No one can deny that buttons are an important device. Whenever we see a button, we are eager to press it because we know something will happen. This is true in most cases, for example on a doorbell and on the “on/off” button on the TV. But some buttons are actually fake, like the “close” button on a lift.

    Many people are in the habit of pressing the “close” button because they don't have the patience to wait for the lift doors to shut. But lifts' “close” buttons are a complete scam (骗局), at least in the US － the doors will not close any faster no matter how hard you press.

    It started in the 1990s when the Americans with Disabilities Act was passed in the US, making sure that all lifts stayed open long enough so that people with disabilities could enter. Only US firefighters and repairmen can use the buttons to speed up the door-closing process if they have a code or special keys.

    But to normal lift riders, the buttons aren't completely useless. According to psychologists, fake buttons can actually make you feel better by offering you a sense of control.

     “Perceived (能够感知的) control is very important. It reduces stress and increases well-being,” Ellen J. Langer, a psychology professor, said, “ having a lack of control is associated with depression.”

    Experts have revealed that a lot of buttons that don't do anything exist in our lives for this same purpose. For example, many offices in the US have fake thermostats (温度调节器) because people tend to feel better when they think they can control the temperature in their workspace.

    But psychologists found it interesting that even when people are aware of these little “white lies”, they still continue to push fake buttons because as long as the doors eventually close, it is considered to be worth the effort.

     “That habit is here to stay,” John Kounios, a psychology professor, said. “Even though I have real doubts about the traffic light buttons, I always press them. After all, I've got nothing else to do while waiting. So why not press the button in the hope that this one will work?”

    When I was eight or nine years old, I wrote my first poem.

My mother read the little poem and began to cry. "Buddy, you didn't really write this beautiful, beautiful poem!" Shyly, I said that I had. My mother poured out her welcome praise. Why, this poem was nothing short of genius!

What time will Father be home?" I asked. I could hardly wait to show him what I had accomplished. My mother said she hoped he would be home around 7. I spent the best part of that afternoon preparing for his arrival. First, I wrote the poem out in my finest handwriting. Then I used colored pens to draw a border around it. Then I confidently placed it right on my father's plate on the dining table. But my father did not return at 7, Seven-fifteen, Seven-thirty. My father had begun his motion-picture career as a writer. He would be able to appreciate my poem even more than my mother.

    It was almost 8 o'clock when my father burst in. He was an hour late, but he could not sit down. I can see him now, a big Havana cigar in one hand, the rapidly disappearing drink in the other, calling down bitter words on his employees.

    Suddenly, he paused and glared at his plate. There was a silence. He was reaching for my poem. I lowered my head and stared down into my plate.

"What is this?" I heard him say.

"Ben, a wonderful thing has happened," my mother said. "Buddy has written his first poem. And it's beautiful, absolutely amazing".

"If you don't mind, I'd like to decide that for myself," Father said.

I kept my face lowered to my plate. It was only 10 lines long. But it seemed to take hours. I remember wondering why it was taking so long. I could hear him dropping the poem back on the table again. Now was the moment of decision.

"I think it's bad," my father said.

    I couldn't look up. My eyes were getting wet.

"Ben, sometimes I don't understand you," my mother was saying. "This is just a little boy. You're not in your studio now. These are the first lines of poetry he's ever written. He need encouragement."

"I don't know why," my father held his ground. "Isn't there enough bad poetry in the world already? No law says Buddy has to become a poet."

    I couldn't stand it another second. I ran from the dining room, threw myself on the bed and cried.

    That may have been the end of the anecdote(轶事) — but not of its significance for me.

    A few years later I took a second look at that first poem, and unwillingly I had to agree with my father's tough judgment. It was a pretty bad poem. After a while, I worked up the courage to show him something new, a short story. My father thought it was overwritten but not hopeless. I was learning to rewrite. And my mother was learning that she could disapprove of me without ruining me. You might say we were all learning. I was going on 12.

As I worked my way into other books and plays and films, it became clearer and clearer to me how fortunate I had been to have had a mother who said, "Buddy, it's wonderful!" and a father who shook his head no and drove me to tears with his, "I think it's bad." In fact all of us in life need that mother force, the loving force from which all creation flows; and yet the mother force alone is incomplete, even misleading, finally damaging, without the father force to caution, "Watch. Listen. Review. Improve." Between the two poles of affirmation (肯定) and doubt, both in the name of love, I try to follow my true course.

    “I like photography because it captures amazing things that you might not see again,” Timmy Walsh says. He takes pictures of flowers, sunsets and road signs. But those photos don't usually end up in a scrapbook(剪贴簿) or on his bedroom walls.

    When Timmy was five, he found out that his aunt Bev had lung cancer. He wanted to do something to help her. His first idea was to sell his photos from a lemonade--type stand in front of his house in Pennsylvania. “My mom said it wouldn't work because we were not on a busy street,” Timmy explains.

    His next idea was to have an art show. Timmy decorated his home with candles, flowers, and white lights. Then he arranged his photos. Timmy's mom, Sheila, remembers: “Our dining-room table was filled, the living room—everything was filled with photos.” Friends, family, and Timmy's teachers came to the show. He raised more than $300 for cancer research that night. Aunt Bev was “very happy and excited,” he says.

    After a local newspaper wrote a story about Timmy's photos, a volunteer offered to help him set up a website. As people learned about his cause, called Camera for a Cure, Timmy began receiving invitations to sell his pictures at art galleries and fund-raisers. Since then, his work has appeared in more than 20 shows.

    When Timmy is at a show, he greets each customer and talks about what he was thinking when he took his photos. And he always shares facts about lung cancer. Sometimes donations and sales are slow, but that doesn't bother him. “It doesn't matter how much money we made because we just raised awareness,” he says. Timmy knows that finding a cure for lung cancer will take time and effort. So Timmy will keep doing his part by shooting and selling photos of the things he sees.

    The Pacific island nation of Nauru used to be a beautiful place. Now it is an ecological disaster area. Nauru's heartbreaking story could have one good consequence — other countries might learn from its mistakes.

    For thousands of years, Polynesian people lived in the remote island of Nauru, far from western civilization. The first European to arrive was John Fearn in 1798. He was the British captain of the Hunter, a whaling ship. He called the island Pleasant Island.

    However, because it was very remote, Nauru had little communication with Europeans at first. The whaling ships and other traders began to visit, bringing guns and alcohol. These elements destroyed the social balance of the twelve family groups on the island. A ten-year civil war started, which reduced the population from 1,400 to 900.

    Nauru's real troubles began in 1899 when a British mining company discovered phosphate (磷酸盐)on the island. In fact, it found that the island of Nauru was nearly all phosphate, which was a very important fertilizer for farming. The company began mining the phosphate.

    A phosphate mine is not a hole in the ground; it is a strip mine(露天矿). When a company strip-mines, it removes the top layer of soil. Then it takes away the material it wants. Strip mining totally destroys the land. Gradually, the lovely island of Nauru started to look like the moon.

    In 1968, Nauru became one of the richest countries in the world. Every year the government received millions and millions of dollars for its phosphate.

    Unfortunately, the leaders invested the money unwisely and lost millions of dollars. In addition, they used millions more dollars for personal expenses. Soon people realized that they had a terrible problem — their phosphate was running out. Ninety percent of their island was destroyed and they had nothing. By 2000, Nauru was financially ruined. Experts say that it would take approximately $433,600,000 and more than 20 years to repair the island. This will probably never happen.

    I grew to be a tall girl but I tried to be as ordinary as possible. At school, I always chose a seat in the back of the room, and never raised my hand in class. When I was 16, I went to my new school. And I liked the English teacher. In my last year in high school, however, we were told that a new English teacher, Oliver Bascom, was going to teach us.

    Oliver Bascom! The girls laughed as we imagined a short and bald（秃头的）man．The situation was not funny, because this man would teach us for the whole year. Surprisingly, after we opened the door, there in front of the blackboard, we saw a young and handsome man!

    What followed was chaos, seventeen-year-old girls flying to get to seats in the front of the room. And I managed to get a front and center desk.

    I really wanted to make a good impression on my new teacher, but I usually kept quiet. The day that directions were given for our first major writing assignment, I arrived late to class. A friend later gave me the guidelines and I thought I understood them. I worked the whole weekend on the essay and waited nervously for Mr. Bascom's evaluation.

After three days, he arrived in class holding the corrected papers. "I've chosen the ten best essays for class discussion." he said.

    Twenty minutes later, my heart sank when he got to the last essay, and I didn't hear my name.

"These are all great essays," Mr. Bascom continued. "However, I am now going to read you the most successful of all…" We were all surprised as I was the author of this unusual work. A different girl walked out of the classroom that day. I knew that I had a new set of standards to live up to and that anything was possible in the future. Finally, I raised my head.

    Claude Monet, Pablo Picasso and Leonardo da Vinci ... the art world has never lacked talent. And now, a new painter is ready to join the list although this one isn't even human.

    Next month, auction house Christie's Prints and Multiples will make history by offering the first piece of art created by artificial intelligence (AI) for sale. The painting is a portrait of a man called Edmond De Bela- my, and is expected to be sold for up to $10,000.

    The work, which features a man with a mysterious look on his face, was created by software developed by the French art group Obvious. Laugero-Lasserre, an art collector, called the work "grotesque and amazing at the same time". This isn't the first example of Al-produced artwork, as AI has already been used to write poems and compose .songs. However, many people doubt whether it should be called art at all.

According to Russian writer Leo Tolstroy (1828 -1910), art is about creating emotion (情感). It's "a means of …joining people together in the same feelings' he once said.

So, if the emotion behind art is what makes it, the ability to create and use tools is what makes human Icings different from other species. And as a tool itself, the AI technology used to create the portrait is the result of a lot of effort made by several designers. Together, they "fed" the AI a huge collection of paintings from the 14th to the 18th centuries, until it was able to work out how to make similar paintings of its own.

    The introduction of AI art could be the beginning of a new artistic movement. However, not everyone is ready to welcome these high-tech artists just yet.

    "The human mind is what's behind the AI technology. And the human mind is not a cold, hard fact," said Oscar Schwartz, a professor of AI. "Rather, it in something that's created with our opinions and something that changes over