One day, an 11-year-old girl asked her dad, "What are you going to get me for my 15th birthday?" The father replied, "Don't worry about that we still have plenty of time."

    But on a day after her 14th birthday, she passed out (昏倒)and was rushed to the hospital. The family learned that the girl had a serious heart disease and that she might die. At night, she asked her dad, "Daddy, have they told you that I am going to die?" The father replied, "No, you will live as long as anyone else." She wondered and asked, "How can you be sure?" He smiled to her and said, "I just know it."

    After the girl turned 15, she had a heart transplant(心脏移植手术). After she came back from the hospital, she found a letter on her bed. It said, "My dearest daughter, one day you asked me what I would give you for your 15th birthday. I wasn't sure then. But now you know that my present to you is my heart." The father had given his heart to his daughter.

    Parents are selfless(无私的). They even make great sacrifices to make their children grow up happily. Keep this in mind when you feel angry toward your parents. Always, they're just doing what they think best for you.

—But he lives a simple life. He often gives his money to help students in poor places.

    I entered St Thoma's Hospital as a medical student at the age of 18 and spent five years there. I was an unsatisfactory student, for my heart, as you might have guessed, was not in it. I wanted, I had always wanted to be a writer, and in the evening, after my high tea, I wrote and read. Before long, I wrote a novel, called "Liza of Lambeth", which I sent to a publisher and was accepted. It appeared during my last year at the hospital and had something of a success. It was of course an accident, but naturally I did not know that. I felt I could afford to give up medicine and make writing my profession; so, three days after I graduated from the school of medicine, I set out for Spain to write another book. Looking back now and knowing as I do the terrible difficulties of making a living by writing, I realize I was taking a fearful risk. It never even occurred to me.

    The next ten years were very hard, and I earned an average of £100 a year. Then I had a bit of luck. The manager of the Court Theatre put on a play that failed; the next play he arranged to put on was not ready, and he was at his wits' end. He read a play of mine and, though he did not much like it, he thought it might just run for the six weeks till the play he had in mind to follow it with could be produced. It ran for fifteen months. Within a short while I had four plays running in London at the same time. Nothing of the kind had ever happened before. I was the talk of the town. One of the students at St Thomas's Hospital asked the famous surgeon with whom I had worked whether he remembered me. "Yes, I remember him quite well," he said. "One of our failures, I'm afraid."