When her five daughters were young, Helene An always told them that there was strength in unity (团结). To show this, she held up one chopstick, representing oneperson. Then she easily broke it into two pieces. Next, she tied several chopsticks together, representing a family. She showed the girls it was hard to break the tied chopsticks. This lesson about family unity stayed with the daughters as they grew up.

Helene An and her family own a large restaurant business in California. However, when Helene and her husband Danny left their home in Vietnam in 1975, they didn't have much money. They moved their family to San Francisco. There they joined Danny's mother, Diana, who owned a small Italian sandwich shop. Soon afterwards, Helene and Diana changed the sandwich shop into a small Vietnamese restaurant. The five daughters helped in the restaurant when they were young. However, Helene did not want her daughters to always work in the family business because she thought it was too hard.

        Eventually the girls all graduated from college and went away to work for themselves, but one by one, the daughters returned to work in the family business. They opened new restaurants in San Francisco and Los Angeles. Even though family members sometimes disagreed with each other, they worked together to make the business successful. Daughter Elisabeth explains, "Our mother taught us that to succeed we must have unity, and to have unity we must have peace. Without the strength of the family, there is no business."

        Their expanding business became a large corporation in 1996, with three generations of Ans working together. Now the Ans' corporation makes more than $20 million each year. Although they began with a small restaurant, they had big dreams, and they worked together. Now they are a big success.

    John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose.

    His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II.

    During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.

    When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting -- 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

    I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, attractive smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured.

    Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.

    And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her.

    This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant（中尉）John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?”

    The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!”

    It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive. “Tell me whom you love,” Houssaye wrote, “And I will tell you who you are.”

    A team of engineers at Harvard University has been inspired by Nature to create the first robotic fly. The mechanical fly has become a platform for a series of new high-tech systems. Designed to do what a fly does naturally, the tiny machine is the size of a fat housefly. Its mini wings allow it to stay in the air and perform controlled flight tasks.

    “It's extremely important for us to think about this as a whole system and not just the sum of a bunch of individual components,” said Robert Wood, the Harvard engineering professor who has been working on the robotic fly project for over a decade. A few years ago, his team got the go-ahead to start piecing the components together. “The added difficulty with a project like this is that actually none of those components are off the shelf and so we have to develop them all on our own,” he said.

    They engineered a series of systems to start and drive the robotic fly. “The seemingly simple system which just moves the wings has a number of interdependencies on the individual components, each of which individually has to perform well, and then has to be matched well to everything it's connected to,” said Wood. The flight device was built into a set of power, computation, sensing and control systems. Wood says the success of the project proves that the flying robot with these tiny components can be built and manufactured.

    Wood says the design offers a new way to study flight mechanics and control at insect-scale. Yet, the power, sensing and computation technologies on board could have much broader applications. “You can start thinking about using them to answer open scientific questions, you know, to study biology in ways that would be difficult with the animals, but using these robots instead,” he said. “So there are a lot of technologies and open interesting scientific questions that are really what drives us on a day to day basis.”

    Ivy Granstrom

    Ivy Granstrom was born with impaired vision(弱视) and got a serious back injury at the age of 60 during a car accident. She participated in cold English Bay swimming events for 76 years and was therefore sometimes known as the Queen of the Polar Bear Swims.

    Gerry Hewson

    Gerry Hewson was a member of Australian Men's National Wheelchair Basketball Team. He won a gold medal in the 1996 Summer Paralympics. He coached for the West Sydney Razorbacks from 2004 to 2006.He was named as a lifetime member in recognition of the efforts he made for the promotion of wheelchair basketball. Discussing the appeal of wheelchair basketball, he commented that,“There is a coating at the edge of the rim(轮辋) that actually lights up like a spark(火花), and it stays for about two to three seconds. That is quite exciting and great fun.”

    April Holmes

    April Holmes lost her left leg below the knee because of a train accident in 2001. Remembering it she said, “I had a life-changing accident in January, 2001. And fortunately I have been able to get back to doing what I love, and that's track and field.” Through hard work, she made records in the 100, 200, and 400 meter events. To live her life to its full potential, she has set up a non-profit(非营利的) organization, the April Holmes Foundation, to help people with learning or physical disabilities while being a role model for them.

    Shauna Maria Whyte

    Shauna Maria Whyte was born in Canada in 1967. She has won many prizes in cross-country skiing competitions since 1975. In 1991, during a horseback riding competition, Shauna broke her back. She did not surrender to this change in her life, and she started using a sit sled(雪橇).

    Compared with solar and wind energy, which are booming, tidal (潮汐的) power is a loser in the clean - energy competition. But if you did want to build a tidal power station, there are few better sites than the mouth of the River Severn, in Britain. Its tidal range, the difference in depth between high and low tides, of around 15 metres is among the largest in the world.

    Engineers and governments have been toying with the idea since at least 1925. But none of the suggested projects has materialised. Price is one objection. A study thought that tidal energy might cost between ￡216 and ￡368 ($306 - 521) per MWh of electricity by 2025, compared with ￡58 - 75 for seagoing wind turbines (轮机) and ￡55 - 76 for solar panels. Environmentalists also worry that any plant would change the tides, making life harder for wildlife.

    An engineer called Rod Rainey thinks he has a way around both problems. He plans to replace the conventional turbines of previous plans with a much older technology. Specifically, he plans to span (横跨) the river mouth with a line of water wheels. This is a design that dates back to the early days of the Industrial Revolution. Examples can be found fixed to the sides of old watermills (水磨).

    But there would be nothing old - fashioned about Mr Rainey's wheels. Thirty metres high and sixty wide, they would be made from ordinary steel. Two hundred and fifty of them, along with the supporting structures, would be floated into place and secured to the seabed, creating a line 15km long. Together, they could supply power at an avenge ate of 4GW. That is about as much as two biggish nuclear power stations would manage. Substituting one of the wheels with a set of locks would provide a shipping channel about twice the width of Panama Canal, permitting upstream ports such as Avonmouth and Cardiff to continue operating.

    When I was about 12 years old, my older brother, James, smuggled a BB gun into the house. Our parents had told us many times that we were not allowed to bring home guns or knives, even if they were just toys. Having any form of weaponry in our home was strictly forbidden.

    James brought me to his room. He opened his closet door and took out a shoebox that was buried beneath a heap of clothes. The BB gun was inside. I was immediately enamored by the shiny barrel.

    "Can I shoot it, Jamesie?" I asked, hopefully.

    "Noway,"James said, taking it from me and putting it back.

    One day, when no one was home, I went into James' closet and took it out. For some in explicable reason - I have no idea what I was thinking - I went to the front window of the second floor in our row house. I cracked the window open. I pointed the gun outside and shot. I quickly shut the window and peeked outside.

    In a matter of seconds, old Mr. Schlosberg came out of his grocery store. He looked back at his store window. He looked up the street. He looked down the street. Then he looked straight across to our house.

    Thankfully, Jamesie made it home before Mother or Father.

    As he stepped through the door, I could hear old Mr. Schlosberg call his name. "James, James," he called. "Come here, son."

    After several minutes, James ran back across the street and into the living room. I had retreated into the kitchen. "Alma!" he screamed. "Get out here! You cracked Mr. Schlosberg's window with my BB gun!"

    "Oh, please, Jamesie," I begged. "Don't let him tell Mother. She will whip my bottom real good!" Jamesie sighed. He wiped my tears and went back across the street to Mr. Schlosberg's. I don't know what James said to that man, but there was never a mention of the incident again.

    Years later, I found out Jamesie had used the money he got from his newspaper route to pay for Mr. Schlosberg's cracked window. He only got one cent for every paper he delivered. He managed to pay back the debt just before he went off to fight in World War II.

    Since that day, I have never touched a gun: a BB gun, a water gun, a real gun, or any other type.