My roommate Lily was well organized, while I was not. Each of her objects had its place, but mine always hid somewhere. She even labeled (贴标签) everything. I always looked for everything. Over time, Lily got neater and I got messier. She would push my dirty clothing over, and I would lay my books on her tidy desk. We both got tired of each other.

    War broke out one evening. Lily came into the room. Soon, I heard her screaming. “Take your shoes away! Why under my bed!” Deafened, I saw my shoes flying at me. I jumped to my feet and started yelling. She yelled back louder.

    The room was filled with anger. We could not have stayed together for a single minute but for a phone call. Lily answered it. From her end of the conversation, I could tell right away her grandma was seriously ill. When she hung up, she quickly crawled (爬) under her covers, sobbing. Obviously, that was something she should not go through alone. All of a sudden, a warm feeling of sympathy rose up in my heart.

    Slowly, I collected the pencils, took back the books, made my bed, cleaned the socks and swept the floor, even on her side. I got so into my work that I even didn't notice Lily had sat up. She was watching, her tears dried and her expression one of disbelief. Then, she reached out her hands to grasp mine. I looked up into her eyes. She smiled at me, “Thanks.”

    Lily and I stayed roommates for the rest of the year. We didn't always agree, but we learned 高一阅读理解My roommate Lily was well organized while I was the key to living together: giving in, cleaning up and holding on.

    I'm Mr. Lockwood and have been to see my landlord Mr. Heathcliff today. He was standing at the gate to his farm when I arrived. His black eyes looked at me suspiciously.

    The name of Mr. Heathcliff's house is Wuthering Heights. 'Wuthering' means 'stormy' or 'windy' in the local language and it describes the place well. The house stands on the top of a hill. On one side of it there are a few trees. They all lean in the same direction, blown by the strong north winds.

    Then we went into the sitting room. The floor was made of smooth, white stone. There was a big fireplace at one end of it and a large dresser at the other end. Several large hunting dogs were lying in the dark corners of the room. I sat down in one of the chairs near the fire. But unfortunately, when Mr. Heathcliff was out for his servant, Joseph, I was attacked by his hunting dogs.

    To my surprise, I enjoyed our conversation very much, though. When it was time for me to leave, I said, 'I'll come and see you again tomorrow'. I set out after lunch the following day. But Mr. Heathcliff wasn't in, and a young man led me to the sitting room. His manner was proud and free, so I couldn't decide if he was a servant or not. He was dressed like one and spoke like one.

    A few minutes later, Heathcliff walked in. We all drank our tea in silence and there was a very tense atmosphere in the room. I thought it was my fault so I tried to be sociable.

    This is a beautiful part of the country,' I said, 'but very isolated. However, you seem very happy here, with your wife and family…'

    'My wife!' Heathcliff exclaimed looking around him. 'Where? Are you talking about her spirit?'

    How stupid of me! Of course the girl wasn't his wife! She was much too young for him. She must be married to the young man.

    'Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law', said Heathcliff, reading my thoughts. There was hatred on his face as he spoke.

    Ah, yes,' I said. 'You are very lucky to have such a lovely wife, young man.'

    The youth went red and looked down at his plate.

    I said she was my daughter-in-law, sir. She was married to my son,' said Heathcliff.

    And this young man is…'

    Not my son.'

    My name is Hareton Earnshaw,' growled the youth angrily.

    The atmosphere began to depress me. After a long silence I asked, 'Perhaps one of your servants is free now to take me home?'

    There's only Heathcliff, Hareton, Zillah the housekeeper, Joseph and me here', said the girl.

    Then I suppose I'll have to stay until the morning.' I replied

    That night, I was arranged in a house where the master didn't usually allow people to stay. I closed the door and got into bed. I put my candle on a small shelf next to a pile of old books. To my surprise, I saw that the shelf was covered in writing. These names were scratched in the paint: Catherine Earnshaw, Catherine Heathcliff and Catherine Linton.

    I picked up one of the books on the shelf. It was a diary. On the first page I read, 'Catherine Earnshaw, her book', and a date of twenty-five years ago. Curious to know more about this Catherine, I started to read. I understand the following: Catherine Earnshaw's father was dead and she lived with her cruel older brother Hindley. Catherine and Heathcliff were close friends, but Hindley and his young wife Frances heated and abused the adopted Heathcliff.

    I had terrible dreams that night. There was a lot of noise-rapping and tapping sounds. I woke up. The branch of a tree outside was hitting the glass in the window. I got up, pushed my hand through the glass and pout out my arm. But instead of the branch my fingers closed on a little ice-cold hand. The hand held mine tightly and a sad voice sobbed, 'Let me in!'

    Who are you?' I said.

Catherine Linton' it replied. 'I've come home. I lost my way on the moor! Let me in!"

    A young woman carrying a three-year-old child got on a bus. The conductor hurried to give her a warm welcome and then kindly asked the other passengers to make more room for the woman and her kid. On seeing this, people were surprised and began to talk." You know this conductor used to be very rude. Now suddenly he has changed his bad behavior, "said a middle-aged man.

    "Yes, he should be praised and we must write a letter to the company," said a second passenger." That's right," another lady said, "I wish a newspaper reporter were here so that more people could learn from this conductor."

    Just then a gentleman who looked like a teacher turned to the conductor and said, "Excuse me, but can I know your name, please? Your excellent service must be praised…"

    Before he could open his mouth, the three-year-old kid sitting on the young woman's lap interrupted, "I know his name; I call him Dad."

October 15th is Global Handwashing Day. Activities are planned in more than twenty countries to get millions of people in the developing world to wash their hands with soap.

Experts say people around the world wash their hands but very few use soap at so-called extremely important moments. These include after using the toilet, after cleaning a baby and before touching food.

Global Handwashing Day is the idea of the Public Private Partnership for handwashing with soap. The goal, they say, is to create a culture of handwashing with soap. The organizers say all soaps are equally effective at removing disease-causing germs. They say the correct way to wash is to wet your hands with a small amount of water and cover them with soap. Rub it into all areas, including under the fingernails.  Then, wash well under running water. Finally, dry your hands with a clean cloth.

The Partnership says soap is important because it increases the time that people spend washing. Soap also helps to break up the dirt that holds most of the germs.  And it usually leaves a pleasant smell, which increases the chances that people will wash again.

It also says that washing hands with soap before eating and after using the toilet could save more lives than any medicine. It could help reduce cases of diarrhea, which is the second leading cause of child deaths, killing more than one and a half million children a year, by almost half.

I've been writing now for 34 years. It all started when I was just 18 years. As a boy growing up, I probably read hundreds of books. I read mysteries, science fiction, thrillers, and just about any other type of book I could find. I had a thirst for knowledge that never seemed to disappear, no matter how many books I read over the years.

Then suddenly, I found that I too had ideas of my own that I wanted to write and share. I wanted to share things that were full of goodness, love, joy, and happiness. I tried to ignore my desire at first, but as any writer will tell you, once ideas awaken inside of you, they don't leave you alone until you write them down. I didn't have a computer, or even a typewriter, but I grabbed a pen and a notebook and wrote down everything that was burning inside of me.

When I was finally done, I didn't know how to share my work with the world. There was no Internet back then, no smartphones, and no social media. However, I sought out the editor of my local newspaper and asked if he would like to print what I'd written. He was a good man, full of both wisdom and kindness. He not only printed my first story but agreed to publish anything else I was willing to write.

After that, of course, nothing could stop me. I continued to write new articles each week, which were published in different local papers and later on the Internet. Years later I even self-published two collections of my stories in book form.

Through my writing, I slowly became a better person. Writing allowed me to discover the goodness and light that exist in us all. I also found that we are all writers whether we put pen to paper or not.

With every choice we make, with every thought we think, and with every action we take, we are writing our own life story.

The famous Spanish painter Pablo Picasso once said, "I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it." It strikes a chord(引起共鸣) with me because that's exactly what I have been doing these years.

One of my earliest memories of doing before learning is baking scones(烤饼) when I was about 10 years old. I wanted to bake them to surprise my mother when she returned home.

Before that, I'd observed how my mother baked them many times. As I started to try, I didn't know I shouldn't handle the dough(面团) with my hands too much once I'd added the baking powder(发酵粉). However, I knew exactly how to roll out the dough and use a cookie cutter to cut the scones, because my mom had already taught me.

By the time my mom arrived home, the smell of freshly baked scones welcomed her into the kitchen. They were close to perfection—flat, as a result of overhandling the dough, but they tasted OK. My mom sweetly praised me for my attempt, rather than scolding me for the state of the kitchen, which was like a tornado had just blown!

Have my attempts always been successful? I wish! Some of my kitchen disasters were so terrible that even the dogs wanted nothing to do with them. My gardening failures didn't live to see another season.

But my habit of doing before learning is still helpful. Whatever new software I have to learn how to use, I do so by simply starting to use it. I do, learn, and improve. So if you ask me whether I regret that I tend to do first and learn later, I'd say I don't, because what I have discovered from those is the wisdom to know when it's OK to do and then learn, and when it's probably better to learn and then do!