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There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence.
The first day, the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down.
He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.
Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.
The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one.
You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won’t matter how many times you say I’m sorry the wound is still there. A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one.
ادامه مطلب ...
The first day, the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down.
He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.
Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.
The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one.
You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won’t matter how many times you say I’m sorry the wound is still there. A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one.
ترجمه فارسی در ادامه مطلب
داستان انگلیسی Meet Me In Istanbul
داستان انگلیسی Meet Me In Istanbul
حجم : 106 مگابایت
زمان: 1ساعت و 33 دقیقه
نوع فایل: mp4
رمز: www.EnglishDL.blogsky.com
داستان انگلیسی عنکبوت در موزه با ترجمه فارسی
داستان انگلیسی عنکبوت در موزه
ادامه مطلب ...
A Spider in the Museum
Once upon a time, there was a painting spider, one of those artistic species of spider, that live in the basements of museums and galleries. They live there alongside paintings left and forgotten for years; certainly a suitable place to spin the most impressive of webs. Our spider spun the best webs in the whole museum, and his house was really spectacular. All his efforts went into looking after the web, which he considered to be the most valuable in the world.
However, as time went on, the museum set about reorganising its paintings, and it started making space upstairs to put some of the basement paintings on display. Many of the basement spiders realised what was happening, and were cautious about it, but our spider paid it no mind:
-"Doesn't matter,"
he would say,
-"it'll just be a few paintings."
More and more paintings were removed from the basement, but the spider carried on reinforcing his web,
-"Where am I going to find a better place than this?"
he would say.
That was, until early one morning when, too quick for him to react, they took his own painting, along with the spider and his web. The spider realised that just for not having wanted to lose his web, he was now going to end up in the exhibition room.
In an act of strength and decisiveness, he chose to abandon his magnificent web, the web he had worked his whole life to build up. And it's a good job he did so, because that way he saved himself from the insect killer they were spraying on the paintings up in the exhibition room.
In his escape, after overcoming many difficulties, the spider ended up in a secluded little garden, where he found such a quiet corner that there he was able to spin an even better web, and became a much happier spider.
Once upon a time, there was a painting spider, one of those artistic species of spider, that live in the basements of museums and galleries. They live there alongside paintings left and forgotten for years; certainly a suitable place to spin the most impressive of webs. Our spider spun the best webs in the whole museum, and his house was really spectacular. All his efforts went into looking after the web, which he considered to be the most valuable in the world.
However, as time went on, the museum set about reorganising its paintings, and it started making space upstairs to put some of the basement paintings on display. Many of the basement spiders realised what was happening, and were cautious about it, but our spider paid it no mind:
-"Doesn't matter,"
he would say,
-"it'll just be a few paintings."
More and more paintings were removed from the basement, but the spider carried on reinforcing his web,
-"Where am I going to find a better place than this?"
he would say.
That was, until early one morning when, too quick for him to react, they took his own painting, along with the spider and his web. The spider realised that just for not having wanted to lose his web, he was now going to end up in the exhibition room.
In an act of strength and decisiveness, he chose to abandon his magnificent web, the web he had worked his whole life to build up. And it's a good job he did so, because that way he saved himself from the insect killer they were spraying on the paintings up in the exhibition room.
In his escape, after overcoming many difficulties, the spider ended up in a secluded little garden, where he found such a quiet corner that there he was able to spin an even better web, and became a much happier spider.
ترجمه فارسی در ادامه مطلب
Mr.White
Mr.White
Mr. White has a small shop in the middle of town, and he sells pictures in it. They are not expensive ones, but some of them are quite pretty. Last Saturday a woman came into the shop and looked at a lot of pictures. Then she took Mr. White to one of them and said, 'How much do you want for this one?' It was a picture of horses in a field.
Mr. White looked at it for a few seconds and then went and brought his book. He opened it, looked at the first page and then said, 'I want twenty pounds for that one.'
The woman shut her eyes for a few seconds and then said, 'I can give you two pounds for it.
Two pounds?' Mr. White said angrily. 'Two pounds? But the canvas cost more than two pounds.
Oh, but it was clean then,' the woman said.
ادامه مطلب ...
Mr. White has a small shop in the middle of town, and he sells pictures in it. They are not expensive ones, but some of them are quite pretty. Last Saturday a woman came into the shop and looked at a lot of pictures. Then she took Mr. White to one of them and said, 'How much do you want for this one?' It was a picture of horses in a field.
Mr. White looked at it for a few seconds and then went and brought his book. He opened it, looked at the first page and then said, 'I want twenty pounds for that one.'
The woman shut her eyes for a few seconds and then said, 'I can give you two pounds for it.
Two pounds?' Mr. White said angrily. 'Two pounds? But the canvas cost more than two pounds.
Oh, but it was clean then,' the woman said.
داستان انگلیسی پسربچه و کلم با ترجمه فارسی
داستان انگلیسی پسربچه و کلم
There was once a boy who - although very good and obedient - hated eating cabbage. Whenever he had to eat it he would complain and get extremely angry. One day, his mother decided to send him to the market to buy... a cabbage! So the boy was, of course, disgusted at this turn of events.
At the market, the boy reluctantly purchased one, but this wasn't just any old cabbage. It happened to be a cabbage which hated children. After an enormous argument, the boy and the cabbageset off for home, in silence, their anger barely below the surface the whole time. On the way, while crossing the river, the boy slipped and both of them fell into the rapids and were pulled under by the current. With great effort, they managed to come to the surface, grab onto a plank of wood, and stay afloat.
They had to spend so much time together, adrift on that plank, that after becoming mightily bored, they ended up conversing. They got to know each other, and became friends. They played manybizarre games, like the fish without a rod, the tiny hiding place, and the King of the mountain.
Chatting with his new friend, the boy understood the importance, at his young age, of vegetables like the cabbage, and how wrong it is to always be bad-mouthing them. The cabbage, for his part, realised that sometimes his flavour was a touch strong, and strange to children. So they agreed that when they reached home, the boy would treat the cabbage with great respect, and the cabbage would do its best to taste like spaghetti.
Their agreement was nothing if not a great success. The boy's mother was greatly surprised at how willingly he ate the cabbage, and the boy prepared the best hiding place in his tummy for the cabbage, shouting "Mmm! What great spaghetti!"
At the market, the boy reluctantly purchased one, but this wasn't just any old cabbage. It happened to be a cabbage which hated children. After an enormous argument, the boy and the cabbageset off for home, in silence, their anger barely below the surface the whole time. On the way, while crossing the river, the boy slipped and both of them fell into the rapids and were pulled under by the current. With great effort, they managed to come to the surface, grab onto a plank of wood, and stay afloat.
They had to spend so much time together, adrift on that plank, that after becoming mightily bored, they ended up conversing. They got to know each other, and became friends. They played manybizarre games, like the fish without a rod, the tiny hiding place, and the King of the mountain.
Chatting with his new friend, the boy understood the importance, at his young age, of vegetables like the cabbage, and how wrong it is to always be bad-mouthing them. The cabbage, for his part, realised that sometimes his flavour was a touch strong, and strange to children. So they agreed that when they reached home, the boy would treat the cabbage with great respect, and the cabbage would do its best to taste like spaghetti.
Their agreement was nothing if not a great success. The boy's mother was greatly surprised at how willingly he ate the cabbage, and the boy prepared the best hiding place in his tummy for the cabbage, shouting "Mmm! What great spaghetti!"
ترجمه فارسی در ادامه مطلب
