the,horse手表

篇一：The wolf and the horse 狼和马

A wolf on his rambles1 came to a field of oats, but, but being able to eat them. He was passing on his way when a horse came along. "Look," said the Wolf, "here's fine field of oats. For your sake I have left it untouched, and I shall greatly enjoy the sound of your teeth munching2 the ripe grain." But the horse replied, "If wolves could eat oats. my fine friend, you would hardly have indulged your ears at the cost of your belly3."

There is no virtue4 in giving to others what is useless to oneself.

一只狼溜达着来到一个麦田，然而，狼并不吃大麦，看见一匹马走过来，他便让开了。狼对马说：“看吧，这是一块上好的麦田，为了给你留着，我都没敢动。而且，我非常喜欢听你牙齿咀嚼成熟麦穗的声音。”然而，马却回答说：“朋友，如果狼能吃大麦，你就未必喜欢听我吃麦穗的声音了。”

词汇解析：

1 rambles

（无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 参考例句：

He rambles in his talk. 他谈话时漫无中心。

You will have such nice rambles on the moors. 你可以在旷野里好好地溜达溜达。 2 munching

v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 )

参考例句：

He was munching an apple. 他在津津有味地嚼着苹果。 来自《简明英汉词典》 Munching the apple as he was, he had an eye for all her movements. 他虽然啃着苹果，但却很留神地监视着她的每一个动作。 来自辞典例句

3 belly

n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛

参考例句：

The boss has a large belly.老板大腹便便。

His eyes are bigger than his belly.他眼馋肚饱。

4 virtue

n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力

参考例句：

He was considered to be a paragon of virtue.他被认为是品德尽善尽美的典范。 You need to decorate your mind with virtue.你应该用德行美化心灵。

更多英语学习：企业英语

篇二：The Trojan Horse

The Trojan Horse

Trojan Horse is from Latin Equns Trojanus. It is an international idiom and is used in the world's major languages, such as Chinese vocabulary. On Contradictions, Mao Zedong said that Song Jiang used the "Trojan horse" to attack Zhu Jiazhuang in the "Water Mar

gin".

This idiom comes from Homer's Epic Odyssey. The Greeks and Trojans had been warring constantly for ten years and the outcome was pending. Finally, Odysseus, the famous Greek hero, came up with the Trojan horse, it was that used wood to make a giant horse and put it on the outside of Troy. All the Greek soldiers disguised to retreat and took a boat to hide in the nearby bay, Odysseus led 20 warriors to hid into the Trojan's belly. Trojans thought that Greeks already lost. So they opened the gate, saw the outside of the great Trojan, thought it was the Greeks worship god, they regarded it as a trophy and dragged it to the town to celebrate the victory. In the middle night, Trojan was sleeping and was no alert, the Greek heroes that in the Trojan climbed out and opened the gate, gave a sign, and with the returned of the Greek army at bay destroyed the city of Troy.

As a result, The Mauritius Horse referenced constantly to become a widespread idiom, used to metaphor “the hidden danger”; “the covert wreckers (mole)”;“ to engage in underhand activities”etc.

篇三：The Rocking-Horse Winner 全文翻译

木摇马上的赢家

——D.H.劳伦斯

她是一个美丽的女人，身来有着一切有利于她的优势，但她很不幸。她为了爱情而结婚，可爱情毫不领情。她有几个漂亮健康的孩子，可她至今觉得那是上帝硬塞给她的，她并不爱他们。孩子们看她时的冷淡的眼神就像在她身上寻找错误一样。她也会马上意识到那些眼光，好像她真的犯了什么错误必须及时掩盖掉。可究竟要掩盖什么，她却不知道。然而当她儿女在场时，她却总觉得自己心变得硬起来。这使她很烦恼，在举止上她全身心的表现出温和和关切，就像她很爱他们一样。只有她自己知道她内心深处是一块狭窄冰冷的地方,无法感觉到爱，不，甚至是任何人的爱。每个人都说她是个好母亲，她很喜爱她的孩子们。但她和孩子们知道事实并不是这样。他们早已从彼此的目光中读出来啦！

她有一个男孩两个女孩，有一幢舒适带有花园的房子，还有几个谨慎的仆人。这些使得他们一家比任何邻里都显得富裕。

虽然他们生活奢华，但总在这房子里感到焦虑。因为钱从来没有够用过。母亲有一小笔收入，父亲也有一小笔收入，可对他们不得不保持的社会地位来说这些钱根本不够。父亲在市政府工作，似乎前程似锦，但他的前程似乎又永远不会到来。虽然他们的生

活保持着一贯的风格，可缺钱的感觉从来没有停止折磨他们过。

后来母亲说：“我来想想办法吧！”可她无从着手。她绞尽脑汁，左思右想，却几乎没有想到一个可行的办法。挫折在她脸上刻下了深深的皱痕。她的孩子渐渐长大了，他们要跨入学校。一定要有更多的钱！一定要有更多的钱！然而，父亲，一个外表时髦开支庞大的人，似乎始终没有能力做一些值得可做的事；至于母亲，她很自信，可也好不到哪儿去，她也有着很大的开销。

因此，一句从未有人说起过的话如鬼魂在屋里回荡：一定要有更多的钱！一定要有更多的钱！即使没有人发出声，孩子们也可以听到这句话。在圣诞夜，当昂贵精致的玩具挂满他们房间的时候，他们听到了。在铮亮摩登的木摇马后面，在有漂亮玩具的房间后面，一个声音开始小声对他们说：一定要有更多的钱！一定要有更多的钱！这时，孩子们会停下来，静静听一会。他们彼此看着对方的眼睛，看看其他人的反应。每个人都从另外两个的眼中看出，他们也听到了。“一定要有更多的钱！一定要有更多的钱！”

这声音还从不断摇晃的木摇马的弹簧中传出来，就连那低着咬着嚼子的木头脑袋的木摇马也听见了。坐在新婴儿车里脸蛋粉红在傻笑的大洋娃娃也清楚得听到了，好像还因为听到这句话，笑得更不好意思起来。那只取代泰迪熊的傻乎乎的小狗也是这样，看

上去还变得额外傻了一些，就是那句神秘的轻轻的在整个屋子里回荡的话：“一定要有更多的钱！一定要有更多的钱！”

当然，没有人说过这句话。正因为这句话随处响起，才没有人说出有谁听到了它。就像我们没有人会讲：“我正在呼吸。”尽管事实上我们时时刻刻都在呼进呼出。

“妈妈，”有一天保罗说，“咱们干吗不买一辆自己的车啊？为什么我们老用舅舅的车要么就是出租车呢？”

“因为我们家里穷。”

“为什么我们家里穷呢？”

“恩——我想，”她缓慢而凄苦地说，“可能是你爸爸运气不好吧！”

男孩沉默了一会。

“运气就是钱吗，妈妈？”他小心翼翼的问。

“不，保罗，不全对。它可以使你有钱。”

“噢，”保罗含糊地说，“我以为奥斯卡舅舅说的臭运气是指钱哩！”

“臭钱就是指钱，”母亲说，“他说的是钱，不是运气！”

“噢，”男孩又问，“那运气是什么呢，妈妈？”

“就是可以使你变得有钱的东西。假如你运气好你就会很有钱，这就是为什么生来运气好的人胜过生来很有钱的人。假如你有钱，你可能还会失去。但假如你运气好，你总会不断地得到钱。”

“哦，是吗？爸爸的运气好吗？”

“老实说他的运气很不好！”她的声音有点悲凉。

男孩捉摸不定的眼神看着他的母亲。

“为什么呢？”他问。

“我不知道。没有人知道为什么偏偏这个人运气好而那个人运气就不好。”

“真的？真的没人知道？谁都不知道？”

“也许上帝知道吧，但他从不会说的。”

“他应该说的。您的运气也不好吗，妈妈？”

“如果我嫁给了一个运气不好的人，那我的运气也不会好的。”

“可您自己的运气也不好吗？”

“在结婚以前我以为自己运气还不错，可我现在觉得实在是糟透了。”

“为什么？”

“恩——不管它了，也许我并不真的那样。”她说。

孩子看着她，瞧瞧她是否真的有这个意思。但从她嘴边露出的皱纹看来，她只是想把一些东西隐瞒起来。

“唔——不管怎样，”他坚定有力地说，“我是一个运气好的人。”

“为什么？”母亲被他的突然之举笑出声来。

篇四：The night of the horse

篇五：THE SMALL HORSE

THE SMALL HORSE

Steve Walker

I thought it was a mouse at first, and wasn't bothered. Living in a place like this, one must expect the odd mouse. True: it whinnied in the night and woke me up more than once. I climbed out of bed, pulled back the curtains and looked through sleepy eyes at the closed warehouse over the road. I thought the whinnies came from there. True, also: it clip-clopped behind the skirting-board, just like a horse would if horses were small. But I didn't think of that. I took it to be a heavy-footed rodent.

I first saw it one Sunday tea-time— the most miserable time of the week for me; I turn off the TV to avoid the religious programmes and, left with nothing to do, I become miserable: always do. I was buttering some bread when I heard horses' noises. I glanced. Wow! There it was, hoofing the lino by the larder door. A small horse ! No larger, indeed, than an underfed mouse— ribs showing, eyes popping. I watched it carefully, stood still with bread in one hand and knife with a scoop of butter on it in the other. Yes, it was certainly, most definitely, a horse, a small horse.

I must say, I've always been the same, ever since I passed twenty. I used to be a songwriter then, or thought I was, but all my songs had been turned down and I was at breaking point. Nothing whatsoever had gone

right for me. I'd recently started my present job, and told a salesman I worked with about my problem.

“Give it up, ” he jeered at me. “You've got a good job here. Give it up. You'll never make it.”

What he really meant was: You're an ordinary bloke, like me. You've no business thinking you're a songwriter. People like us aren't songwriters.

He was correct, of course. I followed his advice, but note now that ever since, it seems to me, I've avoided people and things that could be judged as being out of the ordinary. So what was I to do when confronted with the crisis of having a small horse infesting my flat? I needed advice, but only knew ordinary people. I told one or two and they said: “Come on, man — stop pulling our leg.” And they proceeded to avoid me for the next few days.

I told Mr. Ducksbury, my sales—manager. He reacted the same, then started showing me new photos of his grandchildren.

“No. No. Really. I'm serious, ” I said.

“Oh, yeah. A small horse ? There's no such thing.”

“But there is—I've seen one.”

“Then why's no one else ever seen one? What makes you so special?”

There was a young man who'd worked part-time in the packing

department for a bit. I'd avoided talking to him at the time, even when I needed to check on a stock- level, because someone had said he was a painter — oils and all that. I looked up his address in the files. It was near one of my calls— I went there that very day.

“Excuse me.”

“Yes.”

“You may remember me from Hollis's. Can I come in for a moment?”

He let me in.

There were two naked girls seated back to back on a dais thing. He was painting them, all in orange. I was highly embarrassed. One put on a dressing-gown and went to make a pot of tea, but the other just sat there scratching herself. I never got the tea, and didn't gabble through much of my story to the young man, either. He grew sarcastic very quickly and asked me to leave. The girls started laughing as he prodded me out.

When I got back home the horse was drinking from a saucer of milk I'd left out for it. I poured some breakfast cereal into my hand and offered it for the thing to eat. It stood thinking, but wouldn't dare come. I got bored of crouching there, so went off to watch TV.

But I tried to get it to eat from my hand every time I saw it and, at last, a fortnight later, midmorning—I hadn't bothered to go to work —it trotted up and ate contentedly from my hand. I was thrilled to see it close

up. With my feeding, it had put on some weight. What a perfect little thing it was! But, being the way I am, I couldn't tolerate its mystery, its extraordinariness. I decided to kill it, to put poison down and be rid of it.

As soon as this thought entered my mind, the horse gave me a quick look, reared, and galloped away. I pulled off my shoe and threw it after. But my aim was bad; the horse disappeared unharmed through the hole where the plug used to be when I had the old fridge.

A few nights later, I woke up scared. A dream, I thought, already forgotten—or was the horse in my bedroom? I was suddenly petrified of it, as if it were a spider. I searched the bedsheets, looked under the furniture, checked the skirting board for cracks, new or old. Nothing. Once again I pulled back the curtains to look at that closed warehouse over the road. I'd always had my suspicions about it, and this time it could be tiny lights shining behind the filthy grilled windows at pavement level.

I got dressed at once, put a torch in my pocket and hurried over. I stood right in front of the grilled windows—but they were too filthy; I couldn't see anything through them.

There was an old door there, on crusty hinges. I kicked it open, two kicks. I switched on my torch and went inside. I was in a foreman's office: cabinets, desk and such still there. A twelve-year-old calendar was on the wall.

I listened. Yes—a mouse-like scratching. This was surely where my small horse had come from, and maybe, I figured, there'd be a whole herd in the warehouse somewhere.

In the light from my torch nothing had any colour. I walked on battered floor- boards towards the main storeroom. A tall, wooden sliding door barred my way. I could find no handle and my pushing and coaxing wouldn't budge the thing. I gave it a kick but it was thick and solid and didn't feel it.

What else could I do? I gave up and turned to go. But after only a few steps, I heard the sliding door open behind me. I jumped in fright. Had I pressed a button without realizing it? Was there someone there?

I shone my torch. It flitted across a huge ceiling, showing smashed skylights with the night above. Then I waved it around the warehouse floor.

There were horses, yes, quite a few, just like the one in my flat. But also, every- where, as if assembled to witness some spectacular event, were people, tiny people. Thousands and thousands of them—all just as tall as a little finger. Most were naked, some wore paper hats and carried spears of broken glass. Lots of them were huddled around little fires they'd made. They stood still in my torchlight, but where my torch couldn't catch, some were running.

I'm home now, in bed with the light on. I'm going to sit up all night

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