(完整版)Unit10TheIdiocyofUrbanLife课文翻译综合教程四

大学英语综合教程课文翻译One Writer's Beginnings1 I learned from the age of two or three that any room in our house, at any time of day, was there to read in, or to be read to. My mother read to me. She'd read to me in the big bedroom in the mornings, when we were in her rocker together, which ticked in rhythm as we rocked, as though we had a cricket accompanying the story. She'd read to me in the dining room on winter afternoons in front of the coal fire, with our cuckoo clock ending the story with "Cuckoo", and at night when I'd got in my own bed. I must have given her no peace. Sometimes she read to me in the kitchen while she sat churning, and the churning sobbed along with any story. It was my ambition to have her read to me while I churned; once she granted my wish, but she read off my story before I brought her butter. She was an expressive reader. When she was reading "Puss in Boots," for instance, it was impossible not to know that she distrusted all cats.作家起步时我从两三岁起就知道，家中随便在哪个房间里，白天无论在什么时间，都可以念书或听人念书。

Unit 7The MonsterDeems Taylor1 He was an undersized little man, with a head too big for his body ― a sickly littleman. His nerves were bad. He had skin trouble. It was agony for him to wear anything next to his skin coarser than silk. And he had delusions of grandeur.2 He was a monster of conceit. Never for one minute did he look at the world or atpeople, except in relation to himself. He believed himself to be one of the greatest dramatists in the world, one of the greatest thinkers, and one of the greatest composers. To hear him talk, he was Shakespeare, and Beethoven, and Plato, rolled into one. He was one of the most exhausting conversationalists that ever lived. Sometimes he was brilliant; sometimes he was maddeningly tiresome. But whether he was being brilliant or dull, he had one sole topic of conversation: himself. What he thought and what he did.3 He had a mania for being in the right. The slightest hint of disagreement, fromanyone, on the most trivial point, was enough to set him off on a harangue that might last for hours, in which he proved himself right in so many ways, and with such exhausting volubility, that in the end his hearer, stunned and deafened, would agree with him, for the sake of peace.4 It never occurred to him that he and his doing were not of the most intense andfascinating interest to anyone with whom he came in contact. He had theories about almost any subject under the sun, including vegetarianism, the drama, politics, and music; and in support of these theories he wrote pamphlets, letters, books ... thousands upon thousands of words, hundreds and hundreds of pages. He not only wrote these things, and published them ― usually at somebody else ' s expense ― but he would sit and read them aloud, for hours, to his friends, and his family.5 He had the emotional stability of a six-year-old child. When he felt out of sorts,he would rave and stamp, or sink into suicidal gloom and talk darkly of going to the East to end his days as a Buddhist monk. Ten minutes later, when something pleased him he would rush out of doors and run around the garden, or jump up and down off the sofa, or stand on his head. He could be grief-stricken over the death of a pet dog, and could be callous and heartless to a degree that would have made a Roman emperor shudder.6 He was almost innocent of any sense of responsibility. He was convinced thatthe world owed him a living. In support of this belief, he borrowed money from everybody who was good for a loan― men, women, friends, or strangrse. He wrote begging letters by the score, sometimes groveling without shame, at others loftily offering his intended benefactor the privilege of contributing to his support, and being mortally offended if the recipient declined the honor.7 What money he could lay his hand on he spent like an Indian rajah. No one willever know ― certainly he never knows ― how much money he owed. We do knowthat his greatest benefactor gave him $6,000 to pay the most pressing of his debts in one city, and a year later had to give him $16,000 to enable him to live in another city without being thrown into jail for debt.8 He was equally unscrupulous in other ways. An endless procession of women marched through his life. His firstwife spent twenty years enduring and forgiving his infidelities. His second wife had been the wife of his mostdevoted friend and admirer, from whom he stole her. And even while he was trying to persuade her to leave her first husband he was writing to a friend to inquire whether he could suggest some wealthy woman ― any wealthy woman ― whom he could marry for her money.9 He had a genius for making enemies. He would insult a man who disagreed withhim about the weather. He would pull endless wires in order to meet some man who admired his work and was able and anxious to be of use to him ― and would proceed to make a mortal enemy of him with some idiotic and wholly uncalled-for exhibition of arrogance and bad manners. A character in one of his operas was a caricature of one of the most powerful music critics of his day. Not content with burlesquing him, he invited the critic to hishouse and read him the libretto aloud in front of his friends.10 The name of this monster was Richard Wagner. Everything I have said about him you can find on record ― innewspapers, in police reports, in the testimony of people who knew him, in his own letters, between the lines of his autobiography.And the curious thing about this record is that it doesn ' t matter in the least.11 Because this undersized, sickly, disagreeable, fascinating little man was right allthe time, the joke was on us. He was one of the world ' s greatest dramatists; he was agreat thinker; he was one of the most stupendous musical geniuses that, up to now, the world has ever seen. The world did owe him a living. What if he did talk about himself all the time? If he talked about himself for twenty-four hours every day for the span of his life he would not have uttered half the number of words that othermen have spoken and written about him since his death.12 When you consider what he wrote ― thirteen operas and music dramas, elevenof them still holding the stage, eight of them unquestionably worth ranking among the world ' s great music-doramatic masterpieces ― when you listen to what he wrote, the debts and heartaches that people had to endure from him don ' t seem much of aprice.13 What if he was faithless to his friends and to his wives? He had one mistress towhom he was faithful to the day of his death: Music. Not for a single moment did he ever compromise with what he believed, with what he dreamed. There is not a line of his music that could have been conceived by a little mind. Even when he is dull, or downright bad, he is dull in the grand manner. Listening to his music, one does not forgive him for what he may or may not have been. It is not a matter of forgiveness. It is a matter of being dumb with wonder that his poor brain and body didn ' t burst under the torment of the demon of creative energy thatlived inside him, struggling, clawing, scratching to be released; tearing, shrieking at him to write the music that was in him. The miracle is that what he did in the little space of seventy years could have been done at all, even by a great genius. Is it any wonder he had no time to be a man?畸人迪姆斯泰勒1 他是个大头小身体、病怏怏的矬子；成日神经兮兮，皮肤也有毛病。

Unit 11. If you ask me, real life is not all it’s cracked up to be. Twelve years at school and three years at university, teachers banging on about opportunities in the big wide world beyond our sheltered life as students, and what do I find?Try as I might to stay cheerful, all I ever get is hassle, sometimes with people (especially boys, god, when will they grow up?), but mostly with money. It’s just so expensive out here! Everyone wants a slice off you. The Inland Revenue wants to deduct income tax, the bank manager wants repayments on my student loan,the landlord wants the rent, gas, water, electricity and my mobile bills keep coming in, and all that’s before I’ve had anything to eat. And then some bright spark calls me out of the blue, asking if I’m interested in buying a pension. And this rate, I won’t even last till the end of the year, let alone till I’m 60.依我看，现实生活并没有人们想象的那么美好。

Unit 7The MonsterDeems Taylor1He was an undersized little man, with a head too big for his body ― a sickly little man. His nerves were bad. He had skin trouble. It was agony for him to wear anything next to his skin coarser than silk. And he had delusions of grandeur.2He was a monster of conceit. Never for one minute did he look at the world or at people, except in relation to himself. He believed himself to be one of the greatest dramatists in the world, one of the greatest thinkers, and one of the greatest composers. To hear him talk, he was Shakespeare, and Beethoven, and Plato, rolled into one. He was one of the most exhausting conversationalists that ever lived.Sometimes he was brilliant; sometimes he was maddeningly tiresome. But whether he was being brilliant or dull, he had one sole topic of conversation: himself. What he thought and what he did.3He had a mania for being in the right. The slightest hint of disagreement, from anyone, on the most trivial point, was enough to set him off on a harangue that might last for hours, in which he proved himself right in so many ways, and with such exhausting volubility, that in the end his hearer, stunned and deafened, would agree with him, for the sake of peace.4It never occurred to him that he and his doing were not of the most intense and fascinating interest to anyone with whom he came in contact. He had theories about almost any subject under the sun, including vegetarianism, the drama, politics, and music; and in support of these theories he wrote pamphlets, letters, books ...thousands upon thousands of words, hundreds and hundreds of pages. He not only wrote these things, and published them ― usually at somebody else’s expense ― but he would sit and read them aloud, for hours, to his friends, and his family.5He had the emotional stability of a six-year-old child. When he felt out of sorts, he would rave and stamp, or sink into suicidal gloom and talk darkly of going to the East to end his days as a Buddhist monk. Ten minutes later, when something pleased him he would rush out of doors and run around the garden, or jump up and down off the sofa, or stand on his head. He could be grief-stricken over the death ofa pet dog, and could be callous and heartless to a degree that would have made aRoman emperor shudder.6He was almost innocent of any sense of responsibility. He was convinced thatthe world owed him a living. In support of this belief, he borrowed money from everybody who was good for a loan ― men, women, friends, or strange rs. He wrote begging letters by the score, sometimes groveling without shame, at others loftily offering his intended benefactor the privilege of contributing to his support, and being mortally offended if the recipient declined the honor.7What money he could lay his hand on he spent like an Indian rajah. No one will ever know ― certainly he never knows ― how much money he owed. We do know that his greatest benefactor gave him $6,000 to pay the most pressing of his debts in one city, and a year later had to give him $16,000 to enable him to live in another city without being thrown into jail for debt.8He was equally unscrupulous in other ways. An endless procession of women marched through his life. His first wife spent twenty years enduring and forgiving his infidelities. His second wife had been the wife of his most devoted friend and admirer, from whom he stole her. And even while he was trying to persuade her to leave her first husband he was writing to a friend to inquire whether he could suggest some wealthy woman ― any wealthy woman ― whom he could marry for her money.9He had a genius for making enemies. He would insult a man who disagreed with him about the weather. He would pull endless wires in order to meet some man who admired his work and was able and anxious to be of use to him ― and would proceed to make a mortal enemy of him with some idiotic and wholly uncalled-for exhibition of arrogance and bad manners. A character in one of his operas was a caricature of one of the most powerful music critics of his day. Not content with burlesquing him, he invited the critic to his house and read him the libretto aloud in front of his friends.10The name of this monster was Richard Wagner. Everything I have said about him you can find on record ― in newspapers, in police reports, in the testimony of people who knew him, in his own letters, between the lines of his autobiography.And the curious thing about this record is that it doesn’t matter in the least.11Because this undersized, sickly, disagreeable, fascinating little man was right all the time, the joke was on us. He was one of the world’s greatest dramatists; he was a great thinker; he was one of the most stupendous musical geniuses that, up to now, the world has ever seen. The world did owe him a living. What if he did talk about himself all the time? If he talked about himself for twenty-four hours every day for the span of his life he would not have uttered half the number of words that othermen have spoken and written about him since his death.12When you consider what he wrote ― thirteen operas and music dramas, eleven of them still holding the stage, eight of them unquestionably worth ranking among the world’s great musico-dramatic masterpieces ― when you listen to what he wrote, the debts and heartaches that people had to endure from him don’t seem much of a price.13What if he was faithless to his friends and to his wives? He had one mistress to whom he was faithful to the day of his death: Music. Not for a single moment did he ever compromise with what he believed, with what he dreamed. There is not a line of his music that could have been conceived by a little mind. Even when he is dull, or downright bad, he is dull in the grand manner. Listening to his music, one does not forgive him for what he may or may not have been. It is not a matter of forgiveness. It is a matter of being dumb with wonder that his poor brain and body didn’t burst under the torment of the demon of creative energy that lived inside him, struggling, clawing, scratching to be released; tearing, shrieking at him to write the music that was in him. The miracle is that what he did in the little space of seventy years could have been done at all, even by a great genius. Is it any wonder he had no time to be a man?畸人迪姆斯·泰勒1 他是个大头小身体、病怏怏的矬子；成日神经兮兮，皮肤也有毛病。

Unit 1Never Give In, Never, Never, NeverWinston ChurchillAlmost a year has passed since I came down here at your Head Master's kind invitation in order to cheer myself and cheer the hearts of a few of my friends by singing some of our own songs. The ten months that have passed have seen very terrible catastrophic events in the world—ups and downs, misfortunes—but can anyone sitting here this afternoon, this October afternoon, not feel deeply thankful for what has happened in the time that has passed and for the very great improvement in the position of our country and of our home? Why, when I was here last time we were quite alone, desperately alone, and we had been so for five or six months. We were poorly armed. We are not so poorly armed today; but then we were very poorly armed. We had the unmeasured menace of the enemy and their air attack still beating upon us, and you yourselves had had experience of this attack; and I expect you are beginning to feel impatient that there has been this long lull with nothing particular turning up!But we must learn to be equally good at what is short and sharp and what is long and tough. It is generally said that the British are often better at the last. They do not expect to move from crisis to crisis; they do not always expect that each day will bring up some noble chance of war; but when they very slowly make up their minds that the thing has to be done and the job put through and finished, then, even if it takes months—if it takes years—they do it.Another lesson I think we may take, just throwing our minds back to our meeting here ten months ago and now, is that appearances are often very deceptive, and as Kipling well says, we must "... meet with Triumph and Disaster. And treat those two impostors just the same."You cannot tell from appearances how things will go. Sometimes imagination makes things out far worse than they are; yet without imagination not much can be done. Those people who are imaginative see many more dangers than perhaps exist; certainly many more will happen; but then they must also pray to be given that extra courage to carry this far-reaching imagination. But for everyone, surely, what we have gone through in this period—I am addressing myself to the school—surely from this period of ten months this is the lesson: never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in except to convictions of honour and goodsense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy. We stood all alone a year ago, and to many countries it seemed that our account was closed, we were finished. All this tradition of ours, our songs, our school history, this part of the history of this country, were gone and finished and liquidated.Very different is the mood today. Britain, other nations thought, had drawn a sponge across her slate. But instead our country stood in the gap. There was no flinching and no thought of giving in; and by what seemed almost a miracle to those outside these islands, though we ourselves never doubted it, we now find ourselves in a position where I say that we can be sure that we have only to persevere to conquer.You sang here a verse of a school song: you sang that extra verse written in my honour, which I was very greatly complimented by and which you have repeated today. But there is one word in it I want to alter—I wanted to do so last year, but I did not venture to. It is the line: "Not less we praise in darker days."I have obtained the Head Master's permission to alter darker to sterner. "Not less we praise in sterner days."Do not let us speak of darker days: let us speak rather of sterner days. These are not dark days; these are great days—the greatest days our country has ever lived; and we must all thank God that we have been allowed, each of us according to our stations, to play a part in making these days memorable in the history of our race.绝不屈服，绝不，绝不，绝不温斯顿·丘吉尔1 将近一年前，应贵校校长盛情邀请，我来到这里唱了几首我们自己的歌曲，既为自己加油，也为一些朋友打气。

If you ask me1If you ask me, real life is not all it's cracked up to be. Twelve years at school and three years at university, teachers banging on about opportunities in the big wide world beyond our sheltered life as students, and what do I find?2 Try as I might to stay cheerful, all I ever get is hassle, sometimes with people (especially boys, god, when will they grow up?), but mostly with money. It's just so expensive out here! Everyone wants a slice off you. The Inland Revenue wants to deduct income tax, the bank manager wants repayments on my student loan, the landlord wants the rent, gas, water, electricity and my mobile bills keep coming in, and all that's before I've had anything to eat. And then some bright spark calls me out of the blue, asking if I'm interested in buying a pension. At this rate, I won't even last till the end of the year, let alone till I'm 60.3 I didn't really want to go out to work just yet. I mean, I wasn't a dropout and I knew I'd have to some day. According to any number of people "life's not a picnic", "there's no such thing as a free lunch". But given that I'd got a good degree, I thought I'd like to go on to get my master's. Actually, I had my eye on the course at the London School of Economics (LSE) . Top school, very good for my CV. But I talked to my mum about it, and she said she couldn't afford to support me any more. I kind of understand it, and not just because my degree is in economics. She'd worked hard for 15 years to give me an education. My dad wasn't around most of the time, and when he was, he didn't have any money. He'd spent it gambling on the dogs or down the pub. So it came to the point when I just agreed with Mum, and bowed myself towards the inevitable.4 If you ask me, and despite everything you hear, fortunately there are some really nice people out there. Take Mike, for example. When I left university, what I thought was that my mum would feel obliged to look after me if I returned home. So I packed up my belongings and went to London to get a job. I wanted something in finance and investments, because you know, maybe with a job like that, I could use my degree. But by that time, there were no jobs left, and I didn't really want to end up in some boring office, doing photocopies and making the tea.5 Go anywhere you like in London and there's usually a good pub. The day I realized no one in the city was going to offer me a job, I went into The Salisbury on Leadenhall Street for a drink and something to eat. Mike the landlord was at the bar, pouring pints with one hand, making sandwiches with the other, and washing the glasses all at the same time—it's true, he really did seem to have three hands. He also seemed to know everyone, and greeted the regulars by name, getting their drinks ready with the question, "The usual today, is it?" I thought he looked kind of cool, he was doing what he did best, serving thirsty clients, and no one did it better. So I went up to him and asked him whether there was a job for me.6 Well, to cut a long story short, I started work in the pub one Friday lunch time. It was quite demanding work, but I liked it. People seemed to find me amusing and it made me feel better too. There was one middle-aged regular in a suit who always had a half of bitter and a ham and pickle sandwich, with the crusts cut off. When I saw Tony coming, I tried to have his lunch ready for him even before he asked. He was another one of those really nice people.7 If you ask me, spending money when you don't have any is dead easy. I began to think about how I'd spend my first month's wages. The flat where I was staying was expensive, and I just about had enough to cover the first month's substantial bills. But I calculated that there'dbe just enough money over to treat myself to something. Why not get a CD or maybe a plant to cheer up the flat? I thought.8 It was my birthday on pay day. Apart from Mike and Tony, I didn't have any friends in London. Seeing that I didn't have a boyfriend either, you can understand why I began to feel sorry for myself. So I ordered myself some flowers, and asked them to be sent with a little card, saying "With all my love Anon." The highlight of my birthday would be the confused look on the florist's eyes when he delivered them.9 Later that week, Tony came in as usual and sat down at the bar. "What's wrong with you? Where's that smile gone today?" I talked to him about... well, about pretty well everything, money, the master's, my birthday, the lot. He sympathized with me.10 Tony got up from his stool, and went over to talk to some of the others. Remember: The Salisbury is right in the heart of the city, so all the customers were in banking or insurance or the stock market. Next day he turned up with cheques to the value of £20,000. "This is a loan for you to set up your business. The only collateral you have is my trust in you that one day, you'll pay us back—if you can. And if you can't, too bad, that's the finance business for you. But I think you will."11 I didn't say anything for fear that I was going to cry. What were the odds on anyone being so nice?12 And the flowers? I redirected them to my mum, and they arrived for her on my birthday. She deserved them, don't you think?13 If you ask me, looking back after all these years, you only need one or two breaks in your life to succeed. The fact that the rest is hard work doesn't matter, it's still worth it.14 After a year working at The Salisbury, I got a place at the LSE, did my master's and found a job in an investment bank. I in vested the £20,000, and sold out before the 2008 crash.I paid back Tony and the other investors, with ten per cent annual interest, and set up my own firm. It exceeded all my expectations and is still a thriving business.15 Tony wrote me a thank-you note. He'd been in a car accident, and couldn't walk. The money I paid back would allow him to adapt his house so he could move around it in his wheelchair. This is what he wrote:16 "Thirty-five years in banking, and I've never made a better investment than the loan to you. You've repaid the money with interest, and my trust in you and your honesty 100-fold. If you ask me, investing in people gives the best return you can ever hope for."17 If you ask me, he's right. What do you think?依我看依我看，现实生活并没有人们想象的那么好。

危险!书可能会改变你的人生1 刘易斯•卡罗尔书中的爱丽丝不小心掉进了兔子洞里，但她在那里发现了一个神奇的仙境。

当我们打开一本书时，我们也会像爱丽丝那样走进一个全新的世界。

我们能从一个年长者的角度，或通过一个孩子的眼睛来观察生活；我们可以周游世界，遍访现实生活中从没想过要访问的国家和文化；我们可以体验未曾经历过的事情，这些事情也许令人困惑，也许引人入胜；可能是不愉快的，也可能是令人痛苦的，但无论如何都至少能把我们从现实世界中解放出来。

2 英国诗人威廉•柯珀（1731—1800）说：“变化是生活的调味品，它让生活变得有滋有味。

”虽然他没有说在什么地方以及怎样才能找到变化，但我们知道他说得对。

我们知道我们生活在一个充满变化与差异的世界里，我们知道人们的生活各不相同，过日子的方式也不尽相同，人们做不同的工作，有不同的信仰，持不同的观点，有不同的风俗习惯，操不同的语言。

通常，我们不知道这些差异的大小，但一旦发生了不平常的事情并引起了我们的注意，这种变化或差异与其说是机会，毋宁说是威胁。

3 读书让我们能够安全地享受和庆贺这种变化与差异，并为我们提供成长的机会。

在家里安详平和的环境中与他人的生活互动，这是阅读小说才享有的特权。

我们甚至感觉到——哪怕只是在一瞬间——我们和其他文化读者的共同点或许要多于我们和家门口随便碰到的一个人的共同点。

我们学会把目光移出我们周围的环境，投向天边，去领略一下异域风光。

4 如果我们怀疑读书是否能给我们力量的话，我们就应该自己去一趟当地的图书馆或书店，或者，如果我们足够幸运的话，可以读一读家里书架上的书。

我们会惊奇于古今小说的标题所创造出来的壮观景象：约翰•斯坦贝克的《愤怒的葡萄》、约翰•欧文的《第四只手》、亚历山大•索尔仁尼琴的《癌病房》、欧内斯特•海明威的《丧钟为谁而鸣》、格雷厄姆•格林的《哈瓦那特派员》、奥黛丽•尼芬格的《时间旅行者的妻子》、保罗•托迪的《到也门钓鲑鱼》。

一旦开始阅读，我们就应该思考一下我们在书中读到的别样人生。

全新版⼤学英语综合教程第四册unit4课⽂翻译第四版全新版⼤学英语综合教程第四册unit4课⽂翻译（第四版） 导语：在⼤学学习英语的时候，对于全新版⼤学英语综合教程的内容你了如指掌吗?第四册第四课课⽂应该怎么翻译呢?下⾯就让⼩编来告诉你答案。

全新版⼤学英语综合教程第⼆版第四册第四课课⽂翻译1 Globalization is sweeping aside national borders and changing relations between nations. What impact does this have on national identities and loyalties? Are they strengthened or weakened? The author investigates. 全球化正在扫除国界、改变国与国之间的关系。

这对国家的认同和对国家的忠诚会带来什么影响呢?它们会得到加强还是削弱?作者对这些问题进⾏了探讨。

In Search of Davos ManPeter Gumbel 1. William Browder was born in Princeton, New Jersey, grew up in Chicago, and studied at Stanford University in California. But don't call him an American. For the past 16 of his 40 years he has lived outside the U.S., first in London and then, from 1996, in Moscow, where he runs his own investment firm. Browder now manages $1.6 billion in assets. In 1998 he gave up his American passport to become a British citizen, since his life is now centered in Europe. "National identity makes no difference for me," he says. "I feel completely international. If you have four good friends and you like what you are doing, it doesn't matter where you are. That's globalization." 寻找达沃斯⼈ 彼得·⽢贝尔 威廉·布劳德出⽣于新泽西州的普林斯顿，在芝加哥长⼤，就读于加利福尼亚州的斯坦福⼤学。

Unit 3Alienation and the InternetWill Baker1. The Internet provides an amazing forum for the free exchange of ideas. Given the relatively few restrictions governing access and usage，it is the communications modal equivalent of international waters.1 It is my personal belief that the human potential can only be realized by the globalization of ideas. I developed this position2 years before the Internet came into wide spread use. And I am excited at the potential for the Internet to dramatically alter our global society for the better. However I am also troubled by the possible unintended negative consequences.2. There has been much talk about the“new information age.”But much less widely reported has been the notion that the Internet may be responsible for furthering the fragmentation of society by alienating its individual users.3 At first this might sound like an apparent contradiction：how can something，that is on the one hand responsible for global unification by enabling the free exchange of ideas，alienate the participants？3. I had a recent discussion with a friend of mine who has what he described as a“problem”with the Internet. When I questioned him further he said that he was“addicted，”4 and has“forced”himself to go off-line. He said that he felt like an alcoholic，in that moderate use of the Internet was just not possible for him.5 I have not known this fellow to be given to exaggeration，therefore when he described his internet binges，6 when he would spend over twenty-four hours on line non-stop，it gave me pause to think. He said，“the Internet isn‘t real，but I was spending all my time on line，so I just had to stop.”He went on to say that all of the time that he spent on line might have skewed7 his sense of reality，and that it made him feel lonely and depressed.4. The fragmentation of society has been lamented for some time now. It seems to me that it probably began in earnest after World War II when a generation returned from doing great deeds overseas. They won the war，and by God they were going to win the peace. Automobile ownership became commonplace and suburbs were created.“Progress”was their mantra.8 So even prior to the Internet‘s widespread popularity，folks were already becoming distanced from their extended families and neighbors. And when we fast-forward to today we see an almost cruel irony in that people can and often do develop on-line relationships with folks on the other side of the globe，without leaving their homes. But at the expense of the time that would have otherwisebeen available for involvement in other activities which might foster a sense of community in their villages，towns and cities.5. Last weekend my wife and I invited our extended family to our home to celebrate our daughter‘s birthday. During the celebration my young nephew spent the entire time on my computer playing a simulated war game. My brother-in-law and I were chatting nearby and it struck us that in generations past，his son，my nephew，would have been outside playing with his friends. But now the little fellow goes on line to play his games against his friends in cyberspace.6. It seems to me that the Internet is a powerful tool that presents an opportunity for the advancement of the acquisition and application of knowledge. However，based on my personal experience I can understand how，as they surf the web some folks might be confronted with cognitive overload.9 And I can also understand how one might have his or her sense of reality distorted in the process. Is the Internet a real place？Depending upon how a“real place”is defined it might very well be. At the very least，I believe that when we use the Internet，we are forced to ask fundamental questions about how we perceive the world about us—perhaps another unintended consequence. Some would argue that the virtual existences created by some users who debate，shop，travel and have romance on line are in fact not real. While others would argue that，since in practical terms，folks are debating，shopping，travelling and having romance，the converse is true.7. All of this being said，I believe that the key to realizing the potential of the Internet is in achieving balance in our lives. This would allow us to maximize its potential without losing our sense of place.10 However like most things that is easier said than done. It seems to me that we are a society that values immediate gratification above all else，and what better place to achieve it than in cyberspace，where the cyber-world is your cyber-oyster.11 The widespread use of the automobile forever changed our society and culture，and perhaps a similar sort of thing is occurring now. I am not at all certain where the“information superhighway”will lead us：some say to Utopia，12 while others feel it‘s the road to hell. But I do know that we all have the ability to maintain our sense of place in the world. Whether we choose to take advantage of this ability is another matter.因特网与人际之疏远威尔·贝克1 因特网为思想的自由交流提供了一个非凡的平台。

Unit 1Never Give In, Never, Never, NeverWinston ChurchillAlmost a year has passed since I came down here at your Head Master's kind invitation in order to cheer myself and cheer the hearts of a few of my friends by singing some of our own songs. The ten months that have passed have seen very terrible catastrophic events in the world—ups and downs, misfortunes—but can anyone sitting here this afternoon, this October afternoon, not feel deeply thankful for what has happened in the time that has passed and for the very great improvement in the position of our country and of our home? Why, when I was here last time we were quite alone, desperately alone, and we had been so for five or six months. We were poorly armed. We are not so poorly armed today; but then we were very poorly armed. We had the unmeasured menace of the enemy and their air attack still beating upon us, and you yourselves had had experience of this attack; and I expect you are beginning to feel impatient that there has been this long lull with nothing particular turning up!But we must learn to be equally good at what is short and sharp and what is long and tough. It is generally said that the British are often better at the last. They do not expect to move from crisis to crisis; they do not always expect that each day will bring up some noble chance of war; but when they very slowly make up their minds that the thing has to be done and the job put through and finished, then, even if it takes months—if it takes years—they do it.Another lesson I think we may take, just throwing our minds back to our meeting here ten months ago and now, is that appearances are often very deceptive, and as Kipling well says, we must "... meet with Triumph and Disaster. And treat those two impostors just the same."You cannot tell from appearances how things will go. Sometimes imagination makes things out far worse than they are; yet without imagination not much can be done. Those people who are imaginative see many more dangers than perhaps exist; certainly many more will happen; but then they must also pray to be given that extra courage to carry this far-reaching imagination. But for everyone, surely, what we have gone through in this period—I am addressing myself to the school—surely from this period of ten months this is the lesson: never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in except to convictions of honour and goodsense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy. We stood all alone a year ago, and to many countries it seemed that our account was closed, we were finished. All this tradition of ours, our songs, our school history, this part of the history of this country, were gone and finished and liquidated.Very different is the mood today. Britain, other nations thought, had drawn a sponge across her slate. But instead our country stood in the gap. There was no flinching and no thought of giving in; and by what seemed almost a miracle to those outside these islands, though we ourselves never doubted it, we now find ourselves in a position where I say that we can be sure that we have only to persevere to conquer.You sang here a verse of a school song: you sang that extra verse written in my honour, which I was very greatly complimented by and which you have repeated today. But there is one word in it I want to alter—I wanted to do so last year, but I did not venture to. It is the line: "Not less we praise in darker days."I have obtained the Head Master's permission to alter darker to sterner. "Not less we praise in sterner days."Do not let us speak of darker days: let us speak rather of sterner days. These are not dark days; these are great days—the greatest days our country has ever lived; and we must all thank God that we have been allowed, each of us according to our stations, to play a part in making these days memorable in the history of our race.绝不屈服，绝不，绝不，绝不温斯顿·丘吉尔1 将近一年前，应贵校校长盛情邀请，我来到这里唱了几首我们自己的歌曲，既为自己加油，也为一些朋友打气。

Unit 10 The Idiocy of Urban Life1.civil: a.(1) 礼貌的[OPP] uncivile.g. His manner was civil, though not particularly friendly.He‟d been careful to be civil to everyone.The less time I have to spend being civil to him the better!(2) 公民的e.g. civil rights: basic rights that all people in a society should havecivil aviation: 民用航空aviation relating to ordinary people rather than military forces(3) of or occurring within the state or between or among citizens of the statee.g. civil war: 内战war between groups in a countrycivil servant/service文职公务员/文职人员Derivations:civilize v. raise from a barbaric to a civilized statee.g. Schools will help to civilize the wild tribes there.civilly ad. 谦恭地,礼貌地e.g.She greeted him civilly but with no sign of affection.2.echo: v. 回音,附和,模仿(1)[vi.] if a sound echoes, you hear it again because it was made near something such as a wallor hille.g. The sound of an engine echoes back from the thick forest.从茂密的森里里传来引擎的回声。

U n i t8The Discus ThrowerRichard Selzer1 I spy on my patients. Ought not a doctor to observe his patientsby any means and from any stance that he might take for the more fully assemble evidence So I stand in the doorways of hospital rooms and gaze. Oh, it is not all that furtive an act. Those in bed need only look up to discover me. But they never do.2 From the doorway of Room 542 the man in the bed seems deeply tanned.Blue eyes and close-cropped white hair give him the appearance of vigor and good health. But I know that his skin is not brown from the sun.It is rusted, rather, in the last stage of containing the vile repose within. And the blue eyes are frosted, looking inward like the windows of a snowbound cottage. This man is blind. This man is also legless ― the right leg missing from midthigh down, the left from just below the knee. It gives him the look of a bonsai, roots and branches pruned into the dwarfed facsimile of a great tree.3 Propped on pillows, he cups his right thigh in both hands. Now andthen he shakes his head as though acknowledging the intensity of his suffering. In all of this he makes no sound. Is he mute as well as blind4 The room in which he dwells is empty of all possessions ― noget-well cards, small, private caches of food, day-old flowers, slippers, all the usual kickshaws of the sick room. There is only the bed, a chair, a nightstand, and a tray on wheels that can be swung across his lap for meals.5 “What time is it” he asks.“Three o’clock.”“Morning or afternoon”“Afternoon.”He is silent. There is nothing else he wants to know.“How are you” I say.“Who are you” he asks.“It’s the doctor. How do you feel”He does not answer right away.“Feel” he says.“I hope you feel better,” I say.I press the button at the side of the bed.“Down you go,” I say.“Yes, down,” he says.6 He falls back upon the bed awkwardly. His stumps, unweighted bylegs and feet, rise in the air, presenting themselves. I unwrap the bandages from the stumps, and begin to cut away the black scabs and the dead, glazed fat with scissors and forceps. A shard of white bone comes loose. I pick it away. I wash the wounds with disinfectant and redress the stumps. All this while, he does not speak. What is he thinking behind those lids that do not blink Is he remembering a time when he was whole Does he dream of feet Or when his body was not a rotting log7 He lies solid and inert. In spite of everything, he remainsimpressive, as though he were a sailor standing athwart a slanting deck.“Anything more I can do for you” I a sk.For a long moment he is silent.“Yes,” he says at last and without the least irony. “You can bring me a pair of shoes.”In the corridor, the head nurse is waiting for me.“We have to do something about him,” she says. “Every morning he orders scrambled eggs for breakfast, and, instead of eating them, he picks up the plate and throws it against the wall.”“Throws his plate”“Nasty. That’s what he is. No wonder his family doesn’t come to visit. They probably can’t stand him any more than we can.”She is waiting for me to do something.“Well”“We’ll see,” I say.8 The next morning I am waiting in the corridor when the kitchendelivers his breakfast. I watch the aide place the tray on the standand swing it across his lap. She presses the button to raise the head of the bed. Then she leaves.9 In time the man reaches to find the rim of the tray, then on tofind the dome of the covered dish. He lifts off the cover and places it on the stand. He fingers across the plate until he probes the eggs.He lifts the plate in both hands, sets it on the palm of his right hand, centers it, balances it. He hefts it up and down slightly, getting the feel on it. Abruptly, he draws back his right arm as far as he can.10 There is the crack of the plate breaking against the wall at thefoot of his bed and the small wet sound of the scrambled eggs dropping to the floor.11 And then he laughs. It is a sound you have never heard. It issomething new under the sun. It could cure cancer.Out in the corridor, the eyes of the head nurse narrow.“Laughed, did he”She writes something down on her clipboard.12 A second aide arrives, brings a second breakfast tray, puts iton the nightstand, out of his reach. She looks over at me shaking her head and making her mouth go. I see that we are to be accomplices.13 “I’ve got to feed you,” she says to the man.“Oh, no, you don’t,” the man says.“Oh, yes, I do,” the aide says, “after the way you just did.Nurse says so.”“Get me my shoes,” the man says.“Here’s the oatmeal,” the aide says. “Open.” And she touches the spoon to his lower lip.“I ordered scrambled eggs,” says the man.“That’s right,” the aide says.I step forward.“Is there anything I can do” I say.“Who are you” the man asks.14 In the evening I go once more to that ward to make my rounds. Thehead nurse reports to me that Room 542 is deceased. She has discoveredthis by accident, she says. No, there had been no sound. Nothing. It’sa blessing, she says.15 I go into his room, a spy looking for secrets. He is still therein his bed. His face is relaxed, grave, dignified. After a while, I turn to leave. My gaze sweeps the wall at the foot of the bed, andI see the place where it has been repeatedly washed, where the walllooks very clean and white.掷铁饼者理查德·塞尔泽1 我窥探我的病人;为了更加全面地搜集例证,难道医生不应该用任何方法、从任何位置观察病人吗于是我站在医院病房门口凝望;哦,这算不上太鬼鬼祟祟的勾当;那些躺在床上的人只需抬头就可以发现我;但他们从不抬头;2 从542病房门口可以看到,躺在床上的男子肤色很深;蓝色的眼睛和剪得很短的白发给人富有活力、健康良好的印象;但我知道,他的褐色皮肤并不是晒太阳的缘故,而是机体生锈衰退、体内糜烂污物沉积、病入膏肓的表现;他的蓝眼睛雾蒙蒙的,看上去像被白雪覆盖的乡间小屋的窗户;他是个盲人;而且他失去了双腿——右腿是大腿中间以下缺失,左腿是膝盖以下;这让他看上去像一个盆景,仿佛树根和树枝都被修剪掉的微缩版的大树;3 依靠枕头的支撑,他用双手环抱着右大腿;他不时晃动脑袋来诉说他承受的巨大痛苦;但他始终一声不吭;他看不见了,难道也哑了4 他住的房间空空荡荡——没有祝愿康复的卡片,没有私藏的食物,没有放了一些时日的鲜花,也没有拖鞋,没有病房里经常看到的东西;只有病床、椅子、床头柜和一个带轮子的可以转到面前用来吃饭的托板;5 “现在几点了”他问道;“3点;”“凌晨还是下午”“下午;”他沉默不语;他想知道的只有这些;“您感觉怎样”我问;“你是谁”他问;“医生;您感觉怎样”他没有马上回答;“感觉”他说;“我希望您感觉好些了;”我说;我按了一下病床边上的按钮;“您躺下来;”我说;“是的,躺下来;”他说;6 他笨拙地倒回到病床上;他的残肢失去了双腿与双脚的支撑,抬起在空中,暴露无遗;我把残肢上的绷带解开,开始用剪刀和镊子把黑色的硬皮和坏死凝滞的脂肪剪掉;一段白色骨片即将脱落,我把它去除掉;我用消毒液清洗伤口,将残肢重新包扎起来;整个过程他默不作声;在那眨也不眨的眼皮后面,他在想什么呢他在回忆四肢健全的时光吗他在梦回拥有双足的往昔吗或是回想他的身体不是现在这样一截日益凋朽的残干的过去吗7 他僵直地躺着;尽管如此,他仍然令人印象深刻,如同一名斜立在倾侧甲板上的水手;“我还能为您做点什么”他沉默了很长时间;“是的,”终于他一本正经地说：“你给我拿双鞋过来吧;”走廊里,护士长正等着我;“我们对他不能束手无策;”她说,“每天早饭他都要求吃炒蛋,但是,他从来不吃,拿起盘子就砸在墙上;”“砸盘子”“真讨厌;他就是这种人;难怪家里人不来看他;也许就像我们受不了他一样,他家里人也受不了;”她等着我做点什么;“你说呢”“我们看看该怎么办;”我说;8 第二天早上厨房送餐时我等在走廊里;我看着助手将盘子放在托板上,托板移到他大腿上方;她按下按钮把床头升高,随后离开;9 他很快摸索着找到了托板的边缘,接着又找到了盘子上的盖子;他揭开盖子把它放在托板上;他用手指在盘子上摸索着,直到摸到了炒蛋;他双手端起盘子,放到右手上,移到手心里,然后把它稳住;他上下掂着盘子寻找感觉;突然,他把右臂尽量绷直伸向后方;10 盘子被扔到床脚处的墙上发出碎裂声,还有炒蛋掉落在地板上发出的湿湿的轻响;11 然后他笑了;这是你闻所未闻的笑声;这是阳光下新奇的声音;可以治愈癌症的声音;外面的走廊上,护士长的眼睛眯缝起来;“他笑了,对吧”她往写字夹板上写了点什么;12 第二名助手来了,用托盘送来第二份早饭,把它放在床头柜上他够不着的地方;她看着我摇摇头,只是动了动嘴唇;我明白我们得合作一下;13 “我只好喂你了,”她对他说;“哦,不,不用;”他说;“哦,不,我得帮你;”助手说,“因为你刚才的表现;护士说得喂你;”“把我鞋子拿来;”他说;“这是燕麦,”助手说,“张嘴;”然后她把汤勺碰着他的下嘴唇;“我要的是炒蛋;”他说;“对;”助手说;我凑上前去;“我能做点什么吗”我问;“你是谁”他问;14 晚上我再次来到病房巡视;护士长告诉我542房的病人过世了;她说她是凑巧发现的;他悄无声息地走了;悄无声息;谢天谢地,她说;15 我走进他的病房,像一个寻找秘密的间谍;他还在那里,躺在床上;他面容松弛、严肃而又不失尊严;过了一会儿,我转身离开;我的眼光扫到床尾墙脚处,看到那里经过反复冲洗,墙显得很干净、很洁白;。

Unit 11.I had arranged for them to meet each other at the pub but the young man never turned up.（turn up）我安排他们在小酒吧见面，但那个小伙子一直都没有来。

2.You cannot tell merely from appearance whether things will turn out unfavorable to us or not.（tell from appearance）你无法仅凭表象判断形势是否会变得对我们不利。

3.The soldier, who stood in the gap in every battle, gained the highest honors of the country.（stand in the gap）那个士兵每次打仗都冲锋在前，从而赢得了国家最高的荣誉。

4.Tha chairman spoke so forcefully that the rest of the committee yielded to his opinions.（yield to）主席讲话很有说服力，委员会其他成员都听从他的意见。

5.They are well-to-do now, but along the way they had their ups and downs.（ups and downs）他们现在生活富裕了，但也曾经历坎坷。

6.There are two questions to which I will address myself in this lecture.（address oneself to）这次演讲我将说明两个问题。

7.We are planning a big Christmas party in your honour.（in somebody’s honour）我们正筹划为你举办一次盛大的圣诞聚会。

全新版大学英语综合教程4课文翻译.doc本文提供大学英语综合教程4中所有课文的翻译，方便学生学习。

Unit 1Lesson 1 A Social Survey 社会调查社会学家经常进行社会调查以了解人们对各种社会问题的看法和态度。

这篇短文来自一个调查，统计了人们对学生选择大学专业的看法。

在此调查中，人们倾向于支持大学生选择他们所热衷和擅长的专业。

Lesson 2 The Search for Our Human Ancestors 人类祖先的搜索由于人类进化的历史悠久而复杂，因此研究人类进化历史是一个充满挑战和充满机遇的领域。

这篇文章介绍了一些人类祖先的发现和研究，包括露西、哈耶克和阿尔迪。

这些发现为我们提供了更深入的了解人类进化的历史和过程。

Lesson 3 Cultural Differences and Communication 文化差异和交流文化差异是人类在不同地理和历史条件下演变而来的独特特征。

这篇文章探讨了不同文化背景下的交流问题，包括直率性、表达方式、沟通方式和语言障碍。

正确认识和理解文化差异是促进跨文化交流的关键。

Unit 2Lesson 1 A World Language 一种世界语言英语是当今世界上最广泛使用的语言之一。

这篇文章介绍了英语的历史和地位，以及它在全球化时代中的重要性。

同时，这篇文章还提到了一些争议和挑战，如英语在文化多样性和语言歧视方面的影响。

Lesson 2 Cultural Identity 文化认同文化认同是一个人感到自己属于哪个文化群体的意识和认知。

这篇文章讨论了文化认同的重要性、影响因素和表现形式。

同时，文化认同也是如今世界上一些热点问题的根源，如移民、文化冲突和文化多样性。

Lesson 3 Economic Development 经济发展经济发展是国家和地区发展的一个核心因素。

这篇文章介绍了经济发展的重要性、影响因素和不同国家的经济体系。

同时，也提到了一些与经济发展相关的挑战和问题，如全球化、环境问题和贫困问题。

职高下册unit10课文翻译 职高英语下册Unit 10课文翻译。 一、课文原文呈现。 Reading. The Internet has become an important part of our daily lives. It has changed the way we live, work, and communicate.

We can use the Internet to search for information. Whether it's for school projects, work research, or just to satisfy our curiosity, search engines like Google can provide us with a vast amount of relevant data in a matter of seconds. For example, if you are writing a report on environmental protection, you can quickly find articles, statistics, and case studies from all over the world.

Online shopping is another popular application of the Internet. With just a few clicks of the mouse, we can browse through countless online stores, compare prices, and purchase a wide variety of products. From clothes and electronics to groceries and furniture, almost everything can be bought online. This not only saves us time but also gives us access to a much larger selection of goods than traditional brick-and-mortar stores.

大英4综合教程课后翻译第一篇：大英4综合教程课后翻译UNIT11.随着职务的提升，他担负的责任也更大了。

(take on)Answer: With his promotion, he has taken on greater responsibilities.2.他感到没有必要再一次对约翰承担这样的责任了。

(make a commitment)Answer: He felt he did not have to make such a commitment to John any more.3.闲暇时玛丽喜欢外出购物，与她相反，露茜却喜欢待在家里看书。

(as opposed to)Answer: Mary likes to go shopping in her spare time, as opposed to Lucy, who prefers to stay at home reading.4.说得好听一些，可以说他有抱负，用最糟糕的话来说，他是一个没有良心(conscience)且没有资格的权力追求者。

(at best, at worst)Answer: At best he 's ambitious, and at worst a power-seeker without conscience or qualifications.5.我们已尽全力想说服他，但是却毫无进展。

(strive, make no headway)Answer: We have striven to the full to convince him, but we have made no headway.UNIT21.宪法规定公民享有言论自由。

(provide for)Answer: The Constitution provides for citizen’s freedom of speech.2.我们在如何养育孩子的问题上有截然不同的看法，因此常发生争吵。

Unit 10 The Jeaning of AmericaThis is the story of a sturdy American symbol which has now spread throughout most of the world. The symbol is not the dollar. It is not even Coca-Cola. It is a simple pair of pants called blue jeans， and what the pants symbolize is what Alexis de Tocqueville called "a manly and legitimate passion for equality-—-” Blue jeans are favored equally by bureaucrats and cowboys； bankers and deadbeats； fashion designers and beer drinkers。

They draw no distinctions and recognize no classes; they are merely American。

Yet they are sought after almost everywhere in the world -- including Russia， where authorities recently broke up a teen-aged gang that was selling them on the black market for two hundred dollars a pair. They have been around for a long time, and it seems likely that they will outlive even the necktie.This ubiquitous American symbol was the invention of a Bavarian-born Jew。

大学英语综合教程课文翻译大学英语综合教程课文翻译One Writer's Beginnings1 I learned from the age of two or three that any room in our house, at any time of day, was there to read in, or to be read to. My mother read to me. She'd read to me in the big bedroom in the mornings, when we were in her rocker together, which ticked in rhythm as we rocked, as though we had a cricket accompanying the story. She'd read to me in the dining room on winter afternoons in front of the coal fire, with our cuckoo clock ending the story with "Cuckoo", and at night when I'd got in my own bed. I must have given her no peace. Sometimes she read to me in the kitchen while she sat churning, and the churning sobbed along with any story. It was my ambition to have her read to me while I churned; once she granted my wish, but she read off my story before I brought her butter. She was an expressive reader. When she was reading "Puss in Boots," for instance, it was impossible not to know that she distrusted all cats.作家起步时我从两三岁起就知道，家中随便在哪个房间里，白天无论在什么时间，都可以念书或听人念书。

全册高中英语必修4课文逐句翻译(外研版)1.必修四Module1 The City of the Future未来城市What will the city of the future look like?未来的城市会是什么样子呢？ No one knows for sure, and making predictions is a risky business. 没有人确切的了解，预测也是一件很危险的事情。

But one thing is certain---they are going to get bigger before they get smaller.但是有一件事情是可以肯定的---他们将会先变大，然后再变小。

In the future, care for the environment will become very important as earth's natural resources run out. 在未来，爱护环境将会很重要，因为地球的资源将濒临枯竭。

We will use lots of recycled materials, such as plastic, aluminum, steel, glass, wood and paper, and we will waste fewer natural resources. 我们将会使用大量的可回收材料，例如，塑料、铝、钢铁、玻璃、木头和纸。

我们浪费自然资源的程度将会有所减弱。

We will also have to rely more on alternative energy, such as solar and wind power.我们也将不得不更多地依赖其他能源。

例如，太阳能和风能。

All this seems certain, but there are plenty of things about city life in the future which are not certain. 所有的这些似乎是肯定的，但是还有许多关于城市生活的事情仍是未知的。