简单英语励志故事短文（精编3篇）
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英语短文故事精选1
Run, Patti, Run!
Mark V. Hansen
At a young and tender age, Patti Wilson was told by her doctor that she was an epileptic. Her father, Jim Wilson, is a morning jogger. One day she smiled through her braces and said, “Daddy what I'd really love to do is running with you every day, but I'm afraid I'll have a seizure.” Her father told her, “If you do, I know how to handle it, so let's start running!”
That's just what they did every day. It was a wonderful experience for them to share and there were no seizures at all while she was running. After a few weeks, she told her father, “Daddy, what I'd really love to do is break the world's long-distance running record for women.”
Her father checked the Guiness Book of World Records and found that the farthest any woman had run was 80 miles. As a freshman in high school, Patti announced, “I'm going to run from Orange County up to San Francisco.” (A distance of 400 miles.) “As a sophomore,” she went on, “I'm going to run to Portland, Oregon.” (Over 1500 miles.) “As a junior I'll run to St. Louis.” (About miles) “As a senior I'll run to the White House.” (More than 3000 miles away.) In view of her handicap, Patti was as ambitious as she was enthusiastic, but she said she looked at the handicap of being an epileptic as simply “an inconvenience.” She focused not on what she had lost, but on what she had left.
That year, she completed her run to San Francisco wearing a T-shirt that read, “I Love Epileptics.” Her dad ran every mile at her side, and her mom, a nurse, followed in a motor home behind them in case anything went wrong. In her sophomore year, Patti's classmates got behind her. They built a giant poster that read, “Run, Patti, Run!” (This has since become her motto and the title of a book she has written.) On her second marathon, en route to Portland, she fractured a bone in her foot. A doctor told her she had to stop her run. He said, “I've got to put a cast on your ankle so that you don't sustain permanent damage.”
“Doc, you don't understand,” she said. “This isn't just a whim of mine, it's a magnificent obsession! I'm not just doing it for me, I'm doing it to break the chains on the brains that limit so many others. Isn't there a way I can keep running?” He gave her one option. He could wrap it in adhesive instead of putting it in a cast. He warned her that it would be incredibly painful, and he told her, “It will blister.” She told the doctor to wrap it up. She finished the run to Portland, completing her last mile with the governor of Oregon. You may have seen the headlines: “Super Runner, Patti Wilson Ends Marathon For Epilepsy On Her 17th Birthday.”
After four months of almost continuous running from West Coast to the East Coast, Patti arrived in Washington and shook the hand of the President of United States. She told him, “I wanted people to know that epileptics are normal human beings with normal lives.”
I told this story at one of my seminars not long ago, and afterward a big teary-eyed man came up to me, stuck out his big meaty hand and said, “Mark, my name is Jim Wilson. You were talking about my daughter, Patti.” Because of her noble efforts, he told me, enough money had been raised to open up 19 multi-million-dollar epileptic centers around the country.
If Patti Wilson can do so much with so little, what can you do to outperform yourself in a state of total wellness?
英语短文故事2
锁之国
鲍伯·格林Bob Greene
1 In the house where I grew up， it was our custom to leave the front door on the latch at night。 I don't know if that was a local term or if it is universal; “on the latch” meant the door was closed but not locked。 None of us carried keys; the last one in for the evening would close up， and that was it。
小时候在家里，我们的前门总是夜不落锁。我不知道这是当地的一种说法还是大家都这么说；“不落锁”的意思是掩上门，但不锁住。我们谁都不带钥匙；晚上最后一个回家的人把门关上，这就行了。
2 Those days are over。 In rural areas as well as in cities， doors do not stay unlocked， even for part of an evening。
那样的日子已经一去不复返了。在乡下，在城里，门不再关着不锁上，哪怕是傍晚一段时间也不例外。
3 Suburbs and country areas are， in many ways， even more vulnerable than well-patroled urban streets。 Statistics show the crime rate rising more dramatically in those allegedly tranquil areas than in cities。 At any rate， the era of leaving the front door on the latch is over。
在许多方面，郊区和农村甚至比巡查严密的城市街道更易受到攻击。统计显示，那些据称是安宁的地区的犯罪率上升得比城镇更为显著。不管怎么说，前门虚掩不落锁的时代是一去不复返了。
4 It has been replaced by dead-bolt locks， security chains， electronic alarm systems and trip wires hooked up to a police station or private guard firm。 Many suburban families have sliding glass doors on their patios， with steel bars elegantly built in so no one can pry the doors open。
取而代之的是防盗锁、防护链、电子报警系统，以及连接警署或私人保安公司的报警装置。郊区的许多人家在露台上安装了玻璃滑门，内侧有装得很讲究的钢条，这样就没人能把门撬开。
5 It is not uncommon， in the most pleasant of homes， to see pasted on the windows small notices announcing that the premises are under surveillance by this security force or that guard company。 在最温馨的居家，也常常看得到窗上贴着小小的告示，称本宅由某家安全机构或某个保安公司负责监管。
6 The lock is the new symbol of America。 Indeed， a recent public-service advertisement by a large insurance company featured not charts showing how much at risk we are， but a picture o｛｝f a child's bicycle with the now-usual padlock attached to it。
锁成了美国的新的象征。的确，一家大保险公司最近的一则公益广告没有用图表表明我们所处的危险有多大，而是用了一幅童车的图片，车身上悬着如今无所不在的挂锁。
7 The ad pointed out that， yes， it is the insurance companies that pay for stolen goods， but who is going to pay for what the new atmosphere of distrust and fear is doing to our way of life? Who is going to make the psychic payment for the transformation of America from the Land of the Free to the Land of the Lock?
广告指出，没错，确是保险公司理赔失窃物品，但谁来赔偿互不信任、担心害怕这种新氛围对我们的生活方式所造成的影响呢？谁来对美国从自由之国到锁之国这一蜕变作出精神赔偿呢？
8 For that is what has happened。 We have become so used to defending ourselves against the new atmosphere of American life， so used to putting up barriers， that we have not had time to think about what it may mean。
因为那就是现状。我们已经变得如此习惯于保护自己不受美国生活新氛围的影响，如此习惯于设置障碍，因而无暇考虑这一切意味着什么。
9 For some reason we are satisfied when we think we are well-protected; it does not occur to us to ask ourselves： Why has this happened? Why are we having to barricade ourselves against our neighbors and fellow citizens， and when， exactly， did this start to take over our lives?
出于某种原因，当我们觉得防范周密时就感到心满意足；我们没有问过自己：为什么会出现这种情况？为什么非得把自己与邻居和同住一城的居民相隔绝，这一切究竟是从什么时候开始主宰我们生活的？
10 And it has taken over。 If you work for a medium- to large-size company， chances are that you don't just wander in and out of work。 You probably carry some kind of access card， electronic or otherwise， that allows you in and out of your place of work。 Maybe the security guard at the front desk knows your face and will wave you in most days， but the fact remains that the business you work for feels threatened enough to keep outsiders away via these “keys。”
这一切确是主宰了我们的生活。如果你在一家大中型公司上班，你上下班很可能不好随意进出。你可能随身带着某种出入卡，电子的或别的什么的，因为这卡能让你进出工作场所。也许前台的保安认识你这张脸，平日一挥手让你进去，但事实明摆着，你所任职的公司深感面临威胁，因此要借助这些“钥匙”不让外人靠近。
11 It wasn't always like this。 Even a decade ago， most private businesses had a policy of free access。 It simply didn't occur to managers that the proper thing to do was to distrust people。
这一现象并非向来有之。即使在十年前，大多数私营公司仍采取自由出入的做法。那时管理人员根本没想到过恰当的手段是不信任他人。
12 Look at the airports。 Parents used to take children out to departure gates to watch planes land and take off。 That's all gone。 Airports are no longer a place of education and fun; they are the most sophisticated of security sites。
且看各地机场。过去家长常常带孩子去登机口看飞机起飞降落。这种事再也没有了。机场不再是一个有趣的学习场所；它们成了拥有最精密的安全检查系统的场所。
13 With electronic X-ray equipment， we seem finally to have figured out a way to hold the terrorists， real and imagined， at bay; it was such a relief to solve this problem that we did not think much about what such a state of affairs says about the quality of our lives。 We now pass through these electronic friskers without so much as a sideways glance; the machines， and what they stand for， have won。
凭借着电子透视装置，我们似乎终于想出妙计让无法近身，无论是真的还是凭空臆想的。能解决这一问题真是如释重负，于是我们不去多想这种状况对我们的生活质量意味着什么。如今我们走过这些电子搜查器时已经看都不看一眼了，这些装置，还有它们所代表的一切已经获胜。
14 Our neighborhoods are bathed in high-intensity light; we do not want to afford ourselves even so much a luxury as a shadow。
我们的居住区处在强光源的照射下；我们连哪怕像阴影这样小小的享受也不想给自己。
15 Businessmen， in increasing numbers， are purchasing new machines that hook up to the telephone and analyze a caller's voice。 The machines are supposed to tell the businessman， with a small margin of error， whether his friend or client is telling lies。
越来越多的商人正购置连接在电话机上、能剖析来电者声音的新机器。据说那种机器能让商人知道他的朋友或客户是否在撒谎，其出错概率很小。
16 All this is being done in the name of “security”; that is what we tell ourselves。 We are fearful， and so we devise ways to lock the fear out， and that， we decide， is what security means。
所有这一切都是以“安全”的名义实施的：我们是这么跟自己说的。我们害怕，于是我们设法把害怕锁在外面，我们认定，那就是安全的意义。
17 But no; with all this “security，” we are perhaps the most insecure nation in the history of civilized man。 What better word to describe the way in which we have been forced to live? What sadder reflection on all that we have become in this new and puzzling time?
其实不然；我们虽然有了这一切安全措施，但我们或许是人类文明史上最不安全的国民。还有什么更好的字眼能用来描述我们被迫选择的生活方式呢？还有什么更为可悲地表明我们在这个令人困惑的新时代所感受到的惶恐之情呢？
18 We trust no one。 Suburban housewives wear rape whistles on their station wagon key chains。 We have become so smart about self-protection that， in the end， we have all outsmarted ourselves。 We may have locked the evils out， but in so doing we have locked ourselves in。
我们不信任任何人。郊区的家庭主妇在客货两用车钥匙链上挂着防强暴口哨。我们在自我防卫方面变得如此聪明，最终聪明反被聪明误。我们或许是把邪恶锁在了门外，但在这么做的同时我们把自己锁在里边了。
19 That may be the legacy we remember best when we look back on this age： In dealing with the unseen horrors among us， we became prisoners of ourselves。 All of us prisoners， in this time of our troubles。
那也许是我们将来回顾这一时代时记得最牢的精神遗产：在对付我们中间无形的恐惧之时，我们成了自己的囚徒。在我们这个问题重重的时代，所有的人都是囚徒。
英语短文故事精选3
I was now five, and still I showed no real sign of intelligence. I showed no apparent interest in things except with my toes – more especially those of my left foot. Although my natural habits were clean I could not aid myself, but in this respect my father took care of me. I used to lie on my back all the time in the kitchen or, on bright warm sunny days, out in the garden, a little bundle of crooked muscle and twisted nerves, surrounded by a family that loved me and hoped for me and that made me part of their own warmth and humanity. I was lonely, imprisoned in a world of my own, unable to communicate with others, cut off, separated from them as though a glass wall stood between my existence and theirs, thrusting me beyond the sphere of their lives and activities. I longed to run about and play with the rest, but I was unable to break loose from my bondage.
Then, suddenly, it happened! In a moment everything was changed, my future life moulded into a definite shape, my mother’s faith in me rewarded and her secret fear changed into open triumph. It happened so quickly, so simply after all the years of waiting and uncertainty that I can see and feel the whole scene as if it had happened last week. It was the afternoon of a cold, grey December day. The streets outside glistened with snow; the white sparkling flakes stuck and melted on the window-panes and hung on the boughs of the trees like molten silver. The wind howled dismally, whipping up little whirling columns of snow that rose and fell at every fresh gust. And over all, the dull, murky sky stretched like a dark canopy, a vast infinity of greyness.
Inside, all the family were gathered round the big kitchen fire that lit up the little room with a warm glow and made giant shadows dance on the walls and ceiling.
In a corner Mona and Paddy were sitting huddled together, a few torn school primers before them. They were writing down little sums on to an old chipped slate, using a bright piece of yellow chalk. I was close to them, propped up by a pillow against the wall, watching.
It was the chalk that attracted me so much. It was a long slender stick of vivid yellow. I had never seen anything like it before, and it showed up so well against the black surface of the slate that I was fascinated by it as much as if it had been a stick of gold.
Suddenly I wanted desperately to do what my sister was doing. Then – without thinking or knowing exactly what I was doing, I reached out and took the stick of chalk out of my sister’s hand – with my left foot.
I do not know why I used my left foot to do this. It is a puzzle to many people as well as to myself, for, although I had displayed a curious interest in my toes at an early age, I had never attempted before this to use either of my feet in any way. They could have been as useless to me as were my hands. That day, however, my left foot, apparently on its own volition, reached out and very impolitely took the chalk out of my sister’s hand.
I held it tightly between my toes, and, acting on an impulse, made a wild sort of scribble with it on the slate. Next moment I stopped, a bit dazed, surprised, looking down at the stick of yellow chalk stuck between my toes, not knowing what to do with it next, hardly knowing how it got there. Then I looked and became aware that everyone had stopped talking and were staring at me silently. Nobody stirred. Mona, her black curls framing her chubby little face, stared at me with great big eyes and open mouth. Across the open hearth, his face lit by flames, sat my father, leaning forward, hands outspread on his knees, his shoulders tense. I felt the sweat break out on my forehead.
My mother came in from the pantry with a steaming pot in her hand. She stopped midway between the table and the fire, feeling the tension flowing through the room. She followed their stare and saw me, in the corner. Her eyes looked from my face down to my foot, with the chalk gripped between my toes. She put down the pot.
The she crossed over to me and knelt down beside me, as she had done so many times before. ‘I’ll show you what to do with it, Chris,’ she said, very slowly and in a queer, jerky way, her face flushed as if with some inner excitement.
Taking another piece of chalk from Mona, she hesitated, then very deliberately drew, on the floor in front of me, the single letter ‘A’. ‘Copy that,’ she said, looking steadily at me. ‘Copy it, Christy.’ I couldn’t.
I looked about me, looked around at the faces that were turned towards me, excited faces that were at that moment frozen, immobile, eager, waiting for a miracle in their midst. The stillness was profound. The room was full of flame and shadow that danced before my eyes and lulled my taut nerves into a sort of waking sleep. I could hear the sound of the water-tap dripping in the pantry, the loud ticking of the clock on the mantelshelf, and the soft hiss and crackle of the logs on the open hearth.
I tried again. I put out my foot and made a wild jerking stab with the chalk which produced a very crooked line and nothing more. Mother held the slate steady for me. ‘Try again, Chris,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘Again.’
I did. I stiffened my body and put my left foot out again, for the third time. I drew one side of the letter. I drew half the other side. Then the stick of chalk broke and I was left with a stump. I wanted to fling it away and give up. Then I felt my mother’s hand on my shoulder. I tried once more. Out went my foot. I shook, I sweated and strained every muscle. My hands were so tightly clenched that my finger nails bit into the flesh. I set my teeth so hard that I nearly pierced my lower lip. Everything in the room swam till the faces around me were mere patches of white. But – I drew it – the letter ‘A’. There it was on the floor before me. Shaky, with awkward, wobbly sides and a very uneven centre line. But it was the letter ‘A’. I looked up. I saw my mother’s face for a moment, tears on her cheeks. Then my father stooped down and hoisted me on his shoulder.
I had done it! It had started – the thing that was to give my mind its chance of expressing itself. True, I couldn’t speak with my lips, but now I would speak through something more lasting than spoken words – written words.
That one letter, scrawled on the floor with a broken bit of yellow chalk gripped between my toes, was my road to a new world, my key to mental freedom. It was to provide a source of relaxation to the tense, taut thing that was me which panted for expression behind a twisted mouth.