英語(yǔ)優(yōu)美散文
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英語(yǔ)優(yōu)美散文：最美麗的心
One day a young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley. A large crowd gathered, and they all admired his heart for it was perfect. There was not a flaw in it.
Suddenly, an old man appeared and said, "Why, your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine."
The crowd and the young man looked at the old man's heart. It was full of scars, it had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in, but they didn't fit quite right, and there were several jagged edges. In fact, in some places there were deep gouges where whole pieces were missing.
The young man laughed. "Comparing your heart with mine, mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars."
"Yes," said the old man, "Yours looks perfect but I would never trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love. I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them, and often they give me a piece of their heart that fits into the empty place in my heart.
But because the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish, because they remind me of the love we shared.
"Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away, and the other person hasn't returned a piece of his or her heart to me. These are the empty gouges -- giving love is taking a chance.
Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for those people too, and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting. So now do you see what true beauty is?"
The young man walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect heart, and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man.
The old man placed it in his heart, then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man's heart. It fit, but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.
The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever, since love from the old man's heart flowed into his.
They embraced and walked away side by side.
英語(yǔ)優(yōu)美散文：笑對(duì)生活
"Everything happens for the best," my mother said whenever I faced disappointment. "If you carry on, one day something good will happen. And you'll realize that it wouldn't have happened if not for that previous disappointment. "
Mother was right, as I discovered after graduating from college in 1932, I had decided to try for a job in radio, then work my way up to sports announcer. I hitchhiked to Chicago and knocked on the door of every station--and got turned down every time.
In one studio, a kind lady told me that big stations couldn't risk hiring an inexperienced person. "Go out in the sticks and find a small station that'll give you a chance, " she said. I thumbed home to Dixon, Illinois.
While there were no radio-announcing jobs in Dixon, my father said Montgomery Ward had opened a store and wanted a local athlete to manage its sports department. Since Dixon was where I had played high school football, I applied. The job sounded just right for me.
But I wasn't hired. My disappointment must have shown. "Everything happens for the best. " Mom reminded me. Dad offered me the car to hunt job. I tried WOC Radio in Davenport, Iowa. The program director, a wonderful Scotsman named Peter MacArthur told me they had already hired an announcer.
As I left his office, my frustration boiled over. I asked aloud, "How can a fellow get to be a sports announcer if he can't get a job in a radio station." I was waiting for the elevator when I heard MacArthur calling, "What was you said about sports?
Do you know anything about football?" Then he stood me before a microphone and asked me broadcast an imaginary game. The preceding autumn, my team had won a game in the last 20 seconds with a 65-yard run. I did a 15-minute build-up to that play, and Peter told me I would be broadcasting Saturday's game!
On my way home, as I have many times since, I thought of my mother's words: "If you carry on, one day something good will happen. Something wouldn't have happened if not for that previous disappointment. "
英語(yǔ)優(yōu)美散文：看不見(jiàn)的墻
I first fell in love with husband when we would sit and talk in the living room of my old apartment in front of the (ceiling-to-floor) windows with the long, white curtains, drinking cups of scalding, black coffee. We would just sit and talk-sometimes until sunrise. I was so completely thrilled to have finally found that one special person and our wedding way was the happiest day of my life.
However, it was not long after our honeymoon when my husband climbed into the tomb called "the office" and wrapped his mind in a shroud of paperwork and buried himself in clients, and I said nothing for fear of turning into a nagging wife. It seemed as if overnight an invisible wall had been erected between us.
When our daughter, Desiree was born she quickly became the center of my world. I watched her grow from infant to toddler, and I no longer seemed to care that my husband was getting busier and spending less time at home. Somewhere between his work schedule and our home and young daughter, we were losing touch with each other. That invisible wall was now being cemented by the mortar of indifference.
Desiree went off to preschool and I returned to college to finish my degree, and I tried to find myself in the courses I took; I complained with all the other young women on campus about men who are insensitive. Sometimes late at night I cried and begged the whispering darkness to tell me who I really was, and my husband lay beside snoring like a hibernating bear unaware of my winter.
Then tragedy struck our lives, when my husband's younger brother was killed on September 11, 2001, along with thousand of other innocent people. He made it out okay and spoke to his wife to say he was going back in to help those that were still trapped. He was identified only by the engraving on the inside of his wedding band.
Attending my brother's memorial service was an eye-opening experience for the both of us. For the first time, we saw our own marriage was almost like my in-laws. At the tragic death of the youngest son they could not reach out console one another. It seemed as if somewhere between the oldest son's first tooth and the youngest son's graduation they had lost each other. Their wedding day photograph of the young, happy, smiling couple on the mantle of their fireplace was almost mocking those two minds that no longer touched. They were living in such an invisible wall between them that the heaviest battering with the strongest artillery would not penetrate, when love dies it is not in a moment of angry battle or when fiery bodies lose their heat; it lies broken and panting and exhausted at the bottom of a wall it cannot penetrate.
Recently one night, my husband told of his fear of dying. Until then he had been afraid to expose his naked souls. I spoke of trying to find myself in the writings in my journal. It seemed as if each of us had been hiding our soul-searching from the other.
We are slowly working toward building a bridge—not a wall, so that when we reach out to each other, we do not find a barrier we cannot penetrate and recoil from the coldness of the stone or retreat from the stranger on the other side.
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