英语短篇小说投稿

A. 有什么英语短篇小说推荐

1. “A Good Man is Hard to Find,” Flannery O’Connor

Few short stories have stuck with us as much as this one, which is probably O'Connor's most famous work — and with good reason. The Misfit is one of the most alarming serial killers we've ever met, all the more so for his politeness, and the story’s moral is so striking and terrifying that — whether you subscribe to the religious undertones or not — a reader is likely to finish and begin to reexamine their entire existence. Or at least we did, the first time we read it.
《好人难寻》这篇小说是奥康纳最为著名的作品，很少有其他短篇小说能像这篇一样给我们带来震撼。无论你是否能明了宗教般的潜在含义，看完这篇小说读者都会开始或是结束对存在的检视。

2. “The School,” Donald Barthelme

This story is very short, but pretty much perfect in every way. Though Barthelme is known for his playful, post modern style, we admire him for his ability to shape a world so clearly from so few words, chosen expertly. Barthelme never over explains, never uses one syllable too many, but effortlessly leads the reader right where he wants her to be. It's funny, it's absurdist, it's sad, it's enormous even in its smallness. It may be this writer’s favorite story of all time. You should read it.
这篇小说很短，但是堪称完美。巴塞尔姆的优秀就在于他能用精选的极少几个文字就为我们叙述了一个世界。他很少过多地解释，就把读者带到了他想要你去地方。

3. “In The Penal Colony,” Franz Kafka

Kafka called this one his“dirty story,”and thought it imperfect, but it's one of our favorites of his (though we also recommend “The Hunger Artist”and“A Country Doctor”). It's so obviously a story about writing, in some ultimate way — a machine punishes its victims by writing on them over and over until their bodies give out — but its as if, while the body is the source of every problem in the tale, every weakness, it is also the only place where true knowledge can be translated.
卡夫卡称自己的这篇小说是一个“很脏的故事”，认为并不完美，但是这个短篇确实我们的最爱之一。在小说中，我们可以体会到，身体是一切问题和弱点的根源，但身体也是唯一能转化真知的地方。

4. “Signs and Symbols,”Vladimir Nabokov

Another short one, we revere this story for its ability to turn every tiny detail into a portentous disaster, not to mention the fact that it's penned in Nabokov's effortlessly gorgeous, silvery prose. An old Jewish couple goes to visit their son in the mental hospital, only to be turned away because he has attempted to kill himself. And that's it, really. They go home and look though a photo album, eat some jam. The phonerings. But the whole thing is, perhaps, both a comment on the nature of insanity and the nature of the short story itself, with all its rules and strangeness and banality. And all its symbols, of course.
我们喜欢这篇小说的原因就在于，这个故事有能力把每个细微的细节瞬间变为一场灾难，而Nabokov在写这篇小说用的是轻松华丽水银泻地般的散文风格。

5. “Gooseberries,” Anton Chekhov

Chekhov's stories are indisputably among the greats, and this one, written rather late, is one of our favorites. Chekhov probes at both the frailty and the worth of humanity, not to mention the natureof life, both for the fortunate and the unfortunate. But like most of Chekhov's stories, there's no clear moral, there's no obvious takeaway. Some men sit around and discuss their thoughts, and we listen, mulling over the subtleties for ourselves.
契科夫的小说无疑是最伟大的作品之一，而这篇是我们的最爱。这篇小说像他的其他小说一样，没有清晰的道德标准，我们只是静静地看着几个人围坐着，讨论他们的思想。

6. “Sea Oak,” George Saunders

“Sea Oak” is Saunders's favorite of his own stories, we've heard, so because we find it so hard to choose among them, we've included it here on his own recommendation. Absurdist and satirical, and including at least one zombie shouting at her housemates to get laid, it's a weird one. But it's also concerned with placelessness, with family, with poverty, and like all of Saunders's stories, has a good, thumping heart under all that darkness and fun-poking.

这部小说是桑德斯最为喜爱的一步短篇，这也是我们听说的。因为我们很难做出选择，因此就把他自己的推介放在了这里。这部小说充满了荒诞和讽刺，但是也关心家庭和贫穷等问题。像他的其他小说一样，在黑暗和取笑中，也暗含着美好和快乐。

7. “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas,” Ursula K. LeGuin

LeGuin's parabolic tale, which won the Hugo Award for best short story in 1974, is a weird, spacious story about a city that seems to be a utopia — except for its one flaw, the single child that must always be kept in darkness and wretched misery so that the others may all live happily. Most of the citizens eventually accept this, but some do not, and silently leave the city, vanishing into the world around. Strange but pointed, Le Guin is a master of her genre.
勒古这部寓言般的短篇小说获得过1974年的“雨果奖”，是关于一个类似乌托邦的城市的荒诞又宏大的故事。

8. “The Veldt,” Ray Bradbury

This tale, from one of the greatest science fiction writers in history, is deliciously wicked. Though it was written in 1950, this kind of story — of children driven mad by want, of technology turning on its masters — will never get old. Until technology actually turns on us, that is. Then we probably won't want to hear about it.
布莱伯利作为历史上最富盛名的科幻小说家，这篇小说也是通过精心编写的。

9. “The Bear Came Over the Mountain,” Alice Munro

The undisputed queen of the short story, Alice Munro’s work is stark and often heartbreakingly raw, and this story of memory loss and the aching tenderness of human interaction is no different. Fun fact: this story was adapted into the film “Away from Her”, starring Julie Christie and Gordon Pinsent.

门罗是毫无争议的短篇小说女王，她的作品有一种朴实风格，常常带着心跳般的粗犷，这篇关于丧失记忆以及人类互动中的痛苦和柔弱的小说也不例外。

10. “The Nose,” Nikolai Gogol

Gogol might be the oldest writer on this list, but he’s also one of the weirdest — in a good way. Nabokov once wrote, “In Gogol…the absurd central character belongs to the absurd world around him but, pathetically and tragically, attempts to struggle out of it into the world of humans — and dies in despair.” What else can an absurd noseless man do, after all?
果戈里应该是这个书单上最久远的作家了，但是他也是最荒诞的小说家之一。纳博科夫曾近这样写道：“在果戈里的作品中，荒诞的人物属于他周围荒诞的世界，但是却可怜兮兮且悲惨地要逃离他的世界，最终死于绝望”。

B. 急需一个英文短篇小说 500〜800字！求快！要原创型的！

El Sordo was making his fight on a hilltop. He did not like this hill and when he saw it he thought it had the shape of a chancre. But he had had no choice except this hill and he had picked it as far away as he could see it and galloped for it, the automatic rifle heavy on his back, the horse laboring, barrel heaving between his thighs, the sack of grenades swinging against one side, the sack of automatic rifle pans banging against the other, and Joaqu璯 and Ignacio halting and firing, halting and firing to give him time to get the gun in place.
There had still been snow then, the snow that had ruined them, and when his horse was hit so that he wheezed in a slow, jerking, climbing stagger up the last part of the crest, splattering the snow with a bright, pulsing jet, Sordo had hauled him along by the bridle, the reins over his shoulder as he climbed. He climbed as hard as he could with the bullets spatting on the rocks, with the two sacks heavy on his shoulders, and then, holding the horse by the mane, had shot him quickly, expertly, and tenderly just where he had needed him, so that the horse pitched, head forward down to plug a gap between two rocks. He had gotten the gun to firing over the horse's back and he fired two pans, the gun clattering, the empty shells pitching into the snow, the smell of burnt hair from the burnt hide where the hot muzzle rested, him firing at what came up to the hill, forcing them to scatter for cover, while all the time there was a chill in his back from not knowing what was behind him. Once the last of the five men had reached the hilltop the chill went out of his back and he had saved the pans he had left until he would need them.
There were two more horses dead along the slope and three more were dead here on the hilltop. He had only succeeded in stealing three horses last night and one had bolted when they tried to mount him bareback in the corral at the camp when the first shooting had started.
Of the five men who had reached the hilltop three were wounded. Sordo was wounded in the calf of his leg and in two places in his left arm. He was very thirsty, his wounds had stiffened, and one of the wounds in his left arm was very painful. He also had a bad headache and as he lay waiting for the planes to come he thought of a joke in Spanish. It was, "_Hay que tomar la muerte como si fuera aspirina_," which means, "You will have to take death as an aspirin." But he did not make the joke aloud. He grinned somewhere inside the pain in his head and inside the nausea that came whenever he moved his arm and looked around at what there was left of his band.
The five men were spread out like the points of a five-pointed star. They had g with their knees and hands and made mounds in front of their heads and shoulders with the dirt and piles of stones. Using this cover, they were linking the indivial mounds up with stones and dirt. Joaqu璯, who was eighteen years old, had a steel helmet that he g with and he passed dirt in it.
He had gotten this helmet at the blowing up of the train. It had a bullet hole through it and every one had always joked at him for keeping it. But he had hammered the jagged edges of the bullet hole smooth and driven a wooden plug into it and then cut the plug off and smoothed it even with the metal inside the helmet.
When the shooting started he had clapped this helmet on his head so hard it banged his head as though he had been hit with a casserole and, in the last lung-aching, leg-dead, mouth-dry, bulletspatting, bullet-cracking, bullet-singing run up the final slope of the hill after his horse was killed, the helmet had seemed to weigh a great amount and to ring his bursting forehead with an iron band. But he had kept it. Now he g with it in a steady, almost machinelike desperation. He had not yet been hit.
"It serves for something finally," Sordo said to him in his deep, throaty voice.
"_Resistir y fortificar es vencer_," Joaqu璯 said, his mouth stiff with the dryness of fear which surpassed the normal thirst of battle. It was one of the slogans of the Communist party and it meant, "Hold out and fortify, and you will win."
Sordo looked away and down the slope at where a cavalryman was sniping from behind a boulder. He was very fond of this boy and he was in no mood for slogans.
"What did you say?"
One of the men turned from the building that he was doing. This man was lying flat on his face, reaching carefully up with his hands to put a rock in place while keeping his chin flat against the ground.
Joaqu璯 repeated the slogan in his dried-up boy's voice without checking his digging for a moment.
"What was the last word?" the man with his chin on the ground asked.
"_Vencer_," the boy said. "Win."
"_Mierda_," the man with his chin on the ground said.
"There is another that applies to here," Joaqu璯 said, bringing them out as though they were talismans, "Pasionaria says it is better to die on your feet than to live on your knees."
"_Mierda_ again," the man said and another man said, over his shoulder, "We're on our bellies, not our knees."
"Thou. Communist. Do you know your Pasionaria has a son thy age in Russia since the start of the movement?"
"It's a lie," Joaqu璯 said.
"_Qu?va_, it's a lie," the other said. "The dynamiter with the rare name told me. He was of thy party, too. Why should he lie?"
"It's a lie," Joaqu璯 said. "She would not do such a thing as keep a son hidden in Russia out of the war."
"I wish I were in Russia," another of Sordo's men said. "Will not thy Pasionaria send me now from here to Russia, Communist?"
"If thou believest so much in thy Pasionaria, get her to get us off this hill," one of the men who had a bandaged thigh said.
"The fascists will do that," the man with his chin in the dirt said.
"Do not speak thus," Joaqu璯 said to him.
"Wipe the pap of your mother's breasts off thy lips and give me a hatful of that dirt," the man with his chin on the ground said. "No one of us will see the sun go down this night."
El Sordo was thinking: It is shaped like a chancre. Or the breast of a young girl with no nipple. Or the top cone of a volcano. You have never seen a volcano, he thought. Nor will you ever see one. And this hill is like a chancre. Let the volcanos alone. It's late now for the volcanos.
He looked very carefully around the withers of the dead horse and there was a quick hammering of firing from behind a boulder well down the slope and he heard the bullets from the submachine gun thud into the horse. He crawled along behind the horse and looked out of the angle between the horse's hindquarters and the rock. There were three bodies on the slope just below him where they had fallen when the fascists had rushed the crest under cover of the automatic rifle and submachine gunfire and he and the others had broken down the attack by throwing and rolling down hand grenades. There were other bodies that he could not see on the other sides of the hill crest. There was no dead ground by which attackers could approach the summit and Sordo knew that as long as his ammunition and grenades held out and he had as many as four men they could not get him out of there unless they brought up a trench mortar. He did not know whether they had sent to La Granja for a trench mortar. Perhaps they had not, because surely, soon, the planes would come. It had been four hours since the observation plane had flown over them.
This hill is truly like a chancre, Sordo thought, and we are the very pus of it. But we killed many when they made that stupidness. How could they think that they would take us thus? They have such modern armament that they lose all their sense with overconfidence. He had killed the young officer who had led the assault with a grenade that had gone bouncing and rolling down the slope as they came up it, running, bent half over. In the yellow flash and gray roar of smoke he had seen the officer dive forward to where he lay now like a heavy, broken bundle of old clothing marking the farthest point that the assault had reached. Sordo looked at this body and then, down the hill, at the others.
They are brave but stupid people, he thought. But they have sense enough now not to attack us again until the planes come. Unless, of course, they have a mortar coming. It would be easy with a mortar. The mortar was the normal thing and he knew that they would die as soon as a mortar came up, but when he thought of the planes coming up he felt as naked on that hilltop as though all of his clothing and even his skin had been removed. There is no nakeder thing than I feel, he thought. A flayed rabbit is as well covered as a bear in comparison. But why should they bring planes? They could get us out of here with a trench mortar easily. They are proud of their planes, though, and they will probably bring them. Just as they were so proud of their automatic weapons that they made that stupidness. But undoubtedly they must have sent for a mortar too.
One of the men fired. Then jerked the bolt and fired again, quickly.
"Save thy cartridges," Sordo said.
"One of the sons of the great whore tried to reach that boulder," the man pointed.
"Did you hit him?" Sordo asked, turning his head with difficulty.
"Nay," the man said. "The fornicator cked back."
"Who is a whore of whores is Pilar," the man with his chin in the dirt said. "That whore knows we are dying here."
"She could do no good," Sordo said. The man had spoken on the side of his good ear and he had heard him without turning his head. "What could she do?"
"Take these sluts from the rear."
"_Qu?va_," Sordo said. "They are spread around a hillside. How would she come on them? There are a hundred and fifty of them. Maybe more now."
"But if we hold out until dark," Joaqu璯 said.
"And if Christmas comes on Easter," the man with his chin on the ground said.
"And if thy aunt had _cojones_ she would be thy uncle," another said to him. "Send for thy Pasionaria. She alone can help us."
"I do not believe that about the son," Joaqu璯 said. "Or if he is there he is training to be an aviator or something of that sort."
"He is hidden there for safety," the man told him.
"He is studying dialectics. Thy Pasionaria has been there. So have Lister and Modesto and others. The one with the rare name told me."
"That they should go to study and return to aid us," Joaqu璯 said.
"That they should aid us now," another man said. "That all the cruts of Russian sucking swindlers should aid us now." He fired and said, "_Me cago en tal_; I missed him again."
"Save thy cartridges and do not talk so much or thou wilt be very thirsty," Sordo said. "There is no water on this hill."
"Take this," the man said and rolling on his side he pulled a wineskin that he wore slung from his shoulder over his head and handed it to Sordo. "Wash thy mouth out, old one. Thou must have much thirst with thy wounds."
"Let all take it," Sordo said.
"Then I will have some first," the owner said and squirted a long stream into his mouth before he handed the leather bottle around.
"Sordo, when thinkest thou the planes will come?" the man with his chin in the dirt asked.
"Any time," said Sordo. "They should have come before."
"Do you think these sons of the great whore will attack again?"
"Only if the planes do not come."
He did not think there was any need to speak about the mortar. They would know it soon enough when the mortar came.
"God knows they've enough planes with what we saw yesterday."
"Too many," Sordo said.
His head hurt very much and his arm was stiffening so that the pain of moving it was almost unbearable. He looked up at the bright, high, blue early summer sky as he raised the leather wine bottle with his good arm. He was fifty-two years old and he was sure this was the last time he would see that sky.
He was not at all afraid of dying but he was angry at being trapped on this hill which was only utilizable as a place to die. If we could have gotten clear, he thought. If we could have made them come up the long valley or if we could have broken loose across the road it would have been all right. But this chancre of a hill. We must use it as well as we can and we have used it very well so far.
If he had known how many men in history have had to use a hill to die on it would not have cheered him any for, in the moment he was passing through, men are not impressed by what has happened to other men in similar circumstances any more than a widow of one day is helped by the knowledge that other loved husbands have died. Whether one has fear of it or not, one's death is difficult to accept. Sordo had accepted it but there was no sweetness in its acceptance even at fifty-two, with three wounds and him surrounded on a hill.
He joked about it to himself but he looked at the sky and at the far mountains and he swallowed the wine and he did not want it. If one must die, he thought, and clearly one must, I can die. But I hate it.
Dying was nothing and he had no picture of it nor fear of it in his mind. But living was a field of grain blowing in the wind on the side of a hill. Living was a hawk in the sky. Living was an earthen jar of water in the st of the threshing with the grain flailed out and the chaff blowing. Living was a horse between your legs and a carbine under one leg and a hill and a valley and a stream with trees along it and the far side of the valley and the hills beyond.

C. 英语短篇小说

The last leaf (a script) Ting \ Muzi Cast: props: Aside: bed-yan, a few paintings, leaves, instant noodles Susan: actor-man clothing, hats, music WEST HAINAN: Ting Door Bell: Quarter 1,2,3,4 neighbors: Xia, Cong, Qi, Jing Music sounded ... ... Aside: the late autumn in New York, the usual bustling and noisy lost all that had to be attributed to cold, invisible to the naked eye, the uninvited guest, doctors told him to "pneumonia." The destroyer in the streets of New York flagrant follow step down on all of a sudden more than a dozen victims. Washington Square in the west side of a hut, his hand and knocked down a west wind blowing in California was not the color Ruonv Zi. WEST HAINAN lying on a painted iron bed, motionless, staring out the window opposite the Netherlands-brick walls of the space. In the early morning ... ... Susan: WEST HAINAN. WEST HAINAN: Oh, Susan you back. (Weakly) Susan: I come back. (She reached the bedside, holding her hand) WEST HAINAN: a doctor he is gone? Susan: he is gone. I am not a doctor, he would lead the way, he afraid, I am afraid it is also a lifetime can not get out of this maze-like a small alley! (With a resentment) WEST HAINAN: 12,11,10 ... ... Susan: WEST HAINAN, what do you have a few? WEST HAINAN: that the window of ivy leaves less and less, but a good number. (Sad) Susan: What it leaves those few, carefully cold, I went to the curtains in one way or another! WEST HAINAN: No, do not! (Urgent) Susan: well, I do not pull, to come to lie down, do not go to a good number of those leaves? WEST HAINAN: poor leaf, not a soon left the ... ... afraid I do not catch cold? Go to heaven, not afraid of anything. Susan: nonsense, the doctor just said that he told me that you are going to a good, he said that you are so young and so beautiful, such a small point of how disease might hurt you? This is the doctor said to me! (Holding her hand and a tighter) WEST HAINAN: Susan, looked at me, you cried, do not deny that if I healed quickly, then why do you cry? I am poor, I do not silly. I have read the newspapers, the influenza-inced pneumonia has claimed the lives of many people, me, and I was next. Susan: No! They will not. WEST HAINAN: This is like the leaves of the Federation of drop-off, and so on that last leaf to fall, I had to leave. Narration: WEST HAINAN pale, lying quietly, Xiang Yizun live down the collapse of the statue, she said, eyes closed ... ... WEST HAINAN: I want to watch because it's the last rattan leaves fall off. I get impatient, and so on. Would like to get impatient. I think out of all, as a poor, tired of the rattan leaves, long way down Gone with the Wind, Gone with the Wind ... ... Music sounded ... ... Susan: I said you stupid you are stupid, so young and so beautiful you are, how can their lives and it leaves a little to link them? I said that you should not, I can not say so, I said that you should not WEST HAINAN. (With tearful voice) WEST HAINAN: Susan, I Bieguai, I do not want to leave you, do not want to leave this world, I could have been the best. This leaves just as it did not want to fall, but it does not have the strength. Susan: No, WEST HAINAN. We do not want those leaves, please? Let's think about those things better, let us think of the Gulf of Naples, think of Van Gogh's hometown, think of the Seine in Paris. WEST HAINAN: hey, right right, we have agreed to go to Europe, to realize our dream to become an artist.

D. 英语短篇美文4篇

1、If not to the sun for smiling, warm is still in the sun there, but wewill laugh more confident calm; if turned to found his own shadow, appropriate escape, the sun will be through the heart,warm each place behind the corner; if an outstretched palm cannot fall butterfly, then clenched waving arms, given power; if I can't have bright smile, it will face to the sunshine, and sunshine smile together, in full bloom.

译文：如果不向太阳索取微笑,温暖仍在太阳那里,但我们会笑得更加自信从容；如果转过身去发现了自己的影子,适当的躲让,阳光便可穿越心灵,温暖每一处身后的角落；如果摊开的掌心不能点落蝴蝶,那就紧握成拳挥动臂膀,给予力量；如果我不能够微笑得灿烂,那就将脸投向灿烂的阳光,与阳光一起微笑,烂漫。

2、When you love who you are,you become a conit of light.Just drop into your heart space,and live life from this view.For all of this doingis not who you are.Listen to your heart’s soft whisper,this voice will show you the way.Live life from your essenceis what she will say.See the light in yourself,and your world will be bright.There is no need to worry,you are exactly as you should be;remember to love who you are,and love you will see.

译文：当你爱自己的时候，你会成为一道光。只需触及心房，并遵循本心来生活。做这一切无关你是谁。聆听内心轻柔的呢喃，她会告诉你方法。遵循本性来生活她会这样告诉你。欣赏自身的光芒，你的世界都会变得明亮。没必要担心，你正是自己本来的模样；记得爱自己，爱自己欣赏的一切。

3、Occasionally, life can be undeniably, impossibly difficult. We are faced with challenges and events that can seem overwhelming, life-destroying to the point where it may be hard to decide whether to keep going. But you always have a choice. Jessica Heslop shares her powerful, inspiring journey from the worst times in her life to the new life she has created for herself.

译文：生活有时候困难得难以置信，但又不容置疑。我们面临的挑战与困境似乎无法抵御，试图毁灭我们生活，甚至使你犹疑是否继续走下去。但是你总有选择的余地。从人生低谷走向新生活的杰西卡·赫斯乐普，在这里与我们分享她启迪心灵、充满震撼力的生活之旅。

4、So it is with us. We build our lives in a distracted way, reacting rather than acting, willing to put up less than the best. At important points we do not give the job our best effort. Then with a shock we look at the situation we have created and find that we are now living in the house we have built. If we had realized, we would have done it differently.

译文：想象一下你就是这个木匠，想象你正在建造这座房子，你每天钉进一颗钉子、安装一块板子或者筑起一面墙。请用心对待吧，这是唯一一个你为自己打造的生活。即使你只在里面住上一天，这一天也要活得有光彩、有尊严。正如格言所说，“生活是一个只有靠自己才能完成的项目。”

5、Time is like a river, the left bank is unable to forget the memories, right is worth grasp the youth, the middle of the fast flowing, is the sad young faint. There are many good things, buttruly belong to own but not much. See the courthouse blossom,honor or disgrace not Jing, hope heaven Yunjuanyunshu, has no intention to stay. In this round the world, all can learn to use a normal heart to treat all around, is also a kind of realm!

译文：岁月就象一条河,左岸是无法忘却的回忆,右岸是值得把握的青春年华,中间飞快流淌的,是年轻隐隐的伤感.世间有许多美好的东西,但真正属于自己的却并不多.看庭前花开花落,荣辱不惊,望天上云卷云舒,去留无意.在这个纷绕的世界里,能够学会用一颗平常的心去对待周围的一切,也是一种境界!

6、People always confuse about the meaning of happiness, they don’t know how to define it. Some people think that when one has the successful career or does something that makes contribution to the society is the happiness. It is common that great acts are admired by the public and people are easy to feel the happiness. While in my opinion, happiness is very easy to achieve. When I stay with my family, we have the nice talk and I feel very happy. When I eat the delicious food that is cooked by my mother, I feel moved and happy. Happiness is around everywhere, we can feel it if we treat it right.

译文：人们总是混淆幸福的含义，他们不知道如何定义幸福。有些人认为，当一个人有了成功的事业或做了对社会有所贡献的事情时，那就是幸福。人们很欣赏伟大的行为，人们很容易感到幸福。在我看来，幸福是很容易实现的。当我和家人在一起时，我们的谈话很愉快，我感到非常高兴。当我吃妈妈做的美味的食物时，我感到很开心。幸福无处不在，只要我们善待它，我们就能感受到幸福。

7、When I am making mistakes, my parents will never be angry with me. I am so thankful to them for they are so tolerant with me. I learn many things from my parents, they show me how to be a tolerant person. They will not blame me for the small mistake that I make, instead, they will ecate me in the gentle way. Unlike some parents who are strict to their kids, they will be very angry and said the hurting words, making the children feel sad. Being tolerant to other people’s mistakes is the best way to solve the problem. People will appreciate the kind act and make things goes on the easy way.

译文：当我犯错误的时候，我的父母永远不会生我的气。我非常感谢他们，因为他们对我很宽容。我从父母那里学到很多东西，他们教我如何成为一个宽容的人。他们不会因为我犯的一个小错误而责备我，相反，他们会以温和的方式教育我。不像一些对孩子要求严格的父母，他们会很生气，说那些伤人的话，让孩子们感到悲伤。宽容别人的错误是解决问题的最好办法。人们会欣赏这种善举，让事情变得简单。

8、Sometimes you dream to be a kind of happiness, sometimes the dream is also a kind of happiness; sometimes is a kind of happiness, sometimes the loss is also a kind of happiness;sometimes success is a kind of happiness, sometimes failure is also a kind of happiness. Sometimes the rich is a kind of happiness, sometimes poverty is also a kind of happiness. "Not happy" today, now can not be "happy", while it may be tomorrow or later become "happiness"!

译文：有时你的梦想达到是一种幸福,有时梦想破灭也是一种幸福；有时得到是一种幸福,有时失去也是一种幸福；有时成功是一种幸福,有时失败也是一种幸福.有时富有是一种幸福,有时贫穷也是一种幸福.“不幸福”今天或者现在不能成为“幸福”,而明天或者以后却可能变成“幸福”!

E. 求篇英文短篇小说，任何体裁都可以，用做上英语课的演讲用，600——1000字的左右

It was the day before Easter and Peter Cottontail was very busy.As the Chief Easter Bunny,it was his job to hide all the eggs for all the Easter egg hunts around the world.
时间是复活节之前，皮特很忙。作为主要的复活节兔子，他的工作是将所有的为全世界复活节狩猎所需要的蛋藏起来。
Peter wanted to be sure that he had enough of the beautifully colored eggs for everyone.So he was counting them all.But he kept getting distracted and losing count.
皮特想确定他有充足的为复活节而准备的美丽的彩蛋。所以他正在把它们都数一数。但是他一直分神而忘了数的数字。
First,Peter thought he heard the meow of one little kitten.But he didn't see a kitten.Next he thought he heard two meows from two kittens,but he still didn't see anything.
Then Peter thought he heard three meows from three little kittens.
"Maybe they're outside,"thought Peter.So,he opened the door and sure engough...
开始，皮特想他听到了一只小猫的叫声。但是他看不见一只小猫。接着他想他听到了两只小猫的声音，但是他依然什么都看不见。
然后皮特想他看见了三只小猫的声音。
“也许他们在外面，”皮特想。所以他打开门来看个清楚...
There sat three unhappy,little kittens.Peter asked them what was wrong.
"We were playing hide-and-seek with our mitten*,"**plained the kittens."We are very good at hiding,but we are not very good at seeking.And now our mittens are lost."
"If you help me count my eggs,then I can help you find your mittens,"Peter told them.
The three little kittens were so happy that they began to dance and sing.
那里坐着三只不愉快的小猫。皮特问他们有什么麻烦。
“我们用我们的拳击手套玩了‘藏了找’的游戏，”小猫们解释。“我们擅长藏，但是我们不擅长找。现在我们的拳击手套找不到了。”
“假如你们帮助我数我的蛋，然后我就能够帮助你们找到你们的拳击手套，”皮特告诉他们。
那三只小猫如此地高兴以致他们又跳舞又唱歌。
Everyone went into the house and,one-two-three,they counted all the eggs.There were enough eggs for everyone and even three too many.
"Great!"said Peter."It's good to have extra eggs,just in case any break.Now let's find your mittens."
Off went Peter Cottontail and the three little kittens,with Peter Cottontail hopping big-bunny hops and the kittens racing along to keep up.
每个人都进入屋子，一、二、三，他们数了所有的蛋。为每个人准备的蛋是充足的，甚至还多出了三个。
“太好了！”皮特说。“有多余的蛋很好，恰好预防破蛋的情况。现在让我们来找你的拳击手套。”
皮特和三只小猫走出去，皮特跳着大兔步，而三只小猫则跑在后面跟着他。
First,they passed a house made of straw-but no one was there.
Next they passed a house made of sticks.No one was home there either.
Finally,they came to a very nice house made of bricks.
Peter and the three kittens knocked on the door of the pretty brick brick.Soon,three little pigs came out to meet them.
"Welcome!Welcome!"said the three little pigs."We are so glad to have visitors.The Big Bad Wolf chased all our friends away and no one visit us anymore.Won't you come in for a while?"
首先，他们经过了一个由稻草制成的房子，但是每人在家。
接着他们来到一个有树枝做成的房子，也没人在家。
最后他们来到一个由砖头制成的房子。
皮特和三只小猫敲打那个精美的小屋的门。不久，三只小猪出来迎接他们。
“欢迎！欢迎！”三只小猪说。“我们很高兴有人来拜访我们。大坏狼赶走了我们的所有的朋友，再也没人来拜访我们了。你们不进来呆一会吗？”
Peter and the kitten* **plained that they were looking for the kittens' lost mittens.This made the kittens so sad that they began to cry.
"Don't cry,little kittens,"said the three pigs."We haven't see any mittens,but you are welcome to look around."
So everyone looked,but they didn't find the kitten's mittens.
皮特和三个小猫解释他们在寻找小猫丢失的拳击手套。这件事让小猫们哭了起来。
“不要哭，小猫，”三只小猪说，“我们没有看见什么拳击手套。但是欢迎你们在附近找找。”
所以每个人一起看了看，但是他们没有发现小猫的拳击手套。
"You should ask Humpty Dumpty,"suggested the three little pigs."He sits so high up on his wall that he sees everything.Maybe he has seen your mittens."
Peter and the three kittens thanked the pigs and said good-bye.Then off they went.
“你们应该问问汉仆.达谱，”三只小猪建议。“他坐在他家的很高的墙上让他能看见每件事情。也许他看见了你们的拳击手套。”
Before long,they came to a very high wall with a strange,little man sitting on top.
"Excuse me,"said Peter Cottontail,"Are you Humpty Dumpty?"
"Yes,I am,"said the man,"How can I help you?"
不久，他们来到一堵非常高的墙面前，一个陌生的，很小的人坐在墙上。
“对不起，”皮特说，“你是汉仆.达谱吗？”
“是的，”那个人说，“我能帮助你们吗？”
Once again,the three little kitten* **plained how they lost their mittens.And they became so sad that again they began to cry.
"Do not cry,little kittens,"said Humpty Dumpty."This morning I saw three little kittens hide their mittens in the tall grass next to the Babbling Brook."
The three litten kittens began to dance and sing.
"Now we remember!Thank you,thank you!"they cheered.
三只小猫把怎么丢失拳击手套的事又解释了一遍。他们如此地伤心以致他们哭了。
“不要哭，小猫，”汉仆.达谱说，“今天早上我看见三只小猫在胡说河边的高草中藏他们的拳击手套。”
三只小猫开始又跳又唱。
“现在我们记得了！谢谢你，谢谢你！”他们欢呼。

Peter was very happy to have helped the kittens.But suddenly he remembered about Easter.
"Oh no!"he cried."It is almost Easter and I haven't hidden any eggs yet!What will I do?"
皮特很高兴帮助了小猫。但是突然他记得了复活节。
“哦，不！”他喊，“几乎到了复活节了，我还没有将蛋藏好呢！我该怎么办呢？”
"Don't worry."said the three little kittens."You have seen that we are good at hiding things.We will help you hide the eggs."
Peter accepted their help and off everyone rushed,with Peter hopping big-bunny hops and the kittens racing along to keep up.
“不要害怕。”三只小猫说。“你看见了我们擅长藏东西。我们将帮助你来藏蛋。”
皮特接受了他们的帮助，每个人跑起来，皮特跳着大兔步，小猫们在后面奔跑着追赶。
By Easter morning,everything was finished.Best of all,none of the eggs had broken.So Peter gave the three extra eggs to the three little kittens as thanks for all their help.
到了复活节早上，每件事都完成了。最好的是，没有一个蛋被弄破。所以皮特将三个多余的蛋送给了三只小猫作为对他们的帮助的感谢。
--Henry David Thoreau/享利.大卫.梭罗

However mean your life is,meet it and live it ;do not shun it and call it hard names.It is not so bad as you are.It looks poorest when you are richest.The fault-finder will find faults in paradise.Love your life,poor as it is.You may perhaps have some pleasant,thrilling,glorious hourss,even in a poor-house.The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the alms-house as brightly as from the rich man's abode;the snow melts before its door as early in the spring.I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contentedly there,and have as cheering thoughts,as in a palace.The town's poor seem to me often to live the most independent lives of any.May be they are simply great enough to receive without misgiving.Most think that they are above being supported by the town;but it often happens that they are not above supporting themselves by dishonest means.which should be more disreputable.Cultivate poverty like a garden herb,like sage.Do not trouble yourself much to get new things,whether clothes or friends,Turn the old,return to them.Things do not change;we change.Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts.

不论你的生活如何卑贱，你要面对它生活，不要躲避它，更别用恶言咒骂它。它不像你那样坏。你最富有的时候，倒是看似最穷。爱找缺点的人就是到天堂里也能找到缺点。你要爱你的生活，尽管它贫穷。甚至在一个济贫院里，你也还有愉快、高兴、光荣的时候。夕阳反射在济贫院的窗上，像身在富户人家窗上一样光亮；在那门前，积雪同在早春融化。我只看到，一个从容的人，在哪里也像在皇宫中一样，生活得心满意足而富有愉快的思想。城镇中的穷人，我看，倒往往是过着最独立不羁的生活。也许因为他们很伟大，所以受之无愧。大多数人以为他们是超然的，不靠城镇来支援他们；可是事实上他们是往往利用了不正当的手段来对付生活，他们是毫不超脱的，毋宁是不体面的。视贫穷如园中之花而像圣人一样耕植它吧！不要找新的花样，无论是新的朋友或新的衣服，来麻烦你自己。找旧的，回到那里去。万物不变，是我们在变。你的衣服可以卖掉，但要保留你的思想。