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            • 1． If Kate McWilliams got a penny every time someone asked how old she was she would be on to a good thing．Easyjet says the 26-year-old is its youngest ever commercial female airline captain．
              She flies to around 100destinations across the world and says most people"are pleasantly surprised and impressed"when she tells them her age．
              But Kate isn't the youngest ever female captain．Ronan Milne got in touch with Newsbeat to say his colleague Dawn Hunter was made a captain aged 24at Loganair．Sarah Hendry is also 24and a captain with the same company．
              Kate began flying in the air cadets（见习生） when she was 13years old，but admitted to the Press Association that she never thought she could become a commercial pilot．However，following aviation training in Southampton，she joined easyJet as a co-pilot in May 2011．This August she took up the rank of captain after passing the airline's command course．
              "Personally I don't think my age matters，"she said．"I've been through the same training and passed the same command course as every other captain so I've proven myself capable regardless of my age．"
              Kate is originally from Carlisle，but now lives in Surrey so she can be near to Gatwick Airport．From there she flies Airbus A319and A32planes to locations across the world，including Iceland，Israel and Morocco．"I rarely fly to the same place twice in the same month，"she said．"That keeps things interesting．"
              Around 5% of commercial pilots are women．Last year easyJet announced a plan to increase its number of female entrants to 12%．Julie Westhorp，chairwoman of the British Women Pilots'Association （BWPA），hopes Kate will inspire more women to think about working in aviation．She says："Both the BWPA and easyJet are aware of the importance of visible role models for girls and young women when making career choices and continue to work together to encourage young women to consider a pilot career．"

              难度：较易
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            • 2．
              Bastian Balthazar Bux is a shy and bookish boy around 12years old．He is neglected by his father because his father is still mourning the death of his mother who died of an unspecified illness．His school life does not go off smoothly．He is often picked on by some good-for-nothing kids，which leads him to play truant a lot．
              It doesn't sound like a fantasy story so far，does it？Fantasy is supposed to take us away from the unpleasantness of life，not to rub our noses in it．But it is just where the fantasy begins．One day，running away from bullies at school，Bastian hides in a bookstore．There he finds a book which appeals to him，and he steals it and takes it home．Bastian becomes fascinated with the book．It drags him in，just as we are dragged into fantasy books．The book he reads is called The Neverending Story．
              The story spellbinds Bastian．It tells of a land called Fantastic．Fantastica is sick，and the person most sick is its ruler，the Child-like Empress．The reason for the sickness is a kind of war that is being waged on Fantastica by a force called Nothing．The Empress asks a boy，Atreyu，to help her battle Nothing before it conquers Fantastica．But what of Bastian，sitting hidden away，reading the story from his stolen book？He becomes part of the tale himself．The Empress gives Bastian a vital job to join forces with Atreyu in the struggle against Nothing．
              But even though Bastian has now entered the pages of a fantasy fiction book，he has brought his troubles with him．He has problems dealing with the challenges brought by his new life．When the Child-like Empress gives him use of a magic gem called Auryn he abuses it for self-interested ends．To find his True Self he has to learn how．Only that way can he help the Empress，Atreyu and Fantastica and make his way back into the real world from the place he came．
              Like Bastian，we sometimes have our troubles．Also like Bastian，we can find ways to solve them with enough commitment．In the The Neverending Story，young readers can find a wonderful fantasy that also offers a positive message about their own world．

              难度：较易
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            • 3． Yacouba Sawadogo is an African farmer who has been travelling across the deserts for the last 30years，using ancient farming techniques to fight the threatening deserts．
              His story dates back to the 1980s when Africa suffered one of the worst droughts in its history．During that period，rainfall reduced by as much as 80%，killing almost all the plants．Most local people moved away to different places，but Yacouba stayed back．Instead of giving in to the violence of nature，he decided to take control and change the face of the land completely．
              Unable to read and write，and with no access to modern techniques and tools，he started to employ an old African farming practice called"Zai"．The practice involves planting seeds in small holes filled with eco-friendly manure（肥料）．The holes fill up with and keep the water that falls during the rainy season．This provides moisture（水分）and nutrients for the growing plants during the dry periods．Also，the manure attracts ants，which help break up the soil further and increase its ability to take in water．
              Within two decades of starting his revolutionary work，a forested area of about fifty acres came up on the land of the African desert．Yacouba featured in a documentary titled"The Man Who Stopped the Desert"through which he became known to the rest of the world．To the great joy and relief of Yacouba，what the documentary focused on was put into the re-establishment of local forests and a training program for the farmers who wanted to 1earn Yacouba's technique．Today，"Zai"is being widely practiced in the region．

              难度：较易
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            • 4． Ever since Donald Trump was elected the next president of the US，the entire Trump family has been put under a microscope．
              In China，the spotlight has been mainly focused on Trump and his daughter Ivanka．She is described on WeChat as an extremely influential role model with stunning beauty，a successful career，and a happy family．
              She leads a dream life that a million girls would kill for．Yes，she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth．But she got where she is by herself．
              There's always going to be articles that say people born into wealthy families are better looking and have a better family background than you，but these people do work harder than you．
              Are you a loser if you were raised in an ordinary family？Should you feel guilty that you sleep eight hours a day because Ivanka sleeps five？If you just want to keep a stable nine-to-five job，does it mean you are not ambitious？How about if you don't work out or eat healthy，does that mean you will not find your Mr．or Miss Right？
              There is a tendency in media nowadays to encourage elitism（精英主义）．They are trying to brainwash young people into thinking that they should invest an enormous amount of time and money in bodybuilding and appearance enhancement，even plastic surgery．They encourage lifestyle makeovers：wine tasting classes and expensive trips overseas．They make you believe that if you do as they say，you can improve the quality of your life and join the elites （社会精英）．
              But what's the downside of being ordinary？Do you really need to go to the gym five days a week unless you are a gym maniac（热衷者）？Do you need to take hundreds of selfies and Photoshop the selected ones to post on WeChat？Do you really need to break your neck and sacrifice to earn your first pot of gold only to worry constantly about how to enter high society later？
              Don't let the idea of elitism get to you．Everybody has a right to the life they want．Human beings should not be judged as a success or failure based on whether they are a part of the elite or not．As long as you lead a happy and comfortable life，why bother to chase after other people's shadows？Choose your own life path and go for it．

              难度：较易
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            • 5． As Rosalie Warren stood at the mailbox in the lobby of her apartment building in May 1980，she shared the anxiety of many other college seniors．In her hand was an envelope containing her final grades．As she nervously opened it，Warren wondered whether her hundreds of hours of studying had paid off．
              They had．
              "I got five A's，"she still recalls with elation．"I almost fell on the floor!"
              Warren would graduate from Suffolk University with a Bachelor of Science degree in philosophy and history at age 80．Three years later，at age 83； she would receive her second degree from Suffolk，a master's in education．
              Now，with both diplomas proudly displayed in her apartment，Warren is not finished with learning． Now 93，she continues for her 18th year at Suffolk under a program that allows persons 65and over to attend classes tuition free．"It's my life to go to school，to enjoy being in an academic atmosphere，"she says．"That's what I love．"
              Warren was born Rosalie Levey on Aug.29，1900．Two years after she entered high school，her father died．Warren had to leave school for factory work to help support her family's 10children．Warren describes herself as a"person who always liked school，"and she says the move"broke my heart completely because I couldn't finish high school．"
              In the end，however，"I went to school nights，"she recalls．"Any place I could find an outlet of learning and teaching，I was there．"
              A short time later，her mother became ill，and Warren had to care for her，once again putting her education on hold．
              Finally，in 1921，her mother，now recovered，drew from her saving to send Warren to Boston University for two years to study typing，stenography，and office procedures．
              Those courses helped Warren gain several long-term office positions over the next 60years，but her great desire"to be in the academic field"continued．
              In 1924，she married Eugene Warren，and seven years later，her daughter，Corinne，was born．In 1955，by then a widow and a grandmother，Warren took a bus tour across the United States that was to last nine months．She said she wanted to see"things you never see in the West End．"
              When she returned home，she took a bookkeeping position and also enrolled in courses in philosophy，sociology and Chinese history．
              In 1975，when she was 75，Warren learned from a neighbor about Suffolk University's tuition-free program for senior citizens．"I was at the registrar's office the very next day，"she recalls．At first，she took one or two courses at a time，but encouraged by her professors，she enrolled as a degree candidate．
              "I had not studied for so many years，"she says，"but I was determined．"For the next four years，Warren，who calls herself a"student of philosophy，"worked toward her degree．
              Nancy Stoll，dean of students at Suffolk，says Warren is"an interesting role model for our younger students---that learning is a lifetime activity…．She is genuinely enthusiastic about being here，and that permeates （散发） her activities and is contagious （传染的） to students and faculty．"

              难度：较易
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            • 6． I had an experience some years ago which taught me something about the ways in which people make a bad situation worse by blaming themselves．One January，I had to conduct two funerals on successive days for two elderly women in my community．Both had died"full of years"as the Bible would say； both yielded to the normal wearing out of the body after a long and full life．Their homes happened to be near each other，so I paid condolence （吊唁） calls on the two families on the same afternoon．
              At the first home，the son of the dead woman said to me，"If only I had sent my mother to Florida and gotten her out of this cold and snow，she would be alive today．It's my fault that she died．"At the second home，the son of the other dead woman said，"If only I hadn't insisted on my mother's going to Florida，she would be alive today．That long airplane ride，the abrupt change of climate，was more than she could take．It's my fault that she's dead．"
              When things don't turn out as we would like them to，it is very tempting to assume that had we done things differently，the story would have had a happier ending．Priests（牧师） know that any time there is a death，the survivors will feel guilty．Because the course of action they took turned out badly，they believe that the opposite course-keeping Mother at home，delaying the operation would have turned out better．After all，how could it have turned out any worse？
              There seem to be two elements involved in our readiness to feel guilt．The first is our pressing need to believe that the world makes sense，that there is a cause for every effect and a reason for everything that happens．That leads us to find patterns and connections both where they really exist and where they exist only in our minds．
              The second element is the concept that we are the cause of what happens，especially the bad things that happen．It seems to be a short step from believing that every event has a cause to believing that every disaster is our fault．The roots of this feeling may lie in our childhood．Psychologists speak of the infantile（幼儿的） myth of omnipotence（万能）．A baby comes to think that the world exists to meet his needs，and that he makes everything happen in it．He wakes up in the morning and orders the rest of the world to its tasks．He cries，and someone comes to attend to him．When he is hungry，people feed him，and when he is wet，people change him．Very often，we do not completely outgrow that infantile concept that our wishes cause things to happen．

              难度：较易
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            • 7． The end of my sophomore year was approaching．Mom called me at the dorm one evening during the last week of May．My summer break would be spent with grandma and grandpa，helping out around their farm．The arrangement made good sense to all the family．I wasn't fully convinced of that myself but guessed it was just one summer．Next year would be my little brother's turn．
              I arrived late that afternoon．Grandma had fixed more food than the three of us could possibly eat．She loved me entirely too much．The next morning，Grandpa fixed breakfast for the two of us．He told me Grandma had tired herself out yesterday and was going to rest in bed a little longer．I made a mental note to myself to not ask her to do things for me while I was there．I was there to help，not be a burden．
              Weeks passed．I gradually settled into a routine of daily work with Grandpa．In the evenings I usually read or talked with Grandma．She never grew tired of hearing about college or anything I was involved in．She told me stories about her childhood，family and the early years after she and Grandpa had married．
              The last Saturday in June，Grandpa suggested going fishing．We hadn't expected what we saw when we got to the pond that morning：One of the swans was dead．Grandpa had given the pair of swans to Grandma on their 50th anniversary．"Why don't we see about buying another one，"I suggested，hoping the situation could somehow be righted．Grandpa thought for a few moments before answering．
              He finally said，"no…it's not that easy，Bruce．You see，swans mate for life．"He raised his finger to point，holding the fishing pole in his other hand．"There's nothing we can do for the one that's left．He has to work it out for himself．"
              A few days later，we drove by the pond while doing our morning check on the cows．We found the other swan lying near the same spot we had found the first one．It，too，was dead．
              The month of July started with me and Grandpa putting up a new stretch of fence．Then July 12came．That was the day Grandma passed away．Grandma had died suddenly that morning of a stroke．By the afternoon，my parents were there．The old house was soon crowded with relatives and Grandpa's friends．
              The funeral was held the next day．Grandpa had insisted on having it as soon as possible．On the second day after the funeral，Grandpa announced at the breakfast table，"This is a working farm．We have a lot of things to do．The rest of you should get back to your own lives．"Most of the family had already left，but this was Grandpa's way of telling the rest it was time for them to go home．My parents were the last to leave after lunch．
              Grandpa was not a man who could outwardly express his grief around others，and we all worried about him．The rest of the summer flowed by．We stayed busy working．I thought there was something different about Grandpa but couldn't quite put my finger on it．
              September was nearing，and part of me did not want to leave．I thought of skipping the fall semester and staying around a few more months．When I mentioned it，grandpa quickly told me that my place was back at college．
              The day finally came for me to pack my car and leave．I shook his hand and chanced a hug．As I drove down the driveway，I saw him in the rearview mirror．He waved to me and then walked to the pasture gate to start the morning livestock check．
              Mom called me at school on a stormy October day to tell me Grandpa had died．A neighbor had stopped by that morning for coffee and found him in the kitchen．He died of a stroke，the same as Grandma．At that moment，I understood what he'd clumsily tried to explain to me about the swan on that morning we fished together by the pond．

              难度：较易
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            • 8． Benjy and I were working in the yard together one afternoon．It was during a summer between college terms，a time of uncertainty for my son．Benjy wanted to follow in my footsteps as a musician，but he was impatient for success．I ached for him and wished I could say something．
              Taking a break，Benjy looked around our 15acres with its stream，its trees，and its rolling grass．"This place is beautiful，"he said．"How did you get it？"
              "I wondered when you'd ask，"I replied．We tend to take things for granted until we're about to leave or lose them．I told Benjy the story．
              Our first child，Suzanne，had just been born．Gloria and I were teaching in a town where I had grown up．We wanted land so we could build a house．
              I noticed a parcel south of town where cattle grazed（吃草）．It belonged to a 92-year-old retired banker named Mr．Yule．He owned a lot of land in the area，but was selling none of it．He gave the same speech to everyone who inquired．"I promised the farmers they could use it for their cattle．"
              Nevertheless，Gloria and I visited him at the bank，where he still spent his days．We made our way past a forbidding mahogany（红木） door and into a dim office．Mr．Yule sat behind a desk，reading The Wall Street Journal．He barely moved，looking at us over the top of his bifocals．
              "Not selling，"he said pleasantly，when I told him we were interested in the piece of land．"Promised it to a farmer for grazing．"
              "I know，"I replied nervously．"But we teach school here，and we thought that maybe you would sell it to someone planning to settle．"
              He pursed his lips and stared．"What'd you say your name was？"
              "Gaither．Bill Gaither．"
              "H'm．Any relation to Grover Gaither？"
              "Yes，sir．He was my granddad．"
              Mr．Yule put down his paper and removed his glasses．Then he pointed to a couple of chairs，and we sat down．
              "Grover Gaither was the best worker I ever had on my farm，"he said．"Showed up early，stayed late，did whatever needed doing and never had to be told．"
              The old man leaned forward．"I found him in the barn one night an hour after quitting time．He told me the tractor needed fixing and he wouldn't feel right about leaving it undone．"Mr．Yule squinted，his eyes distant with the memory．"What'd you say you wanted，Gaither？"
              I told him again．
              "Let me do some thinking on it，then come back and see me．"
              I was in his office again within a week．Mr．Yule told me he had thought about it．I held my breath．
              "How does 3，800sound？"heasked．At3，800per acre，I would have to come up with nearly 60，000!Wasthisjustawayofputtingmeoff？"Thirty-eighthundred？"Irepeated，withacatchinmythroat．"Yup．Fifteenacresfor3，800．"The land had to be worth at least three times that!I gratefully accepted．
              Nearly three decades later，my son and I strolled the green property that had once been pasture．"Benjy，"I said，"you've had this wonderful place to grow up on all because of the good name of a man you never met．"
              At Granddad's funeral，many people had come up to me to say，"Your grandfather was a good man．"He was praised for his compassion，his ability to forgive，his tenderness，his generosity---and，most of all，his integrity．He had been a simple farmer，but his character made him a leader．
              A good man．A wonderful phrase---one that has almost been lost in our culture．It reminds me of a verse from Proverbs that I was raised on："A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches，and loving favor rather than silver and gold．"
              A good name is the legacy（遗产） Granddad Gaither left me．It is what I hope to leave Benjy，along with a story he can tell his son as they walk this gentle land．
              难度：较易
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            • 9． She was working on some history essay．Her books were open on the desk，and she had an A4pad there and some pencils ready for taking notes．
              As I watched，she sat back on her chair，and she took up her history book．But much as she tried to read it，and much as she tried to concentrate，her eyes kept glancing up at those old photographs．There were a photograph of me on my own and a photograph of the two of us together．There was also a photo of when Eggy was small and when I was only a baby-maybe I had even just been born．And she was holding me，with Dad's help，while Mom looked on，rather nervously，as if worried that Eggy might drop me on my head．Then there were photos of her and me，both of us getting bigger and older．And she was always three years ahead of me，always my big sister，and I was always her naughty little brother，driving her nuts and getting her on her nerves．
              There was a photograph of all of us too，of me and Eggy and Mum and Dad，all standing there together，smiling at the new camera．
              There I was．And there we were．And nothing would ever bring us back or make us whole again．I felt so sad again-but I wouldn't give in to it．I was on a mission，like they say，and I had to see it through．I had to settle the unfinished business．I had to forgive and be forgiven．I couldn't let Eggy go through the rest of her life remembering those last words she'd ever said to me，just before I stormed out to get run over by a truck．
              "You'll be sorry one day when I am dead!"I said to her．
              "No，I won't be!"she'd shouted after me，"I'll be glad!"
              And then I'd never come back．
              "Eggy，"I said，"Eggy，it's Harry．I am here，right by you．Right here．But don't be afraid．It's OK，Eggy，I am a ghost now，that's all．But it's OK，it's nothing to be frightened of．I am not going to haunt you for ever．I just came back to work things out with you，to say I am sorry．Can you hear me，Eggy？Do you know I am here？"But she looked back down at her history book，reached out and turned a page over．And she didn't know that I was standing right behind her，so close that I could reach out and touch her．
              "I am touching your shoulder，Eggy．Can you feel my hand？Can you？It's me，Harry．Don't be afraid．I am just touching your shoulder，that's all．"
              But she went on reading the history book，and then paused，and took up one of the pencils，and made a few notes about Henry the Eighth and all the wives he once had and why he had them．
              "Eggy，-it's me．"
              "Eggy…"
              Nothing．
              She looked up from her book，daydreaming maybe，like you do in the middle of your homework．Her eyes fell on the photos of her and me at my fourth birthday party．My getting ready to blow out all the candles．Her getting ready to help me in case I ran out of air．
              "Oh，Harry，"she said．"Oh，Harry．"And she reached out and touched the photo，just like it was flesh and blood but not just ．
              I saw the pencil on the desk．I remembered the leaf on the tree，Jelly's Parker，and Arthur with the fruit machine．I could do it．I knew I could．I had to．I focused my thoughts on the pencil，all of them，every part of me．I tried to shine my thoughts upon it as if they were the beam of a torch．
              "Please，"I thought，"please，please，please…"

              难度：较易
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            • 10． My father's family is not a musical family．They are a family of words．My brother has my father's dark hair，his love of a good argument．I take after my mother．From her I inherited a curious nature，a sense of adventure，bright red hair．I did not，contrary to her hopes，inherit a talent for the piano．That fact was established beyond doubt after unsuccessful attempts to draw music from me．
              The piano lessons began when I was four．My mother was convinced that I would be a child Mozart．She found the ideal teacher--Madame Oblenka，a strict Russian woman，whose pursed lips were enough to frighten a wild horse into submission．Madame Oblenka，who expected a little Mozart，was not very delighted to find a little girl banging her fists （拳头） on the keys．
              I tried to please her．"Feel the music，"she urged．I"felt"it and winced （退避） my ear--for what is more unpleasant than a series of wrong notes played continuously？She"felt"my music，too，which is why she always left with an angrier expression than when she came．
              Once，when I was ten，I managed to record one of my own rehearsals （练习）．In order to escape my practice sessions，I would close myself behind the door of the piano room，put on the tape recording，and read until the tape had finished．That method worked for a week，until my mother began to wonder why I always missed the same B-sharp．She knocked on the door，and，receiving no answer，came in to check on me and found that I had fallen asleep while the tape of my performance played on and on．
              I was twelve when my parents finally acknowledged that my hidden talent was not about to emerge any time soon．My mother，refusing to admit defeat，told me to pick another instrument．"Choose anything you want，Honey，"she said，assuming that freedom of choice would inspire devotion．I thought long and hard and chose the drums．My parents，sensitive to noise，would be less than overjoyed by a daily bombardment of playing．I imagined my father in his study，cotton wads in his ears．
              I worked my way through several other instruments before my mother hit on another idea．Maybe I wasn't meant to be an instrumentalist．Realizing that drama might be more suited to my talents，Mom took me to a drama teacher．However，he put me backstage，painting scenery．Once I recovered from my sense of injury，I realized the wisdom of his choice．I loved the active，practical backstage world，and I discovered that I had a knack for constructing and painting．I loved the challenge of taking our scanty （贫乏） supplies and using them to make something beautiful．Imagining a scene and then seeing it emerge before me--this，to me，was close to magic．
              I'm a sculptor now，and every day I experience afresh the joy of being fully absorbed in the act of artistic creation．It's a wonderful，blissful （乐而忘忧） feeling．I realize that my parents，in their misguided attempts to interest me in music，were trying to give me this feeling．And now I feel grateful．Perhaps they went about it in the wrong way，but their hearts were in the right place．

              难度：较易
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