感人的英语文章
感人的英语文章
优美的文字于细微处传达出美感，并浸润着人们的心灵。通过英语美文,不仅能够感受语言之美,领悟语言之用，还能产生学习语言的兴趣。度过一段美好的时光，即感悟生活，触动心灵。下面是学习啦小编为大家整理的关于感人的英语文章的相关资料，供您参考!
感人的英语文章篇【1】：母亲的双手
Night after night, she came to tuck me in, even long after my childhood years. Following her longstanding custom, she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way, then kiss my forehead.
夜复一夜，她总是来帮我来盖被子，即使我早已长大。这是妈妈的长期习惯，她总是弯下身来，拨开我的长发，在我的额上一吻。
I don't remember when it first started annoying me —— her hands pushing my hair that way. But it did annoy me, for they felt work-worn and rough against my young skin. Finally, one night, I lashed out at her: "Don't do that anymore —— your hands are too rough!" She didn't say anything in reply. But never again did my mother close out my day with that familiar expression of her love. Lying awake long afterward, my words haunted me. But pride stifled my conscience, and I didn't tell her I was sorry.
我不记得从何时起，她拨开我的头发令我非常不耐烦。但的确，我讨厌她长期操劳、粗糙的手摩擦我细嫩的皮肤。最后，一天晚上，我冲她叫： “别再这样了——你的手太粗糙了!”她什么也没说。但妈妈再也没有象这样对我表达她的爱。直到很久以后，我还是常想起我的那些话。但自尊占了上风，我没有告诉她我很后悔。
Time after time, with the passing years, my thoughts returned to that night. By then I missed my mother's hands, missed her goodnight kiss upon my forehead. Sometimes the incident seemed very close, sometimes far away. But always it lurked, hauntingly, in the back of my mind.
时光流逝，我又想到那个晚上。那时我想念我妈妈的手，想念她晚上在我额上的一吻。有时这幕情景似乎很近，有时又似乎很遥远。但它总是潜伏着，时常浮现，出现在我意识中。
Well, the years have passed, and I'm not a little girl anymore. Mom is in her mid-seventies, and those hands I once thought to be so rough are still doing things for me and my family. She's been our doctor, reaching into a medicine cabinet for the remedy to calm a young girl's stomach or soothe a boy's scraped knee. She cooks the best fried chicken in the world…… gets stains out of blue jeans like I never could……and still insists on dishing out ice cream at any hour of the day or night.
一年年过去，我也不再是一个小女孩，妈妈也有70多岁了。那双我认为很粗糙的手依然为我和我家庭做着事。她是我家的医生，为我女儿在药橱里找胃药或在我儿子擦伤的膝盖上敷药。她能烧出世界上最美味的鸡…… 将牛仔裤弄干净而我却永远不能……而且可以在任何时候盛出冰激凌。
Through the years, my mother's hands have put in countless hours of toil, and most of hers were before automatic washers!
这么多年来，妈妈的手做了多少家务!而且在自动洗衣机出现以前她已经操劳了绝大多数时间。
Now, my own children are grown and gone. Mom no longer has Dad, and on special occasions, I find myself drawn next door to spend the night with her. So it was that late on Thanksgiving Eve, as I drifted into sleep in the bedroom of my youth, a familiar hand hesitantly stole across my face to brush the hair from my forehead. Then a kiss, ever so gently, touched my brow.
现在，我的孩子都已经长大，离开了家。爸爸去世了，有些时候，我睡在妈妈的隔壁房间。一次感恩节前夕的深夜，我睡在年轻时的卧室里，一只熟悉的手有些犹豫地、悄悄地略过我的脸，从我额头上拨开头发，然后一个吻，轻轻地印在我的眉毛上。
In my memory, for the thousandth time, I recalled the night my surly young voice complained: "Don't do that anymore —— your hands are too rough!" Catching Mom's hand in hand, I blurted out how sorry I was for that night. I thought she'd remember, as I did. But Mom didn't know what I was talking about. She had forgotten —— and forgiven —— long ago.
在我的记忆中，无数次，想起那晚我粗暴、年青的声音：“别再这样了——你的手太粗糙了!”抓住妈妈的手，我冲口而出因为那晚，我是多么后悔。我以为她想起来了，象我一样。但妈妈不知道我在说些什么。她已经在很久以前就忘了这事，并早就原谅了我。
That night, I fell asleep with a new appreciation for my gentle mother and her caring hands. And the guilt I had carried around for so long was nowhere to be found.
那晚，我带着对温柔母亲和体贴双手的感激入睡。这许多年来我的负罪感已经消失无踪。
感人的英语文章篇【2】：点点滴滴的父爱
Occasionally, without warning, the drunken wreckage of my father would wash up on our doorstep, late at night, stammering, laughing, reeking of booze. Bang! Bang! Bang! Beating on the door, pleading to my mother to open it.
有时候，在毫无预兆的情况下，父亲会半夜醉醺醺地出现在我们家门口，结结巴巴地讲着酒话，时而大笑几声，满嘴酒气。砰!砰!砰!大力敲着门，恳求母亲为他开门。
He was on his way home from drinking, gambling, or some combination thereof, squandering money that we could have used and wasting time that we desperately needed.
他要么刚刚喝完酒回来，或赌了几把，要么两者皆有。他挥霍着我们本可以用于日常开销的血汗钱，还浪费了我们迫切需要的时间——和父亲在一起的时间。
It was the late-1970s. My parents were separated. My mother was now raising a gaggle of boys on her own. She was a newly minted schoolteacher. He was a juke-joint musician-turned-construction worker.
那是20世纪70年代末。我的父母离婚了。那时，母亲独自一人抚养着我们几个儿子。她是一位新上任的老师。父亲原本是一名乡间酒馆的驻场乐师，后来成了建筑工人。
He spouted off about what he planned to do for us, buy for us. In fact, he had no intention of doing anything. The one man who was supposed to be genetically programmed to love us, in fact, lacked the understanding of what it truly meant to love a child—or to hurt one.
他喋喋不休地说自己计划为我们做什么、买什么。事实上，他根本不打算做任何事情。一个在血缘关系上本应该爱我们的人，实际上并不懂得对孩子而言什么才是真正的爱，也不知道什么是伤害。
To him, this was a harmless game that kept us excited and begging. In fact, it was a cruel, corrosive deception that subtly and unfairly shifted the onus of his lack of emotional and financial investment from him to us. I lost faith in his words and in him. I wanted to stop caring, but I couldn’t.
对他来说，这是一种并无恶意的游戏，它让我们时而兴奋，时而觉得像在乞讨。但这实际上是一种侵蚀性的残酷欺骗，它巧妙却又不公平地将他对我们缺乏感情和物质投入这一责任转移到我们身上。我不相信他的话，对他完全不信任。我想不去在乎他，但我做不到。
Maybe it was his own complicated relationship to his father and his father’s family that rendered him cold. Maybe it was the pain and guilt associated with a life of misfortune. Who knows. Whatever it was, it stole him from us, and particularly from me.
也许是他与自己的父亲及其复杂的家庭关系，使他变得冷酷。也许是他生活的不幸所造成的痛苦和内疚使然。谁知道呢。不管是什么，反正它把他从我们这里偷走了，特别是从我这里。
While my brothers talked ad nauseam about breaking and fixing things, I spent many of my evenings reading and wondering. My favorite books were a set of encyclopedias given by my uncle. They allowed me to explore the world beyond my world, to travel without leaving, to dream dreams greater than my life would otherwise have supported.
当我的兄弟们没完没了地谈论怎样拆解破坏再重修东西时，我却在许许多多个晚上潜心阅读和思考。我最喜欢的书是我叔叔给的一套百科全书。这些书让我探索超越我成长天地以外的大世界，足不出户随心旅行，做那些远非我生活所能承载的美梦。
But losing myself in my own mind also meant that I was completely lost to my father.
但沉醉在自我意识里，也意味着在父亲眼中我变得完全陌生了。
He could relate to my brothers’ tactile approaches to the world but not to my cerebral one. Not understanding me, he simply ignored me—not just emotionally, but physically as well. Never once did he hug me, never once a pat on the back or a hand on the shoulder or a tousling of the hair.
他能明白我兄弟们那种打打闹闹闯世界的方式，却从不懂我心田开智慧的那一套。他不理解我，就干脆无视我——不仅情感关怀欠奉，对我根本视若无睹。他从来没有拥抱过我，从没拍过我的后背，也不会搭我的肩膀或拨弄一下我的头发。
My best memories of him were from his episodic attempts at engagement.
他留给我的最美好回忆是他时不时地尝试和我们接触。
During the longest of these episodes, once every month or two, he would come pick us up and drive us down the interstate to Trucker’s Paradise, a seedy, smoke-filled, truck stop with gas pumps, a convenience store, a small dining area and a game room through a door in the back.
这些插曲中持续时间最长的是，每隔一两个月，他会来接我们，沿着州际公路驱车把我们带到卡车司机乐园。这是一个破烂、烟雾缭绕的载货汽车停车场，有加油站、一家便利店、一个小小的用餐区，还有穿过背后一扇门即可到达的一间游戏室。
My dad gave each of us a handful of quarters, and we played until they were gone. He sat up front in the dining area, drinking coffee and being particular about the restaurant’s measly offerings.
父亲给我们每个人一把硬币，我们一直玩到输光硬币才停下来。他就坐在用餐区前面，一边喝咖啡，一边挑剔着餐厅里食物的份量太少。
I loved these days. To me, Trucker’s Paradise was paradise. The quarters and the games were fun but easily forgotten. It was the presence of my father that was most treasured. But, of course, these trips were short-lived. And so it was. Every so often he would make some sort of effort, but every time it wouldn’t last.
我喜欢那些日子。对我来说，卡车司机乐园的确是一个天堂。硬币和游戏充满了乐趣，只是容易被遗忘。最宝贵的是父亲能来。但是，当然了，好景不长。事实的确如此。时而，他会努力挤出时间，但每次都不会持续很长时间。
It wasn’t until I was much older that I would find something that I would be able to cling to as evidence of my father’s love.
直到年龄渐长，我才找到一些可以体现其父爱的证据。
When the Commodore 64 personal computer debuted, I convinced myself that I had to have it even though its price was out of my mother’s range. So I decided to earn the money myself. I mowed every yard I could find that summer for a few dollars each, yet it still wasn’t enough. So my dad agreed to help me raise the rest of the money by driving me to one of the watermelon farms south of town, loading up his truck with wholesale melons and driving me around to sell them.
当Commodore 64型个人电脑上市时，我下定决心要买一台，即使它的价格超出了我母亲的支付能力。于是我决定自己赚钱。那年夏天，我给能找到的每一个庭院割草，每家赚几美元，但钱还是不够。于是父亲答应帮我去筹集剩下的钱。他驱车带我去镇上南面的一家西瓜农场，把批发买来的西瓜装上卡车，带着我去附近的地方把西瓜卖出去。
He came for me before daybreak. We made small talk, but it didn’t matter. The fact that he was talking to me was all that mattered. I was a teenager by then, but this was the first time that I had ever spent time alone with him. He laughed and repeatedly introduced me as “my boy,” a phrase he relayed with a palpable sense of pride. It was one of the best days of my life.
天亮前，他来接我。我们闲聊了一会儿，但这不是重点。重要的是他和我聊天。那时我已是一个青少年，但那却是我第一次与他独处。他笑着，并多次在向别人介绍 “这是我的儿子，”这样四个字，被他用一种明显的自豪语气传达着。那是我生命中最美好的时光。
Although he had never told me that he loved me, I would cling to that day as the greatest evidence of that fact. He had never intended me any wrong. He just didn’t know how to love me right. He wasn’t a mean man.
虽然他从未说过他爱我，但我会认定，那天是他爱我这一事实成立的最大证据。他从没想过对我造成任何伤害。他只是不知道用什么方式来爱我。他并不是一个坏心肠的人。
So I took these random episodes and clung to them like a thing most precious, squirreling them away for the long stretches of coldness when a warm memory would prove most useful.
所以我拾起这些偶然出现的片段，并坚持认为它们是最珍贵的东西。我将它们珍藏着，在冷漠的记忆长河中，这些温暖的片段最为窝心。
It just goes to show that no matter how estranged the father, no matter how deep the damage, no matter how shattered the bond, there is still time, still space, still a need for even the smallest bit of evidence of a father’s love.
我的经历只是表明：不管父亲曾经与你如何疏远，无论他对你造成了多深的伤害，无论你们之间的纽带是如何破裂的，你仍有时间、有空间，并且有必要去找寻哪怕是能证明父爱的最小的证据。
感人的英语文章篇【3】：在同一个屋檐下 Under the Same Roof
Two years ago, I drove a taxi for a living. One night I went to pick up a passenger 2:30 A.M. When I arrived to collect, I found the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.
I walked to the door and knocked, “Just a minute,” answered a weak, elderly voice.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her eighties stood before me. By her side was a small suitcase.
I took the suitcase to the car, and then returned to help the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the car.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. “It's nothing,” I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated.”
“Oh, you're such a good man.” She said. When we got into the taxi, she gave me an address, and then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”
“It's not the shortest way,” I answered quickly.
“Oh, I'm in no hurry,” she said. “I'm on my way to a hospice(临终医院). I don't have any family left. The doctor says I don’t have very long.”
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter(计价器).
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked, the neighborhood where she had lived, and the furniture shop that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow down in front of a particular building and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
At dawn, she suddenly said,” I'm tired. Let's go now.”
We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked.
“Nothing.” I said.
“You have to make a living,” she answered. “Oh, there are other passengers,” I answered.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. Our hug ended with her remark, “You gave an old woman a little moment of joy.”
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