基础教育阶段英语课程的任务重中之重是要激发和培养学生学习英语的兴趣，使学生树立自信心，养成良好的学习习惯和形成有效的学习策略，发展自主学习的能力和合作精神。小编精心收集了感人经典英语故事，供大家欣赏学习!

感人经典英语故事篇1

Hungry for Your Love

It is cold， so bitter cold， on this dark， winter day in 1942. But it is no different from any other day in this Nazi concentration camp. I stand shivering in my thin rags， still in disbelief that this nightmare is happening. I am just a young boy. I should be playing with friends; I should be going to school; I should be looking forward to a future， to growing up and marrying， and having a family of my own. But those dreams are for the living， and I am no longer one of them. Instead， I am almost dead， surviving from day to day， from hour to hour， ever since I was taken from my home and brought here with tens of thousands other Jews. Will I still be alive tomorrow? Will I be taken to the gas chamber tonight?

Back and forth I walk next to the barbed wire fence， trying to keep my emaciated body warm. I am hungry， but I have been hungry for longer than I want to remember. I am always hungry. Edible food seems like a dream. Each day as more of us disappear， the happy past seems like a mere dream， and I sink deeper and deeper into despair. Suddenly， I notice a young girl walking past on the other side of the barbed wire. She stops and looks at me with sad eyes， eyes that seem to say that she understands， that she， too， cannot fathom why I am here. I want to look away， oddly ashamed for this stranger to see me like this， but I cannot tear my eyes from hers.

Then she reaches into her pocket， and pulls out a red apple. A beautiful， shiny red apple. Oh， how long has it been since I have seen one! She looks cautiously to the left and to the right， and then with a smile of triumph， quickly throws the apple over the fence. I run to pick it up， holding it in my trembling， frozen fingers. In my world of death， this apple is an expression of life， of love. I glance up in time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.

The next day， I cannot help myself-I am drawn at the same time to that spot near the fence. Am I crazy for hoping she will come again? Of course. But in here， I cling to any tiny scrap of hope. She has given me hope and I must hold tightly to it.

And again， she comes. And again， she brings me an apple， flinging it over the fence with that same sweet smile.

This time I catch it， and hold it up for her to see. Her eyes twinkle. Does she pity me? Perhaps. I do not care， though. I am just so happy to gaze at her. And for the first time in so long， I feel my heart move with emotion.

For seven months， we meet like this. Sometimes we exchange a few words. Sometimes， just an apple. But she is feeding more than my belly， this angel from heaven. She is feeding my soul. And somehow， I know I am feeding hers as well.

One day， I hear frightening news： we are being shippe

d to another camp. This could mean the end for me. And it definitely means the end for me and my friend.

The next day when I greet her， my heart is breaking， and I can barely speak as I say what must be said： "Do not bring me an apple tomorrow，" I tell her. "I am being sent to another camp. We will never see each other again." Turning before I lose all control， I run away from the fence. I cannot bear to look back. If I did， I know she would see me standing there， with tears streaming down my face.

Months pass and the nightmare continues. But the memory of this girl sustains me through the terror， the pain， the hopelessness. Over and over in my mind， I see her face， her kind eyes， I hear her gentle words， I taste those apples.

And then one day， just like that， the nightmare is over. The war has ended. Those of us who are still alive are freed. I have lost everything that was precious to me， including my family. But I still have the memory of this girl， a memory I carry in my heart and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to start a new life.

Years pass. It is 1957. I am living in New York City. A friend convinces me to go on a blind date with a lady friend of his. Reluctantly， I agree. But she is nice， this woman named Roma. And like me， she is an immigrant， so we have at least that in common.

"Where were you during the war?" Roma asks me gently， in that delicate way immigrants ask one another questions about those years.

"I was in a concentration camp in Germany，" I reply.

Roma gets a far away look in her eyes， as if she is remembering something painful yet sweet.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I am just thinking about something from my past， Herman，" Roma explains in a voice suddenly very soft. "You see， when I was a young girl， I lived near a concentration camp. There was a boy there， a prisoner， and for a long while， I used to visit him every day. I remember I used to bring him apples. I would throw the apple over the fence， and he would be so happy."

Roma sighs heavily and continues. "It is hard to describe how we felt about each other-after all， we were young， and we only exchanged a few words when we could-but I can tell you， there was much love there. I assume he was killed like so many others. But I cannot bear to think that， and so I try to remember him as he was for those months we were given together."

With my heart pounding so loudly I think it wil1 explode， I look directly at Roma and ask， "And did that boy say to you one day， 'Do not bring me an apple tomorrow. I am being sent to

another camp'?"

"Why， yes，" Roma responds， her voice trembling.

"But， Herman， how on earth could you possibly know that?"

I take her hands in mine and answer， "Because I was that young boy， Roma."

For many moments， there is only silence. We cannot take our eyes from each other， and as the veils of time lift， we recognize the soul behind the eyes， the dear friend we once loved so much， whom we have never stopped loving， whom we have never stopped remembering.

Finally， I speak： "Look， Roma， I was separated from you once， and I don't ever want to be separated from you again. Now， I am free， and I want to be together with you forever. Dear， will you marry me?"

I see that same twinkle in her eye that I used to see as Roma says， "Yes， I will marry you，" and we embrace， the embrace we longed to share for so many months， but barbed wire came between us. Now， nothing ever will again.

Almost forty years have passed since that day when I found my Roma again. Destiny brought us together the first time during the war to show me a promise of hope and now it had reunited us to fulfill that promise.

Valentine's Day， 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah Winfrey Show to honor her on national television. I want to tell her infront of millions of people what I feel in my heart every day：

"Darling， you fed me in the concentration camp when I was hungry. And I am still hungry， for something I will never get enough of： I am only hungry for your love."

感人经典英语故事篇2

发生在圣诞节的一个感人故事

For many of us, one Christmas stands out from all the others, the one when the meaning of the day shone clearest. My own "truest" Christmas began on a rainy spring day in the bleakest year of my life.

Recently divorced, I was in my 20s, had no job and was on my way downtown to go the rounds of the employment offices. I had no umbrella, for my old one had fallen apart, and I could not afford another one.

I sat down in the streetcar--and there against the seat was a beautiful silk umbrella with a silver handle inlaid with gold and necks of bright enamel. I had never seen anything so lovely.

I examined the handle and saw a name engraved among the golden scrolls. The usual procedure would have been to turn in the umbrella to the conductor, but on impulse I decided to take it with me and find the owner myself.

I got off the streetcar in a downpour and thankfully opened the umbrella to protect myself. Then I searched a telephone book for the name on the umbrella and found it. I called and a lady answered.

Yes, she said in surprise, that was her umbrella, which her parents, now dead, had given her for a birthday present. But, she added, it had been stolen from her locker at school (she was a teacher) more than a year before.

She was so excited that I forgot I was looking for a job and went directly to her small house. She took the umbrella, and her eyes filled with tears.

The teacher wanted to give me a reward, but--though twenty dollars was all I had in the world--her happiness at retrieving this special possession was such that to have accepted money would have spoiled something. We talked for a while, and I must have given her my address. I don't remember.

The next six months were wretched. I was able to obtain only temporary employment here and there, for a small salary. But I put aside twenty-five or fifty cents when I could afford it for my lithe girl's Christmas presents.

My last job ended the day before Christmas, my thirty-dollar rent was soon due, and 1 had fifteen dollars to my name--which Peggy and I would need for food.

She was home from convent boarding school and was excitedly looking forward to her gifs next day, which I had already Purchased. I had bough her a small tree, and we were going to decorate it that night.

The air was full of the sound of Christmas merriment as I walked from the streetcar to my small apartment. Bells rang and children shouted in the bitter dusk of the evening, and windows were lighted and everyone was running and laughing. But there should be no Christmas for me, I knew, no gifts, no remembrance whatsoever.

As l struggled through the snowdrifts, l had just about reached the lowest Point in my life. Unless a miracle happened, I would be homeless in January, foodless, jobless. I had prayed steadily for weeks, and there had been no answer but this coldness and darkness, this harsh air, this abandonment.

God and men had completely forgotten me. I felt so helpless and so lonely. What was to become of us?

I looked in my mail box. There were only bills in it, a sheaf of them, and two white envelopes which I was sure contained more bills. I went up three dusty flights of stairs and I cried, shivering in my thin coat.

But I made myself smile so I could greet my little daughter with a Pretense of happiness. She opened the door for me and threw herself in my arms, screaming joyously and demanding that we decorate the tree immediately.

Peggy had proudly set our kitchen table for our evening meal and put pans out and three cans of food which would be our dinner. For some reason, when I looked at those pans and cans, I felt brokenhearted. We would have only hamburgers for our Christmas dinner tomorrow.

I stood in the cold little kitchen, misery overwhelmed me. For the first time in my life, I doubted the existence and his mercy, and the coldness in my heart was colder than ice.

The doorbell rang and Peggy ran fleetly to answer it, calling that it must be Santa Claus. Then I heard a man talking heartily to her and went to the door. He was a delivery man, and his arms were full of parcels. "This is a mistake," I said, but he read the name on the parcels and there were for me.

When he had gone I could only stare at the boxes. Peggy and I sat on the floor and opened them. A huge doll, three times the size of the one I had bought for her. Gloves. Candy. A beautiful leather purse. Incredible! I looked for the name of the sender. It was the teacher, the address was simply "California", where she had moved.

Our dinner the nigh was the most delicious I had ever eaten. I forgot I had no money for the rent and only fifteen dollars in my purse and no job. My child and I ate and laughed together in happiness.

Then we decorated the little tree and marveled at it. I put Peggy to bed and set up her gifts around the tree and a sweet peace flooded me like a benediction. I had some hope again. I could even examine the sheaf of bills without cringing.

感人经典英语故事篇3

A man came home form work late, tired and found his 5 years 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? " " 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, then you go to bed." The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door. 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 iIttle boy's room

and opened the door."Are you asleep, son?" he asked. "no daddy," replied the boy. "I've been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier." said the man, "Here's the $10 you 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? Is you already have some ?" the father asked. "Because I didn't have enough, but now I do. "the little boy repiied, "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."