感人的故事英语作文

感人的英语故事

All Mum's Letters

To this day I remember my mum's letters. It all started in December1941. Every night she sat at the big table in the kitchen and wrote tomy brother Johnny, who had been drafted that summer. We had not heardfrom him since the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

I didn't understand why my mum kept writing Johnny when he never wrote back.

"Wait and see-we'll get a letter from him one day," she claimed.Mum said that there was a direct link from the brain to the writtenword that was just as strong as the light God has granted us. Shetrusted that this light would find Johnny.

I don't know if she said that to calm herself, dad or all of usdown. But I do know that it helped us stick together, and one day aletter really did arrive. Johnny was alive on an island in the Pacific.

I had always been amused by the fact that mum signed her letters,"Cecilia Capuzzi", and I teased her about that. "Why don't you justwrite 'Mum'?" I said.

I hadn't been aware that she always thought of herself as CeciliaCapuzzi. Not as Mum. I began seeing her in a new light, this smalldelicate woman, who even in high-heeled shoes was barely one and a halfmeters tall.

She never wore make-up or jewelry except for a wedding ring ofgold. Her hair was fine, sleek and black and always put up in a knot inthe neck. She wouldn't hear of getting a haircut or a perm. Her smallsilver-rimmed pince-nez only left her nose when she went to bed.

Whenever mum had finished a letter, she gave it to dad for him topost it. Then she put the water on to boil, and we sat down at thetable and talked about the good old days when our Italian-Americanfamily had been a family of ten: mum, dad and eight children. Five boysand three girls. It is hard to understand that they had all moved awayfrom home to work, enroll in the army, or get married. All except me.

Around next spring mum had got two more sons to write to. Everyevening she wrote threedifferent letters which she gave to me and dadafterwards so we could add our greetings.

Little by little the rumour about mum's letters spread. One day asmall woman knocked atour door. Her voice trembled as she asked: "Is ittrue you write letters?"

"I write to my sons."

"And you can read too?" whispered the woman.

"Sure."

The woman opened her bag and pulled out a pile of airmail letters. "Read… please read them aloud to me."

The letters were from the woman's son who was a soldier in Europe,a red-haired boy who mum remembered having seen sitting with hisbrothers on the stairs in front of our house. Mum read the letters oneby one and translated them from English to Italian. The woman's eyeswelled up with tears. "Now I have to write to him," she said. But howwas she going to do it?

"Make some coffee, Octavia," mum yelled to me in the living roomwhile she took the woman with her into the kitchen and seated her atthe table. She took the fountain pen, ink and air mail notepaper andbegan to write. When she had finished, she read the letter aloud to thewoman.

"How did you know that was exactly what I wanted to say?"

"I often sit and look at my boys' letters, just like you, without a clue about what to write."

A few days later the woman returned with a friend, then another oneand yet another one--they all had sons who fought in the war, and theyall needed letters. Mum had become the correspondent in our part oftown. Sometimes she would write letters all day long.

Mum always insisted that people signed their own letters, and thesmall woman with the grey hair asked mum to teach her how to do it. "Iso much want to be able to write my own name so that my son can seeit." Then mum held the woman's hand in hers and moved her hand over thepaper again and again until she was able to do it without her help.

After that day, when mum had written a letter for the woman, she signed it herself, and her face brightened up in a smile.

One day she came to us, and mum instantly knew what had happened.All hope had disappeared from her eyes. They stood hand in hand for along time without saying a word. Then mum said: "We better go tochurch. There are certain things in life so great that we cannotcomprehend them." When mum came back home, she couldn't get thered-haired boy out of her mind.

After the war was over, mum put away the pen and paper. "Finito,"she said. But she was wrong. The women who had come to her for help inwriting to their sons now came to her with letters from their relativesin Italy. They also came to ask her for her help in getting Americancitizenship.

On one occasion mum admitted that she had always had a secret dream of writing a novel.

"Why didn't you?" I asked.

"All people in this world are here with one particular purpose,"she said. "Apparently, mine is to write letters." She tried to explainwhy it absorbed her so.

"A letter unites people like nothing else. It can make them cry, it can make them laugh.

There is no caress more lovely and warm than a love letter, becauseit makes the world seem very small, and both sender and receiver becomelike kings in their own kingdoms. My dear, a letter is life itself!"

Today all mum's letters are lost. But those who got them still talk about her and cherish the

memory of her letters in their hearts.

【中文译文】：

至今我依然记得母亲的信。事情要从1941 年12 月说起。母亲每晚都坐在厨房的大饭桌旁边，给我弟弟约翰写信。那年夏天约翰应征入伍。自从日本袭击珍珠港以后，他就一直杳无音信。

约翰从未回信，我不明白母亲为何还要坚持写下去。

可母亲还是坚持说：“等着瞧吧，总有一天他会给我们回信的。” 她深信思想和文字是直接相连，这种联系就像上帝赋予人类的光芒一样强大，而这道光芒终会照耀到约翰的身上。

虽然我不肯定她是否只是在安慰自己，或是父亲，或者是我们几个孩子，但我们一家人却因此更加亲密。而最终我们终于等到了约翰的回信，原来他驻扎在太平洋的一个岛屿上，安然无恙。

母亲总以“塞西莉娅??卡普奇”署名，每每令我忍俊不禁，还要嘲笑她几句。我问：“为什么不直接写‘母亲’呢？”

以前我一直没有留意到她把自己当成塞西莉娅??卡普奇，而不是母亲。我不禁以新的眼光打量自己的母亲，她是多么优雅，又是那么矮小，就算穿上高跟鞋，她的身高依然不足一米五。母亲向来素面朝天，除了手上戴的婚戒，她基本是不戴其他的首饰。她的头发顺滑乌亮，盘在颈后，从不剪短或烫曲。只有在睡觉的时候，她才摘下那副小小的银丝眼镜。

每次母亲写完信，就会把信交给父亲去邮寄。然后她把水烧开，和我们围坐在桌旁，聊聊过去的好日子。从前我们这个意裔的美国家庭可是人丁旺盛：父母亲和我们八个兄弟姐妹——五男三女，济济一堂。现在他们都因工作、入伍或婚姻纷纷离开了家，只有我留下来，想想真觉匪夷所思。

第二年春天，母亲也要开始给另外两个儿子写信了。每天晚上，她先写好三封内容不同的信交给我和父亲，然后我们再加上自己的问候。

母亲写信的事渐渐传开。一天，一个矮小的女人来敲我们家的门，用颤抖的声音问：“你真的会写信吗？”

“我写给我的儿子。”

“那么你也能读信咯？”女人小声问。

“当然。”

女人打开背包，掏出一叠航空信。“请，请您大声读给我听好吗？”

信是女人在欧洲参战的儿子写来的，母亲依稀还记得他的模样，他有一头红色的头发，常和他的兄弟一起坐在我们家门前的楼梯上。母亲把信一封接一封地从英文翻成意大利文读出来。听完，那女人双眼噙着泪水说：“我一定要给他写回信。”可是她该怎么办呢？

“奥塔维娅，去冲杯咖啡来。”母亲在客厅大声叫我，然后把那女人领到厨房桌旁坐下，拿出钢笔、墨水和信纸开始写信。写完后为她大声读出来。

“这正是我想说的话，您是怎么知道的呢？”

“我也和你一样，常常坐在那里看儿子的来信，完全不知道写什么好。”

几天后，女人回来，带来一个朋友，后来又来一个，再一个……他们都有儿子在战场上奋战，都需要写信。妈妈变成了我们城镇的通讯员，有时她一整天都在写回信。

母亲常常坚持让大家签上自己的名字。一位头发灰白的女人要母亲教她怎么签名。“我真想亲手写下自己的名字，好让儿子可以看到。”于是母亲手把手地教她在纸上一遍一遍书写，直到她自己可以签名。

第二天，母亲帮那个女人写好信，由她亲自签名，女人的面容在微笑中变得灿烂了。

有一天她来我家，眼里全无希望的光芒，母亲立刻明白了。两人握着手，久久无语。后来母亲说：“我们去教堂吧。生命中有些事情太深奥，我们无法理解。”母亲回家后，一直记着那个红头发的小男孩。

战争结束后，母亲收起纸笔，说：“都结束了。”可是她错了。那个曾让母亲帮忙给儿子写信的女人又来了，带着意大利亲人的来信。他们还让母亲帮忙帮他们的亲属申请入籍。

一次母亲承认她心里一直有一个愿望，就是要写一本小说。“为什么不写呢？”我问。

母亲试着解释她为何如此沉迷写信，“每个人来到这个世界都有一个目的。显然，我就是来写信的。”

“信无可替代地把人与人连在一起，让人笑，让人哭。一封情书比任何爱抚更令人觉得亲爱和温暖，因为它让世界变小，写信人和收信人都成为自己世界里的国王。亲爱的，信就是生命本身！”

今天，母亲所有的信已经遗失。但是那些收到信的人仍在谈论她，并把有关信的记忆珍藏在心。

一篇感人的英文故事

Words from the Heart

Most people need to hear those "three little words" I love you. Once in a while, they hear them just in time.

I met Connie the day she was admitted to the hospice1 ward, where I worked as a volunteer. Her husband, Bill, stood nervously nearby as she was transferred from the gurney2 to the hospital bed. Although Connie was in the final stages of her fight against cancer, she was alert and cheerful. We got her settled in. I finished marking her name on all the hospital supplies she would be using, then asked if she needed anything.

"Oh, yes," she said, "would you please show me how to use the TV? I enjoy the soaps so much and I don't want to get behind on what's happening." Connie was a romantic. She loved soap operas, romance novels and movies with a good love story. As we became acquainted, she confided how frustrating it was to be married 32 years to a man who often called her "a silly woman."

"Oh, I know Bill loves me," she said, "but he has never been one to say he loves me, or send cards to me." She sighed and looked out the window at the trees in the courtyard. "I'd give anything if he'd say ‘I love you,' but it's just not in his nature."

Bill visited Connie every day. In the beginning, he sat next to the bed while she watched the soaps. Later, when she began sleeping more, he paced up and down the hallway outside her room. Soon, when she no longer watched television and had fewer waking moments, I began spending more of my volunteer time with Bill.

He talked about having worked as a carpenter and how he liked to go fishing. He and Connie had no children, but they'd been enjoying retirement by traveling, until Connie got sick. Bill could not express his feelings about the fact that his wife was dying.

One day, over coffee in the cafeteria, I got him on the subject of women and how we need romance in our lives; how we love to get sentimental1 cards and love letters.

"Do you tell Connie you love her?" I asked (knowing his answer), and he looked at me as if I was crazy.

"I don't have to," he said. "She knows I do!"

"I'm sure she knows," I said, reaching over and touching his hands rough, carpenter's hands that were gripping the cup as if it were the only thing he had to hang onto "but she needs to hear it, Bill. She needs to hear what she has meant to you all these years. Please think about it."

We walked back to Connie's room. Bill disappeared inside, and I left to visit another patient. Later, I saw Bill sitting by the bed. He was holding Connie's hand as she slept. The date was February 12.

Two days later I walked down the hospice ward at noon. There stood Bill, leaning up against the wall in the hallway, staring at the floor. I already knew from the head nurse that Connie had died at 11 A.M..

When Bill saw me, he allowed himself to come into my arms for a long time. His face was wet with tears and he was trembling. Finally, he leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath.

"I have to say something," he said. "I have to say how good I feel about telling her." He stopped to blow his nose. "I thought a lot about what you said, and this morning I told her how much I loved her... and loved being married to her. You shoulda2 seen her smile!"

I went into the room to say my own good?bye to Connie. There, on the bedside table, was a large Valentine card from Bill. You know, the sentimental kind that says, "To my wonderful wife... I love you."

说出心里话

大多数人需要听到那“三个小字”——我爱你。有时他们就会在最需要的时候听到。

我在康尼住进收容所病房的那天见到了她。我在那儿当义工。把她从轮床抬上病床时，她的丈夫比尔焦虑不安地站在旁边。虽然康尼处于和癌症搏斗的晚期，但她仍然神智清醒，精神愉快。我们把她安顿好。我在医院提供给她使用的所有用品上标上她的名字，然后问她是否需要什么。

“啊，是的，”她说，“请告诉我怎么用电视好吗？我非常喜欢肥皂剧，想随时跟上进展情况。”康尼是个浪漫的人。她酷爱肥皂剧、浪漫小说和讲述美好爱情故事的电影。随着我们越来越熟，她向我吐露说，跟一个经常叫她“傻女人”的男人生活了32年有多么沮丧。

“唉，我知道比尔爱我，”她说道，“可是他从来不说他爱我，也不给我寄贺卡。”她叹了口气，朝窗外庭院里的树望去。“如果他说声‘我爱你’，我愿意付出一切，可这根本不是他的性格。”

比尔每天都来探望康尼。一开始，康尼看肥皂剧，他就坐在床旁。后来，她睡的时候多了，比尔就在屋外走廊里踱来踱去。不久，康尼不再看电视了，醒的时候也少了，我开始花更多的义工时间和比尔在一起。

他谈到他一直是个木工，他多么喜欢钓鱼。他和康尼没有孩子，但他们四处旅游，享受着退休生活，直到康尼得病。对他妻子病危这一事实，比尔无法表达他的感受。

一天，在自助餐厅喝咖啡时，我设法和比尔谈起女人这个话题，谈到生活中我们多么需要浪漫，多想收到充满柔情蜜意的卡片和情书。

“你跟康尼说你爱她吗？”我明知故问。他瞧着我，就好像我有神经病。

“我没有必要说，”他说道。“她知道我爱她！”

“我肯定她知道，”我说。我伸出手，触摸着他那双木工粗糙的手。这双手紧握着杯子，似乎它是他需要依附的惟一东西——“可是她需要听到它，比尔。她需要听到所有这些年来她对你意味什么。请你考虑考虑。”

我们走回康尼的房间。比尔进了屋，我走开去看望另一个病人。后来，我看见比尔坐在床边。康尼入睡了，他握着她的一只手。那天是2月12日。

两天后的中午时分，我顺着收容所病房过道向前走着。比尔站在那里，靠着墙，凝视着地面。护士长已经告诉我，康尼在上午11点故去了。

比尔看见我后，让我拥抱了他许久。他满脸泪水，浑身颤抖。最后，他向后靠在墙上，深深地吸了一口气。

“我有话非说不可，”他说道。“我得说，对她说出来，感觉真是好极了。”他停下来擤鼻子。“你说的话我想了很多；今天早上我对她说我多么爱她……我多么珍惜和她结为夫妻。你真该看看她的笑容！”

我走进康尼的房间，亲自去和她告别 。我看见，床头桌上放着一张比尔给她的大大的情人节贺卡——就是那种充满柔情蜜意的贺卡，上面写着：“给我出色的妻子……我爱你。”

英语作文关于感人的故事80字

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1.Everyone is attracted by beauty and beauty is powerful.But what is true beauty? Perhaps you can get the answer from the following story.

每个人都会被美所吸引，荚有强大的力量。但是什么是真正的美呢?或许你可以从下面的事情中得到答案。

This morning I went to the market to buy some vegetables with my parents. On the way we all highly praised a young man in western-style clothes and leather shoes who was riding by.But he rode so fast that he knocked an old lady down carelessly.Instead of stopping, he pretended not to see this and rode away quickly.We were all very angry with the young man.To our happiness, a girl in plain dress ran forward at once, helped the lady up and took her home.We all praised the girl.

今天早上我和父母一起去市场买蔬菜，路上我们都赞叹一个西装革履的正骑车经过的年轻人。但是他骑得太快了，不小心把一位老妇人撞倒在地。而他却假装没看到，飞快地骑走了。我们都生那个年轻人的气。让人欣慰的是，一个穿着朴素的女孩立刻跑过来，扶起老人并把她送回了家。我们都夸奖这个小女孩。

From this we know we cannot judge a person by his appearance.A person who is dressed beautifully may not have a beautiful soul. Only a person who has a beautiful soul is really beautiful.

由此我们知道了，不能通过外表来判断一个人。一个身穿华服的人可能没有美好的心灵，拥有美丽灵魂的人才是真正美丽的。

感人的故事英文200个字

A man came home from work late, tired and irritated, to find his 5-year old son waiting for him at the door.

“Daddy, may I ask you a question?”

“Yeah sure, what is it?” replied the man.

“Daddy, how much do you make an hour?”

“That’s none of your business. Why do you ask such a thing?” the man said angrily.

“I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?” pleaded the little boy.

“If you must know, I make $20 an hour.”

“Oh,” the little boy replied, with his head down. Looking up, he said, “Daddy, may I please borrow $10?”

The father was furious, “If the only reason you asked that is so you can borrow some money to buy a silly toy or some other nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think about why you are being so selfish. I work hard every day for such childish behavior.”

The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door. The man sat down and started to get even angrier about the little boy’s questions. How dare he ask such questions only to get some money? After about an hour or so, the man had calmed down, and started to think: Maybe there was something he really needed to buy with that $10 and he really didn’t ask for money very often.

The man went to the door of the little boy’s room and opened the door.

“Are you asleep, son?” He asked.

“No daddy, I’m awake,” replied the boy.

“I’ve been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier,” said the man, “It’s been a long day and I took out my aggravation on you. Here’s the $10you asked for.”

The little boy sat straight up, smiling. “Oh, thank you daddy!” He yelled. Then, reaching under his pillow he pulled out some crumpled up bills. The man, seeing that the boy already had money, started to get angry again. The little boy slowly counted out his money, then looked up at his father.

“Why do you want more money if you already have some?” the father grumbled.

“Because I didn’t have enough, but now I do,” the little boy replied. “Daddy, I have $20 now. Can I buy an hour of your time? Please come home early tomorrow. I would like to have dinner with you.”

一个感人的英文小故事解释：

一个人工作到很晚，带着疲惫与愤怒回到家里，却发现5岁大的儿子正在门口等他。

“爸爸，我可以问你一个问题吗？”

“当然，什么问题？”

“爸爸，你一个小时赚多少钱？”

“这不关你的事。怎么问这样一个问题？”父亲生气地说道。

“我只是想知道。请告诉我吧，你一个小时赚多少钱？”小男孩乞求地说。

“真想知道就告诉你吧，我一小时赚20美元。”

“噢，”男孩说着，低下了头。接着，他抬起头来问：“爸爸，我可以借你10美元钱吗？”

父亲生气了：“如果你问这个问题，只是为了借钱买无聊的玩具或其他没用的东西，那就赶紧回你的房间睡觉去。想想你怎么会这么自私。我每天工作这么辛苦，得到的竟是这样幼稚愚蠢的举动。”

小男孩静静地走进自己的房间，关上了门。这个人坐下后，更加为这个男孩的问题生气了。这孩子怎么敢问这样的问题，就为了借些钱呢？大约过了一个小时，他才平静下来了，开始想：也许他真的需要这10美元买什么东西呢，他并不是经常要钱花。

于是这个人走到小男孩的门口，打开了门。

“你睡了吗，孩子？”他问。

“没有呢，爸爸。我醒着，”男孩回答。

“我在想，可能刚才我对你太严厉了，”父亲说，“经过漫长的一天，我把怒气都发到你身上了。这是你要的10美元。”

小男孩坐直了身子，笑了：“噢，谢谢爸爸！”他忍不住呼喊起来。接着，他伸手到枕头底下，拿出一把皱巴巴的钞票。看到男孩已经有钱了，父亲又忍不住要发火。小男孩慢慢地数着钱，然后抬头看着父亲。

“既然你已经有钱了，为什么还要更多钱？”父亲粗鲁地抱怨说。

“因为我的钱不够，不过现在够了，”小男孩回答，“爸爸，我现在有20美元了，我可以买你一小时的时间吗？请你明天早点下班，我想和你一起吃晚饭。”

英语作文:一次让我感动的经历

An Unforgettable Travel

My families plan to visit the interesting place p of Shanghai.We are led to the Oriental Pearl TV Tower ,a famous tourist attraction,which is on every Shanghainese's lips.It is a magnificent building located in Pudong New Area,it is the tallest building,so it's very easy to see this building,even if you are several miles away it.As we get to the high floor of the Oriental Pearl TV Tower,we see the attractive viwswhich includes the Huangpu River through the window.At the moment,l suddenly moved by the builders put their soul and energy to this building and let it be a landmark of this city.

This is the trip l never forget.

感人的故事英语作文、感人的故事英语作文，就介绍到这里啦！感谢大家的阅读！希望能够对大家有所帮助！