no. I made a scene and got the only spanking I can recall. He had chuckled at that memory many times over the years, but I never saw the humor.

　　Only now that I’ve struggled to find patience in myself when Matthew insists he help me paint the house or saw down dead trees in the back yard am I able to see that day through my father’s eyes. Who’d have guessed I’d be angry with my father for 30 years, until I relived similar experiences with my own son, who, I suppose, is angry now with me.

　　高中生英語美文：A Father, a Son and an Answer

　　Passing through the Atlanta airport one morning, I caught one of those trains that take travelers from the main terminal to their boarding gates. Free, sterile and impersonal, the trains run back and forth all day long. Not many people consider them fun, but on this Saturday I heard laughter.

　　At the front of the first car – looking out the window at the track that lay ahead – were a man and his son.

　　We had just stopped to let off passengers, and the doors wee closing again. “Here we go! Hold on to me tight!” the father said. The boy, about five years old, made sounds of sheer delight.

　　I know we’re supposed to avoid making racial distinctions these days, so I hope no one will mind if I mention that most people on the train were white, dressed for business trips or vacations – and that the father and son were black, dressed in clothes that were just about as inexpensive as you can buy.

　　“Look out there!” the father said to his son. “See that pilot? I bet he’s walking to his plane.” The son craned his neck to look.

　　As I got off, I remembered some thing I’d wanted to buy in the terminal. I was early for my flight, so I decided to go back.

　　I did – and just as I was about to reboard the train for my gate, I saw that the man and his son had returned too. I realized then that they hadn’t been heading for a flight, but had just bee riding the shuttle.

　　“I want to ride some more!”

　　“More?” the father said, mock-exasperated but clearly pleased. “You’re not tired?”

　　“This is fun!” his son said.

　　“All right,” the father replied, and when a door opened we all got on.

　　There are parents who can afford to send their children to Europe or Disneyland, and the children turn out rotten. There are parents who live in million-dollar houses and give their children cars and swimming pools, yet something goes wrong. Rich and poor, black and white, so much goes wrong so often.

　　“Where are all these people going, Daddy?” the son asked.

　　“All over the world,” came the reply. The other people in the air port wee leaving for distant destinations or arriving at the ends of their journeys. The father and son, though, were just riding this shuttle together, making it exciting, sharing each other’s company.

　　So many troubles in this country – crime, the murderous soullessness that seems to be taking over the lives of many young people, the lowering of educational standards, the increase in vile obscenities in public, the disappearance of simple civility. So many questions about what to do. Here was a father who cared about spending the day with his son and who had come up with this plan on a Saturday morning.

　　The answer is so simple: parents who care enough to spend time, and to pay attention and to try their best. It doesn’t cost a cent, yet it is the most valuable thing in the world.

　　The train picked up speed, and the father pointed something out, and the boy laughed again, and the answer is so simple.

　　父親、兒子與答案(美) 鮑勃•格林

　　一天早晨去亞特蘭大機(jī)場(chǎng)，我看見一輛列車載載著旅客從航空集散站抵達(dá)登記處。這類免費(fèi)列車每天單調(diào)、無味地往返其間，沒人覺得有趣。但這個(gè)周六我卻聽到了笑聲。

　　在頭節(jié)車廂的最前面，坐著一個(gè)男人和他的兒子。他們正透過窗戶觀賞著一直往前延伸的鐵道。

　　我們停下來等候旅客下車，之后，車門關(guān)上了。“走吧。拉緊我!”父親說。兒子大約5歲吧，一路喜不自禁。

　　車上坐的多半是衣冠楚楚，或公差或度假的白人，只有這對(duì)黑人父子穿著樸素簡(jiǎn)單。我知道如今我們不該種族歧視，我希望我這樣描述沒人介意。

　　“快看!”父親對(duì)兒子說：“看見那位飛行員了嗎?我敢肯定是去開飛機(jī)的。”兒子伸長(zhǎng)脖子看。

　　下了車后我突然想起還得在航空集散站買點(diǎn)東西。離起飛時(shí)間還早，于是我決定再乘車回去。

　　正準(zhǔn)備上車的時(shí)候，我看到那對(duì)父子也來了。我意識(shí)到他們不是來乘飛機(jī)的，而是特意來坐區(qū)間列車的。

　　“我還想再坐一會(huì)兒!”

　　“再坐一會(huì)兒!”父親嗔怪模仿著兒子的語調(diào)，“你還不累?”

　　“真好玩!”兒子說。