When I was in Germany, one day at Christmas-time I went to a post office to send a letter. To my 1, I found people queuing some paces away from the 2 at the savings deposit (存款) window.

    Why so? Each did his business in turn but the line never 3 a step nearer .I was very curious, so I walked to the window to 4 the cause. There was a 5on which was written “ Thank you for your respect for other's privacy”—a polite 6 to keep people away from nosing into other's affairs (money matters are regarded as privacy in Western countries). I was deeply 7 by the sight and stayed a while to watch: they were 8 so calmly at a distance that they seemed quite 9 to the practice. The 10 thing happened at a public telephone box. Those waiting for their 11 always kept their distance—enough to be out of 12. It's another typical example! From then on I 13 to watch their ways of doing things, manners, treatment shown towards 14. I found the Germans always mindful of other's privacy（隐私）. They 15 not to put others in an embarrassing (窘迫) situation. For instance, they never 16 about age, incomes or the place to buy such a coat, nor would they talk about the others or 17 others wore on their necks. Their laws 18 reading diaries or opening letters without 19. It's obvious that it shows 20 matters are not allowed to be disturbed.

    The books in David's schoolbag felt like bricks as he ran. What he wanted to do was to play basketball with Eric, 1 his mother told him he would have to return his sister's books to the library first.

    He had 2 set foot in a library and he didn't like reading. He would just 3 the books in the outside return box. But there was a 4; it was locked.

    He went into the building, only a few minutes 5 closing time. He put the books into the return box. And after a brief 6 in the WC, he would be on his way to the playground to 7 Eric.

    David stepped out of the WC and stopped in  8 — the library lights were off. The place was 9. The doors had been shut. They 10 be opened from the inside, he was trapped in a library!

    He tried to11 a telephone call, but was unable to12. What's more, the pay phones were on the outside of the building. 13 the sun began to set, he searched for a light and found it.

    14 he could see. David wrote on a piece of paper: “15! I'm TRAPPED inside!” and stuck it to the glass door. 16, someone passing by would see it.

    He was surprised to discover that this place was not so unpleasant, 17. Rows and rows of shelves held books. He saw a book about Michael Jordan and took it. He settled into a chair and started to 18.

    He knew he had to 19, but now, that didn't seem to be such a 20 thing.

    I remember the first day when I saw Sally playing basketball. I watched in wonder as she struggled her way through the crowed of boys on the playground. She seemed so

    1 but she managed to shoot jump shots just over their heads and into the net. The boys always tried to stop her 2 nobody could.

    I began to notice Sally at other times, basketball in hand, playing 3. She practiced dribbling(运球) and 4 over and over.

    One day I asked Sally why she 5 so much. Without a moment of hesitation she said, "I want to go to college. The only way I can go is to get a 6. I'm going to play college basketball and I want to be the best one. I believe if I am 7 enough, I will get one. My father has told me that if the dream is big enough, the facts don't8. "

    I 9 her through those junior high years and into high school. Every week, she led her team to 10. One day in her senior year, I saw her sitting on the grass, her head

    11 in her arms. Slowly and quietly, I walk 12 and sat down beside her. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Oh, nothing," came a soft reply, "I am just too short. " The 13 told her that at 165 cm she would probably never play for a top team -- still less she would be 14 a scholarship -- so she should stop dreaming about college.

    I felt she was extremely 15. I asked her if she had talked to her dad about it yet. She told me that her father said those coaches were 16. They didn't understand the17 of a dream.

    The next year, Sally was seen by a college basketball coach after a big game. She was 18 offered a scholarship and 19 to the college education that she had 20and worked toward for all those years.

    It's true: if the dream is big enough, the facts don't count.

    The snow was falling and the roads had become dangerous. The schools were dismissed early, but much to my surprise, my1wasn't canceled. So I went, feeling especially heroic. As far as I could see, I was risking my life to keep my2. Snow or no snow, I would be on time for my scheduled donation at the local3center.

    When I got there, I discovered I wasn't 4. Four more "hero-types" were already lying back in donor chairs with lines5to their veins, and machines quietly pumping away to6their lifesaving gifts.

    Seeing my fellow donors honoring their own commitments, I realized why I was there. I lay back in my donor chair, ready to make a difference in the life of someone I would never7.

    To be honest, I'd never really thought about why I donate. I just do it. But a few months ago, during one of my8donations I learned that my blood was specifically for a cancer patient and for a newborn baby—both patients needed what I would give in order to live. I've viewed my visits to the blood center9ever since.

    My wife Karen is a10, too. And more importantly, she has been on the bone marrow (骨髄) list for fifteen years, ever since she signed up to provide bone marrow to a kindergartner with leukemia (白血病). That little girl died before Karen's bone marrow could help her,11Karen was called again recently. Her test results were still on file, and it turned out she was a potential12for someone else. The caller asked Karen if she would still be willing to become a bone marrow donor. "Yes," she said and then immediately began answering questions on the pages of paperwork for further testing. It was a race13time.

    I wish I could say that this14was won. It wasn't. The caller later thanked Karen for her participation and asked a few more questions—including whether or not she'd15on the donor list. "Of course," Karen answered.

    Last week Karen gave blood and next week I'll make my usual donation. I'll16an afternoon from my schedule and make an appointment. I don't know whose life my donation may17. Most likely it will be a18, but on any day the person needing a blood product could be you or me or maybe a loved one. It is worthwhile to19our time to donate.

    I really do feel20every time I donate. And I like the feeling.

My husband and I were both raised on Kansas farms. It was1 to my husband's parents that their children should be educated and given the2 to gain financial stability that they themselves didn't have when they3to feed their family.

We each sought careers in the medical field. As we searched for a place to settle, we looked only at 4 communities. The city held no attraction for us. We wanted a5, quiet area where our children could be exposed to good basic values, a good6 , and a friendly environment. Our7was made 40 years ago, and we never once8settling down in a small town in north central Kansas. .

Early investment(投资) to secure the education of our children and our future retirement were focused on9 . Farming was and is a(n)10part of our lives, although the primary income source is our11 practice.

What's great about small town living? The air is clean! There is no12. We feel safe! Our doors are locked13 . Our neighbors are honest and friendly. Only recently have we learned to14 car keys from unattended vehicles- not because of any great dangers, but to15 us more cautious and safe when we are in more heavily populated areas.

There are very few16in our small community. Even if you don't know each other very well, smiling faces with recognition and greetings are17with warmth. Friendly enquiries are18when there has been an experience with pain or joy. Anytime a neighbor is19from illness or some loss, the community is there to help, to20 the burden and to express their loving concern.

After getting married nine years ago, I moved to an absolutely new town.1as I was, with various new things to explore, I was still lonely. I was desperate to establish2.

This could explain my enthusiastic "Count me in!" when3to participate in a half marathon. Considering my usual 3 miles, I must have been4—13 miles seemed a（n）5task.

However, the initial6gradually wore off. I found comfort in burying myself in training. Though taking it slow, one mile, and then two, I gradually made7. Mile after mile, I managed to step beside my new friends. We talked about our favorite music and8funny stories about our children. At about mile 10, the conversations9. We shared our past and hopes for our future, our fears and regrets. By the time we were running 12-mile legs, I was10that I'd made lifelong friends.

11, the day of the race arrived. At the start line, armed with my friends, I already felt like a champion. My time training had12. I managed to hold a steady pace and kept up with my13. Finally, we crossed the finish line together.

Although it started as a14of building social ties, running not only provided me with friendships, but with a skill that would15me the rest of my life.