但是鹦鹉仍然牢牢地用力抓着横木不放，于是他说：“怎么了？你疯了吗？”他试图用手把鹦鹉弄出来，但是鹦鹉却开始啄他，同时大喊：“自由！自由！”深夜的山谷里荡起了一声又一声的回音，可是这个人也一样地顽固，谁让他是个自由斗士呢。
他把鹦鹉拽出来，扔向空中。他很满意，尽管他的手受伤了。虽然鹦鹉尽全力地攻击他，但是他却深深地心满意足，因为他使得一个灵魂自由了。于是他便回去继续睡觉。
早上，他睡醒了，听见鹦鹉正在大喊：“自由！自由！”他想也许鹦鹉正落在一棵树上或一块石头上呢。但当他出来的时候，鹦鹉正在笼子里，笼门还开着。
轻英语
常见英文标识
EMS 特快专递
No Cycling in the School 校内禁止骑车
SOS 紧急求救信号
Hands Wanted 招聘
No Litter 勿乱扔杂物
Hands Off 请勿用手摸
Keep Silence 保持安静
On Sale 削价出售
No Bills 不准张贴
Cafe 咖啡馆，小餐馆
Bar 酒吧
Travel Agency 旅行社
Poison 有毒/毒品
Guard Against Damp 防潮
Beware of Pickpocket 谨防扒手
Entrance 入口
Exit 出口
Push 推
Pull 拉
Menu 菜单
Fragile 易碎
This Side Up 此面向上
What the Professor Teaches
教授的教诲
By Joann C. JonesDuring my second year ofnursing school our professor gaveus a quiz. I breezed through thequestions until I read the last one，“What is the first name of thewoman who cleans the school？”
Surely this was a joke. I had seenthe cleaning woman several times，but how would I know her name？ Ihanded in my paper，leaving the lastquestion blank.
Before the class ended，one studentasked if the last question would count toward our grade. “Absolutely，” the professor said. “Inyour careers，you will meet many people. All are significant. They deserve your attention andcare，even if all you do is smile and say hello.”
I’ve never forgotten the valuable lesson. I also learned her name was Dorothy.
李起 译
我在护理学院读二年级时，教授对我们进行了一次测验。我轻松地做着试题，直到读了最后一道题：“学院的女清洁工叫什么名字？”这肯定是个玩笑。我曾见过女清洁工好几次，可我怎么会知道她的名字呢？空着最后一道题，我交了试卷。
下课前，有个学生问最后一道题是否计入我们的成绩。“当然！”教授答道，“在你们的职业生涯中，将遇到许多人，每个人都同样重要，他们都应得到你们的关心和照顾，纵然你们所能做的仅是冲他们微笑并问好。”
我从未忘记那珍贵的一课，而且我也记住了女清洁工的名字叫多萝西。
轻英语
外出旅游英语必备（1）
1.Great minds think alike. 英雄所见略同。
2.Get going！ 赶快动身吧！
3.We’ve got to hit the road. 我们要上路了。
4.Time is running out. 没时间了。
5.Once bitten，twice shy. 一朝被蛇咬，十年怕井绳。
6.Look at the big picture. 以大局为重。
7.I’m exhausted. 筋疲力尽。
8.I’ve got my second wind. 我恢复了体力。
9.My stomach is growling. 我的肚子在呱呱叫了。
10.Hungry dogs will eat dirty puddings. 饥不择食。
Welcome to Our Home
欢迎来到我们的家
By Daniel McGaryThose first few weeks at Ms.
Dorothy’s house are forever searedinto my mind. I recall the first timeI walked through her front door，tripping over a mat situated justbeyond the entrance. I found myselfsharing the floor with that mat，brightly labeled “welcome to ourhome.” Standing to see the groupof people I’d been told were my newfamily，I found myself unable to facethem. Instead，I looked down at the floor，at amat that tormented me with words I didn’t want to read.
Welcome to their home. Welcome to their lives. Welcome to their rooms and their toysand their mother. All theirs，but I didn’t want theirs-I had my own. I longed for my home.
For my life. For my room and my toys，but most of all，for my mother.
I stood there，head hung low，as Ms. Dorothy introduced me to Dartanian and Sylvia，mynew foster siblings. They showed no more interest in me than I did in them. They too wereveterans of “the system.” They understood，just as I did，that brothers and sisters，mothersand fathers，they change. Tomorrow，ornext week，or in a month if it lasted thatlong，there would be a new family. So wehad shells，all of us，fortified by one moveafter another，strengthened by betrayal anddisappointment.
As though infectious，my silencebecame theirs. I lifted my head，lookingfirst at Dartanian，then at Sylvia. Their eyeswere as empty as my own，and their hearts，Iknew，were just as hollow.
In the following days，I went throughthe usual routine that comes with a newhome： a new school，a new doctor，a newtherapist. New people who would tell me thesame things. New places that would soonbe forgotten. The days went on as usual，butwith the nights came change.
More than a week passed before itoccurred to me that I hadn’t been crying atbedtime.
For several years，that had been myroutine. I kept everything inside during theday，suppressing thoughts of my family andmy old life. At night，I relived my fondestmemories： swimming in the red river withmy older brothers，chasing my sisters withbullfrogs and crickets，sitting in my mother’slap as we rocked back and forth in that oldwooden rocking chair，singing songs aboutbabies in treetops and diamond rings thatdidn’t shine.
I felt guilty for neglecting my nightlyroutine. In penitence，I brought to mindthose memories I held closest to my heart.
I was obliged to make up for the tears I’dso carelessly forgotten to shed. I felt thatI’d betrayed my family in failing to lamenttheir absence. To my dismay，no tears oroverwhelming sadness accompanied thememories I replayed in my mind. This wasnot acceptable. I didn’t know why at thetime，but I simply had to cry. I had to suffer.
D e s p i t e t h i n k i n g o f t h i n g s t h a tpreviously elicited a torrent of tears，I couldnot cry. I know now what I did not knowthen. The tears and the mourning，and theconsistency to which I applied my suffering，were ways of holding onto a family that Iknew deep inside were lost to me forever.
By crying，I kept myselfemotionally attached to agroup of people who wereunable to reciprocate myaffections. My emotionswere so firmly rooted in thepast that I was unable toexperience happiness in the present.
That night，as I lay in bed，I took my first step onto a long path of healing and selfdiscovery.
It is a sad truth that sometimes，though frighteningly difficult，we must relinquishparts of our past to live happily in the present.
李起 编译
在多萝西女士家中最初那几周的情景永远铭刻于我的脑海。我回想起自己第一次穿过她的前门，轻快地走过位于入口处的一张地席时的样子，我发现自己同那张鲜亮地标注着“欢迎来到我们的家”的席子一起分享着地板。我站在那儿看到一群人，据说他们是我的新家人，我发现自己无法面对他们。于是，我低头望着地板，望着用我不愿读的字折磨我的地席。
欢迎来到他们的家、欢迎融入他们的生活、欢迎进入他们的房间、欢迎玩他们的玩具、欢迎投入他们母亲的怀抱-一切都属于他们。但我不想要他们的东西，我有过属于自己的一切。我渴望能有自己的家、自己的生活、自己的房间及自己的玩具，但我最渴望的是有自己的母亲。
当多萝西女士将我介绍给达塔妮安与西尔维娅-我的新姊妹时，我站在那儿，垂着头。她们对我并没有流露出比我对他们更多的兴趣，她们太熟悉这种“家庭体系”
了。同我一样，她们明白兄妹、父母都会改变。明天，或下周，或1个月后-如果持续那么久，一个新的家庭就将形成。所以，我们都有一个外壳，所有人都有-因不断地有人离开而设防，因背弃与失望而愈加坚固。
就像感染一样，我的沉默变成了他们的沉默。我抬起头，先看了看达塔妮安，然后看了看西尔维娅。他们的眼神与我一样空洞，我相信他们的内心也与我一样空虚。
此后的几天，我经历着伴随一个新家庭带来的一切常规：一所新学校、一个新医生、一个新治疗专家。新结识的人将告诉我同样的事，新处所很快将被忘记，白天如往常一样进行，夜晚却改变了。
一个多星期过去了，我才突然想起睡觉时自己未曾流泪。
几年来，那一直是我的惯例。白天，我将一切都埋藏于心中，强忍着不去想家人及以往的生活。夜晚，我释放自己最愉快的回忆：与哥哥一起在红河中畅游、与牛蛙及蟋蟀一起追逐姐姐们、在那张旧的木制摇椅上来回摇时，我坐在妈妈的腿上唱《树梢上的婴儿》及《不闪光的钻戒》
之类的歌曲。
