The day finally came, when I had to leave the warm home where I'd grown up. I ran to the back yard, as tears came up from my heart. Suddenly I 1 a hand rest on my shoulder. I looked up to 2  my grandfather. “It isn't 3 , is it, Billy?” he said softly.

    He gently 4  my hand in his, and then we walked, hand in hand, to the front yard, 5 a huge red rose-bush sat alone.

    “What do you see here, Billy?” he asked. I looked at the flowers, not knowing 6  to say, and then answered, “I see something soft and 7 ,  Grandpa.”

    He pulled me 8 . “It isn't just the roses that are beautiful, Billy. It's that special place in your heart that makes them so.” “Billy, I 9 these roses when my first son was born. It was my 10  of saying ‘thank you' to God. I 11 to watch him pick roses for his mother. Then, as a young man of only 20, a terrible war robbed him of his life.” Grandpa slowly stood up. “Never say good-bye, Billy. Never 12  to the sadness and the loneliness. Instead, I want you to remember the joy and the 13  when you first said hello to a friend.”

    A year later, my grandpa became very 14 . Then all members of the family were 15  back, and I returned to the old house. When it came to my 16 , I took his hand as 17  as he had once taken mine.

    “Hello, Grandpa,” I 18 . His eyes slowly opened and said, “Hello, my friend.” With a brief (短迅的) 19  he died. Suddenly, and truly, I knew what he had 20  about never saying good-bye — about refusing to give in to sadness.

You Did More Than Carry My books

    Mark was walking home from school one day when he noticed the boy ahead of him had dropped all of the books he was carrying, along with a baseball bat and several other things. Mark 1down and helped the boy pick up these articles. 2 they were going the same way, he helped to carry some of them for him. As they walked Mark 3 the boy's name was Bill, that he 4 computer games, baseball and history, that he was having a lot of 5  with his other subjects and that he had just broken 6 with his girlfriend.

    They arrived at Bill's home first and Mark was 7 in for a Coke and to watch some television. The afternoon passed 8 with a few laughs and some shared small talk, and then Mark went home. They 9to see each other around school, had lunch together once or twice, and then both ended up from the same high school. Just three weeks before 10 , Bill asked Mark if they 11 talk.

    Bill 12 him of the day years ago when they had first met. “Do you 13wonder why I was carrying so many things home that day?” asked Bill. “You see, I 14 out my locker because I didn't want to leave a mess(脏乱)15anyone else. I had planned to run away and I was going home to 16 my things. But after we spent some time together 17 and laughing, I realized that 18 I had done that, I would have19 a new friend and missed all the fun we would have together. So you see, Mark, when you picked up my books that day, you did a lot more. You 20 my life.”

    It's a sad and familiar voice that we often hear in big cities: "Can you spare some change?"

    Usually, when faced with that particular 1, I have feelings of guilt if I pass by 2 giving a coin or two.

    I had that feeling 3 in Venice while on a tour of Italy's famous sites in 2006. I had taken refuge from the 4 in a quiet café. Outside, there was an old woman kneeling on the hard, ancient paving stones, 5.

    Steady 6 of tourists were walking past her. A young backpacker stood away from the crowd, 7 drinking in the scenery, but I noticed the young traveler was also 8 the old woman.

    A tourist group walked along the street, 9 the woman and walked on. 10 group of tourists arrived and walked past the old lady. The backpacker watched 11 everybody else went on their way, focused on the 12 around them. Then, I was preparing to leave when I caught sight of the backpacker stepping forward and 13 some money in the woman's cup. He did this somewhat14 just before the arrival of another tourist group. As I 15, the leader of the group stopped and put some money in the cup. Having been shown the way, other tourists followed suit and 16 some more coins to the cup.

    His work done, the young man walked over to the old beggar-woman, patted her on the shoulder and said, "I hope that 17 a little."

    I don't know if the woman understood his English or 18 what had just happened, but I did.

    I placed some money in the woman's cup and continued my travels, 19 after witnessing such an 20 act of kindness.

    It was 11 a.m. on October 8, 2018, when I set out on the 12-mile bike ride home from work along the Connecticut shoreline. The sun was brilliant 1 the blue sky, and the leaves were starting to change colors. It was a(n) 2 time for me.

    I love my job as a program manager at Peace Jam. My husband Sean, a mail carrier, was 3 with his work, so I'd made plans with a friend for a long ride later that afternoon.4 I settled into the right-hand lane of a busy avenue, a truck turned in my direction from a side street. He slowed at the corner. But for some reason, he suddenly 5 speed. There is nothing I could do but scream.6, the huge truck knocked me down onto my left side. I felt my leg cracking, but I still 7 my head just enough to see something sticking out from my leg. The skin had been 8 right off most of the lower half of my body. There wasn't any 9 flesh to see. People came rushing from all 10 and aided me. The doctors arrived and rolled my body onto a backboard. I was sent 11 to the emergency room, where, for the next eight hours, I kept dying. During this period, I was in and out of surgery several times. Sometimes I was unconscious, but other times I existed in a 12 that has no easy comparison. What 13 me out of my fear was remembering a speech by Nobel Prize Jody Williams. "Emotion without action is irrelevant".

    I thought of all the people who had saved my life. The strangers who ran to my side after the truck hit me; the 14 who brought me back from death more than once; the staff at Gaylord who were 15 to help me walk again and relearn basic tasks. And then there were the strangers who had donated their life-giving blood. Suddenly I felt a need to do something to 16 them. I may not have been able to walk yet, but I 17 organize a cycling tour to raise money for disabled athletes. I 18 raising more than ＄10.000. Then, I turned inward, concentrating on my own recovery.

    My injury also made me 19 just how lucky I am. In the darkest moments of being 20 in the coma（昏迷）their voice constantly comforts me. To this day, I am gratitude in motion with each step.

A Welcome Gift

    Dario and his mother loved their new apartment. The living room was large enough for their piano. That night, the two of them 1 side by side at the piano. They played jazz music to celebrate their new home. The loud 2 filled the room and made them feel very happy.

    The next morning, 3, their happiness disappeared. Someone had left a 4 under their door during the night. One of their neighbors had written to complain about the sound of the piano. Dario's mother asked the building superintendent (管理员) if he knew anything about it. But he said that they were all 5 people and he couldn't imagine any of them had done that. Later that morning, Dario suggested that they write a letter to their 6 and apologize for their playing.

    "Maybe we could go and 7 everyone in person." his mother said.

    "What if we invited them to come here for a 8 instead?" Dario asked.

    They both loved the 9. Over the next few days, they sent out invitations and prepared desserts 10 their guests. They decorated the apartment with streamers (彩带) and party lights.

    Finally, the day of the party 11. Some guests brought presents. Others brought flowers. Some even brought desserts to 12. One woman, Mrs. Gilbert, 13 Dario's mother with a book of piano music by Chopin.

    "I heard you playing the other night," she said. "The sounds woke me out of bed. I 14 that you might play like this every night. So I wrote a short note. I hope you don't think I disliked the playing."

    Dario's mother smiled at Mrs. Gilbert. "I think maybe we 15 you an apology." she said. "I didn't 16 how late it was when we were playing. Maybe we should play some quieter music at night.

    "You play, you play!" Mrs. Gilbert said. "I like what you play! Just not so loud at night." She pointed to the book she had given them. "These songs are not such 17 music."

    "These songs are beautiful music." Dario's mother said. "We will be 18 to play them in the evening."

    "And we won't play so loud or late!" Dario said. He was already looking forward to 19 the new music. More than that, however, he was happy to see the big smile on his mother's face. It gave him a feeling of 20 and made him feel that they were home at last.

I was on a family holiday in Palma, Mallorca, in July 2001. One weekend we rented a motorboat and we were going 1, crashing over big waves. It was an exciting, but also a(n) 2 feeling. I began to realize something was wrong only when we got back on 3. We went for a 4, and I sat in the restaurant wondering why the table was swaying. 5 I got back to Britain, such feeling increased, making simple tasks at home 6.

After several more 7 with doctors, I remember feeling 8 when they didn't find a brain tumor: at least that would have explained things. I started to do my own 9, reading related articles and consult experts. Finally I got a(n) 10 diagnosis of MdDS from the National Hospital in London. But they told me there is no 11, and all they could do was help me manage my mental health.

Nearly 20 years on, I'm still living 12 MdDS. People have suggested different ways of treatment and I've 13 all sorts of strange theories, but nothing has 14 for me. I'll never lose heart and I hope something will be 15 within my lifetime.

For me, one way of coping has been to 16 people about the condition. I've found fellow 17 all over the world, and have set up a website in the hope that 18 else has to go through what I did, struggling to get a diagnosis.

One of the most peculiar things about MdDS is that it's 19 triggered, and yet motion—by car, train, plane or boat—can bring temporary 20. Some long time sufferers become almost like travel addicts, desiring that release.