全新版本大学英语综合教程1第二版本课文原文doc.docx

1、全新版本大学英语综合教程1第二版本课文原文docUnit 1The idea of becoming a writer had come to me offand on since my childhood in Belleville, but it wasntuntilmy thirdyearinhighschoolthatthepossibilitytookhold.UntilthenIdbeenboredbyeverythingassociatedwithEnglishcourses.IfoundEnglishgrammar dulland difficult.Ihatedtheassi

2、gnmentstoturnoutlong,lifelessparagraphsthatwere agonyforteachers to read and for me to write.When ourclasswas assigned toMr. Fleagleforthird-yearEnglishIanticipatedanothercheerlessyear in that most tedious of subjects. Mr. Fleagle hada reputationamong studentsfor dullnessand inabilityto inspire. He

3、was said to be very formal, rigid andhopelessly out of date. To me he looked to be sixty orseventy and excessively prim. He wore primly severeeyeglasses, his wavy hair was primly cut and primlycombed. He wore prim suits with neckties set primlyagainst the collar buttons of his white shirts. He hada

4、primlypointedjaw, a primlystraightnose,and a primmanner ofspeakingthatwas so correct,so gentlemanly,that he seemed a comic antique.I prepared for an unfruitful year with Mr. Fleagle and for a long time was not disappointed. Late in the yearwe tackled the informal essay. Mr. Fleagle distributeda home

5、work sheet offering us a choice of topics. None was quite so simple-minded as What I Did on My SummerVacation,but most seemed to be almostas dull.I tookthe list home and did nothing until the night beforethe essay was due. Lying on the sofa, I finally faceduptotheunwelcome task,tookthelistoutof myno

6、tebook, and scanned it. The topic on which my eyestopped was The Art of Eating Spaghetti.This titleproduced an extraordinarysequence ofmentalimages. Vivid memories came flooding back of a nightin Belleville when all of us were seated around thesuppertable Uncle Allen,my mother,Uncle Charlie,Doris, U

7、ncle Hal and Aunt Pat served spaghetti forsupper.Spaghettiwas stilla littleknown foreigndishinthosedays.NeitherDoris norIhadevereatenspaghetti,and none of theadultshad enough experienceto be good at it. All the good humor of Uncle Allens house reawoke in my mind as I recalled the laughingargumentswe

8、 hadthatnightaboutthesociallyrespectable method for moving spaghetti from plate tomouth.Suddenly Iwanted towriteaboutthat,about thewarmthand good feeling of it, but I wanted to put it downsimply for my own joy, not for Mr. Fleagle. It was amoment I wanted to recapture and hold for myself. Iwantedto

9、relivethepleasureofthatevening.To writeit as I wanted, however, would violate all the rulesof formal composition Id learned in school, and Mr.Fleaglewould surelygiveita failinggrade.Never mind.I would write something else for Mr. Fleagle after Ihad written this thing for myself.When I finished it th

10、e night was half gone and therewas no timeleftto compose a proper, respectableessayfor Mr. Fleagle. There was no choice next morning butto turn in my tale of the Belleville supper. Two dayspassed before Mr. Fleagle returned the graded papers,and he returned everyones but mine. I was preparingmyselff

11、oracommandtoreporttoMr.Fleagleimmediatelyafterschoolfordisciplinewhen Isaw himlift my paper from his desk and knock for the classsattention.Now, boys,he said.Iwant toread you an essay.Thisis titled, The Art of Eating Spaghetti.And he startedto read.My words!He was readingmy wordsout loud to the enti

12、re class. Whats more, the entireclasswas listening.Listeningattentively.Thensomebody laughed, then the entire class was laughing,and notincontemptand ridicule,but with open-heartedenjoyment.Even Mr. Fleaglestopped two or three timesto hold back a small prim smile.I didmy besttoavoidshowing pleasure,

13、but whatIwasfeelingwas puredelightat thisdemonstrationthatmywordshadthepowertomakepeoplelaugh.Intheeleventh grade, at the eleventh hour as it were, I haddiscovered a calling. It was the happiest moment of myentireschoolcareer.When Mr. Fleaglefinishedhe putthe final seal on my happiness by saying, No

14、w that,boys,isan essay,dontyou see.Its dontyou see itsofthe veryessenceof theessay, dontyou see.Congratulations, Mr. Baker.(797 words)Unit 2He must have been completely lost in something he wasreading because I had to tap on the windshield to gethis attention.Isyourcab available?I asked when he fina

15、llylookedup at me. He nodded, then said apologetically as Isettledintothebackseat,Imsorry, butIwasreading a letter. He sounded as if he had a cold orsomething.Iminno hurry,I toldhim. Go ahead and finishyourletter.He shook hishead. Ivereaditseveraltimesalready.I guess I almost know it by heart.Letter

16、sfromhome always mean a lot,Isaid.Atleasttheydo withme because Im on the roadso much.Then,estimating that he was 60 or 70 years old, I guessed:From a child or maybe a grandchild?This isnt family, he replied. Although, he wenton, come to think of it, it might just as well havebeen family. Old Ed was

17、my oldest friend. In fact, weused tocalleach otherOldFriend when wedmeet,that is. Im not much of a hand at writing.I dontthinkany of us keep up ourcorrespondencetoowell, I said. I know I dont. But I take it hes someone youve known quite a while?All my life, practically. We were kids together, so we

18、go way back.Went to school together?All the way through high school. We were in the same class, in fact, through both grade and high school. There are not too many people whove had such a long friendship, I said.Actually, the driver went on, I hadnt seen him morethan once or twice a year over the pa

19、st 25 or 30 yearsbecause I moved away from the old neighborhood and youkind of lose touch even though you never forget. He wasa great guy.You said was. Does that mean ?He nodded. Died a couple of weeks ago.Im sorry, I said. Its no fun to lose any friend and losing a real old one is even tougher.He d

20、idnt reply to that, and we rode on in silence for a few minutes. But I realized that Old Ed was still on his mind when he spoke again, almost more to himself than to me: I should have kept in touch. Yes, herepeated, I should have kept in touch.Well,I agreed,we shouldallkeep intouchwith oldfriendsmor

21、e thanwe do. But thingscome up and we justdont seem to find the time.Heshrugged.Weusedtofindthetime,hesaid.Thatseven mentionedin the letter.He handed itoverto me. Take a look.Thanks, I said, but I dont want to read your mail.Thats pretty personal.The driver shrugged. Old Eds dead. Theres nothingpers

22、onal now. Go ahead, he urged me.The letter was written in pencil. It began with thegreetingOldFriend,and thefirstsentenceremindedme ofmyself.Ivebeen meaning to writefor some time,but Ive always postponed it. It then went on to saythathe oftenthoughtaboutthegood times they had hadtogetherwhen theybot

23、hlivedinthesame neighborhood.Ithadreferencestothingsthatprobablymeantsomething tothe driver,such as thetimeTim Shea brokethe window, the Halloween thatwe tiedOld Mr. Parkersgate,and when Mrs. Culver used to keep us afterschool.You must have spent a lot of time together, I saidto him.Like it says the

24、re, he answered, about all we hadto spend in those days was time. He shook his head:Time.I thought thenext paragraphoftheletterwas a littlesad: Ibegan the letterwithOld Friendbecause thatswhat weve become over the years old friends. Andthere arent many of us left.You know, Isaid to him, when itsays

25、here thattherearentmany of us left,thatsabsolutelyright.Everytime I go to a class reunion, for example, there arefewer and fewer still around.Time goes by, the driver said.Did you two work at the same place? I asked him.No, but we hung out on the same corner when we weresingle. And then, when we wer

26、e married, we used to goto each others house every now and then. But for thelast 20 or 30 years its been mostly just Christmascards.Of course theredbe alwaysa notewed each addto the cards usually some news about our families,you know, what the kids were doing, who moved where,a new grandchild, things like that but never a realletter or anything like that.Thisisa good parthere,I said.