单选题 .  SECTION A MULTIPLE-CHOICE QUESTIONS
    In this section there are four passages followed by fourteen multiple choice questions. For each multiple choice question, there are four suggested answers marked A, B, C and D. Choose the one that you think is the best answer and mark your answers on ANSWER SHEET TWO.
    PASSAGE ONE
    The period of adolescence, i,e., the person between childhood and adulthood, may be long or short, depending on social expectations and on society's definition as to what constitutes maturity and adulthood. In primitive societies adolescence is frequently a relatively short period of time, while in industrial societies with patterns of prolonged education coupled with laws against child labor, the period of adolescence is much longer and may include most of the second decade of one's life. Furthermore, the length of the adolescent period and the definition of adulthood status may change in a given society as social and economic conditions change. Examples of this type of change are the disappearance of the frontier in the latter part of the nineteenth century in the United States, and more universally, the industrialization of an agricultural society.
    In modern society, ceremonies for adolescence have lost their formal recognition and symbolic significance and there no longer is agreement as to what constitutes initiation ceremonies. Social ones have been replaced by a sequence of steps that lead to increased recognition and social status. For example, grade school graduation, high school graduation and college graduation constitute such a sequence, and while each step implies certain behavioral changes and social recognition, the significance of each depends on the socio-economic status and the educational ambition of the individual. Ceremonies for adolescence have also been replaced by legal definitions of status roles, rights, privileges and responsibilities. It is during the nine years from the twelfth birthday to the twenty-first that the protective and restrictive aspects of childhood and minor status are removed and adult privileges and responsibilities are granted. The twelve-year-old is no longer considered a child and has to pay full fare for train, airplane, theater and movie tickets. Basically, the individual at this age loses childhood privileges without gaining significant adult rights. At the age of sixteen the adolescent is granted certain adult rights which increase his social status by providing him with more freedom and choices. He now can obtain a driver's license; he can leave public schools; and he can work without the restrictions of child labor laws. At the age of eighteen the law provides adult responsibilities as well as rights; the young man can now be a soldier, but he also can marry without parental permission. At the age of twenty-one the individual obtains his full legal rights as an adult. He now can write; he can buy liquor; he can enter into financial contracts; and he is entitled to run for public office. No additional basic rights are acquired as a function of age after majority status has been attained. None of these legal provisions determine at what point adulthood has been reached but they do point to the prolonged period of adolescence.
PASSAGE TWO
    The trade and investment relationship between the European Union and the United States is the most important in the world. Despite the emergence of competitors, Europe and America are the dynamo of the global economy.
    This economic relationship is a foundation of our political partnership, which we all know has been through a difficult patch. The identity of interest between Europe and America is less obvious than during the cold war. But while the trans-Atlantic relationship is becoming more complex, that does not make it less important. As European commissioner for trade, I do not agree that European and American values are fundamentally diverging, or that our interests no longer coincide.
    We still share a belief in democracy and individual freedoms, and in creating opportunity and economic openness. We face the same security challenges. We look ahead to shared global problems: poverty, migration, resource crises, climate change.
    We need commitment and vision to redefine our relationship. I want to see a stronger and more balanced partnership—one in which Europe is more united, more willing to take its role in global leadership and one where the United States is more inclined to share leadership with Europe. We need to find ways to complement each other, not compete in the political arena.
    We will not achieve either side of this equation without the other. Europe needs to build stronger foreign policies and to be ready to act on the world stage. But equally, the body language we see from America has a huge impact on how Europeans view the partnership. Our common interest requires a strong Europe, not a weak and divided one. I hope that the United States will reinforce its historical support for European integration.
    I am fortunate now to take over an area of policy in which Europe is highly effective: trade. Our top trade priority on both sides of the Atlantic must be to put our weight behind the multilateral Doha development agenda. Concluding this negotiation in a way that lives up to its ambition will bring enormous benefits.
    Collectively, we took a major step in reaching the framework agreement in Geneva last July, following the lead taken by the E.U. on agriculture export subsidies. We now look to the United States and others to follow that lead, and we need to accelerate work in other areas—on industrial tariffs and services—to achieve a balanced result.
    The Doha round of talks differs from any other in its focus on development. Europe and the United States must ensure that poorer countries are fully engaged and derive benefits. But the issues we need to tackle to stimulate growth and innovation in trans-Atlantic trade are not those on the Doha agenda. Our markets are relatively open and highly developed. We need to concentrate on removing regulatory and structural barriers that inhibit activity. This is about cutting international red tape. Our regulatory systems and cultures are different, but that is where real gains can be made.
    As E.U. trade commissioner I want to develop an ambitious but practical trans-Atlantic agenda. I am not inclined to set rhetorical targets or launch lofty initiatives. I want a set of achievable goals.
    Work on trans-Atlantic deregulation will also contribute to the central goal of the new European Commission: promoting growth and jobs in Europe.
    I am not naive. I am not turning a blind eye to the inevitable disputes in trans-Atlantic trade. They are relatively small as a proportion of total trade, but they make the headlines. They reflect the huge volume of our trade and investment flows. That is good. They also reflect our readiness to settle disputes in the World Trade Organization. That is also good. The WTO is the best example of effective multilateralism that the world has so far invented. I hope we will work together to uphold it. If multilateralism is to be worthwhile, it has to be effective—and that goes for every part of the relationship between Europe and America.
PASSAGE THREE
    We know that he was baptized on April 26, 1564, so that somewhere between April 20 and April 23, four hundred years ago, was born an Englishman who possessed what was probably the greatest brain ever encased in a human skull.
    William Shakespeare's work has been performed without interruption for some three hundred and fifty years everywhere in the world. Scholars and students in every land know his name and study his work as naturally as they study their holy books—the Gospels, the Torah, the Koran, and the others.
    For centuries clergymen have spoken Shakespeare's words from their pulpits; lawyers have used his sentences in addressing juries; doctors, botanists, agronomists, bankers, seamen, musicians, and, of course, actors, painters, poets, editors, and novelists have used words of Shakespeare for knowledge, for pleasure, for experience, for ideas and for inspiration.
    It is hard to exaggerate the debt that mankind owes. Shakespeare's greatness lies in the fact that there is nothing within the range of human thought that he did not touch. Somewhere in his writings, you will find a full-length portrait of yourself, of your father, of your mother, and indeed of every one of your descendants yet unborn.
    The most singular fact connected with William Shakespeare is that there is no direct mention in his works of any of his contemporaries. It was as though he knew he was writing for the audiences of 1964 as well as for the audiences of each of those three hundred and fifty years since his plays were produced.
    On his way to the Globe Theater he could see the high masts of the Golden Hind in which Sir Francis Drake had circumnavigated the globe. He lived in the time of the destruction of the Spanish Armada, the era in which Elizabeth I opened the door to Britain's age of Gloriana, and he must have heard of Christendom's great victory at Lepanto against the Turks which forever insured that Europe would be Christian. Shakespeare's era was as momentous as our own. Galileo was born in 1564, the same year in which Shakespeare was born, and only a few years before John Calvin laid the foundation for a great new fellowship in Christianity. And yet Shakespeare in the midst of these great events, only seventy years after the discovery of America, did not mention an explorer or a general or a monarch or a philosopher.
    The magic of Shakespeare is that, like Socrates, he was looking for the ethical questions, not for answers. That is why there are as many biographies of a purely invented man Hamlet, as there are of Napoleon, Abraham Lincoln, or Franklin D. Roosevelt.
    We are not sure of many things in this life except that the past has its uses and we know from the history of human experience that certain values will endure as long as there is breath of life on this planet. Among them are the ethics of the Hebrews who wrote the Decalogue, the Psalms, and the Gospels of the Holy Bible, and the marble of the Greeks, the laws of Romans, and the works of William Shakespeare. There are other values which may last through all the ages of man—Britain's Magna Carta, France's Rights of Man, and America's Constitution. We hope so, but we are not yet sure. We are sure of Shakespeare.
    Ben Johnson was a harsh critic of Shakespeare during his lifetime. They were contemporaries and competitors. Johnson, a great dramatist, did not like it when his play Cataline had a short run and was replaced by Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, which had a long run. Yet when Shakespeare died, Johnson was moved to a eulogy which he called "Will Shakespeare":
    Triumph my Britain
    Thou has one to show
    To whom all scenes of Europe Homage owe.
    He was not of an age, but for all time.
PASSAGE FOUR
    Many things make people think artists are weird—the odd hours, the nonconformity, the clove cigarettes. But the weirdest may be this: artists' only job is to explore emotions, and yet they choose to focus on the ones that feel lousy. Art today can give you anomie, no problem. Bittersweetness? You got it. Tristesse? What size you want that in? But great art, as defined by those in the great-art-defining business, is almost never about simple, unironic happiness.
    This wasn't always so. The earliest forms of art, like painting and music, are those best suited for expressing joy. But somewhere in the 19th century, more artists began seeing happiness as insipid, phony or, worst of all, boring—in Tolstoy's words, "All happy families are alike." We went from Wordsworth's daffodils to Baudelaire's flowers of evil. In the 20th century, classical music became more atonal, visual art more unsettling. Artists who focused on making their audiences feel good, from Usher to Thomas Kinkade, were labeled "pop".
    Sure, there have been exceptions (say, Matisse's The Dance), but it would not be a stretch to say that for the past century or so, serious art has been at war with happiness. In 1824, Beethoven completed the Ode to Joy. In 1962, novelist Anthony Burgess used it in A Clockwork Orange as the favorite piece of his ultra-violent antihero. If someone titles an art movie Happiness, it is a good bet that it will be—as the 1998 Todd Solondz film was—about deeply unhappy people, including a telephone pervert and a pedophile.
    You could argue that art became more skeptical of happiness because modem times have seen such misery. But it's not as if earlier times didn't know perpetual war, disaster and the massacre of innocents. The reason, in fact, may be just the opposite: there is too much happiness in the world today.
    After all, what is the one modem form of expression almost completely dedicated to depicting happiness? Advertising. The rise of anti-happy art almost exactly tracks the emergence of mass media, and with it, a commercial culture in which happiness is not just an ideal but an ideology.
    People in earlier eras were surrounded by reminders of misery. They worked gruelingly, lived with few protections and died young. In the West, before mass communication and literacy, the most powerful mass medium was the church, which reminded worshippers that their souls were in peril and that they would someday be meat for worms. On top of all this, they did not exactly need their art to be a bummer too.
    Today the messages your average Westerner is bombarded with are not religious but commercial, and relentlessly happy. Fast-food eaters, news anchors, text messengers, are all smiling, smiling, smiling, except for that guy who keeps losing loans to Ditech. Our magazines feature beaming celebrities and happy families in perfect homes. (Tolstoy clearly never edited a shelter mag.) And since these messages have an agenda—to pry our wallets from our pockets—they make the very idea of happiness seem bogus. "Celebrate!" commanded the ads for the arthritis drug Celebrex, before we found out it could increase the risk of heart attacks.
    It gets exhausting, this constant goad to joy. If you're not smiling—after we made all those wonderful pills and cell-phone plans!—what's wrong with you? Not to smile is un-American. You can pick out the Americans in a crowd of tourists by their reflexive grins. The U.S. enshrined in its founding document the right to the pursuit of happiness. So we pursued it and—at least as commerce defines it—we caught it.
    Now, like the dog that chased and finally caught the car, we don't know what the hell to do with it. We feel vaguely dissatisfied though we have what we should want, vaguely guilty for wanting it, vaguely angry because it didn't come as advertised. People tsk-tsked over last month's study in which women reported being happier watching TV than playing with their kids. But why shouldn't they? This is how the market defines happiness. Happiness is feeling good. Kids, those who exist outside ads, make you feel bad—exhausted, frustrated, bored and poor. Then they move away and break your heart.
    What we forget—what our economy depends on us forgetting—is that happiness is more than pleasure sans pain. The things that bring the greatest joy carry the greatest potential for loss and disappointment. Today, surrounded by promises of easy happiness, we need someone to tell us that it is O.K. not to be happy, that sadness makes happiness deeper. As the wine-connoisseur movie Sideways tells us, it is the kiss of decay and mortality that makes grape juice into Pinot Noir. We need art to tell us: remember that you will die, that everything ends, and that happiness comes not in denying this but in living with it. It's a message even more bitter than a clove cigarette, yet, somehow, a breath of fresh air.1.  The length of adolescence is decided by all of the following EXCEPT ______.(PASSAGE ONE)