Reading Comprehension

What was the author amazed at?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

On my way home that afternoon, I saw the same man in the same place. He was crumpled over, his head almost on the ground. Two ambulance attendants were crouched beside him. This time my step paused. He wasn’t a derelict at all. He was old certainly, but he wore a nice suit and was clean-shaven. And in a very bad way.
Shame rocked me. How torturous for that sick, old man to have endured the coldness of the entire day, sitting on the hard, unforgiving ground. He probably reached out to passersby for help. No-one stopped. No-one cared. Out of sight, out of mind.
A different season and I again came across an old man half lying on the footpath, not far from where the Winter Man had been. The morning heat was stifling. Caught up in the familiar stampede of people commuting, I barely glanced at him. However, the memory of the old Winter Man came back to me vividly. I walked back to the man on the ground. He was dressed in smart clothes with a neatly trimmed beard and only a straw hat for shade. I knelt down to ask if he was OK. His kind face looked at me.
Beside him, a takeaway cup of coffee and sugar sachets lay open. A flow of people kept walking by. He regained consciousness, albeit weakly, and told me he was diabetic and it might be a good idea to call an ambulance, which I did — it was a few minutes away.
In barely a whisper, he said to me, “Nobody stopped. Thank you.” Fighting back tears, I asked his name. “Greg,” he said. We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Volumes were spoken without a word being uttered. I saw a proud man who didn’t like what was happening to him. As the approaching ambulance’s siren proclaimed the arrival of help, a number of emotions rushed at me. I felt sadness tugging at my heart for the Winter Man and shame that I had almost walked past another person in need. I was amazed that it had been so easy to be helpful.

Why was the author fighting back tears when he asked the name of the old man?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

On my way home that afternoon, I saw the same man in the same place. He was crumpled over, his head almost on the ground. Two ambulance attendants were crouched beside him. This time my step paused. He wasn’t a derelict at all. He was old certainly, but he wore a nice suit and was clean-shaven. And in a very bad way.
Shame rocked me. How torturous for that sick, old man to have endured the coldness of the entire day, sitting on the hard, unforgiving ground. He probably reached out to passersby for help. No-one stopped. No-one cared. Out of sight, out of mind.
A different season and I again came across an old man half lying on the footpath, not far from where the Winter Man had been. The morning heat was stifling. Caught up in the familiar stampede of people commuting, I barely glanced at him. However, the memory of the old Winter Man came back to me vividly. I walked back to the man on the ground. He was dressed in smart clothes with a neatly trimmed beard and only a straw hat for shade. I knelt down to ask if he was OK. His kind face looked at me.
Beside him, a takeaway cup of coffee and sugar sachets lay open. A flow of people kept walking by. He regained consciousness, albeit weakly, and told me he was diabetic and it might be a good idea to call an ambulance, which I did — it was a few minutes away.
In barely a whisper, he said to me, “Nobody stopped. Thank you.” Fighting back tears, I asked his name. “Greg,” he said. We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Volumes were spoken without a word being uttered. I saw a proud man who didn’t like what was happening to him. As the approaching ambulance’s siren proclaimed the arrival of help, a number of emotions rushed at me. I felt sadness tugging at my heart for the Winter Man and shame that I had almost walked past another person in need. I was amazed that it had been so easy to be helpful.

What was the problem with the second man that the author saw, who was lying on the footpath?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

On my way home that afternoon, I saw the same man in the same place. He was crumpled over, his head almost on the ground. Two ambulance attendants were crouched beside him. This time my step paused. He wasn’t a derelict at all. He was old certainly, but he wore a nice suit and was clean-shaven. And in a very bad way.
Shame rocked me. How torturous for that sick, old man to have endured the coldness of the entire day, sitting on the hard, unforgiving ground. He probably reached out to passersby for help. No-one stopped. No-one cared. Out of sight, out of mind.
A different season and I again came across an old man half lying on the footpath, not far from where the Winter Man had been. The morning heat was stifling. Caught up in the familiar stampede of people commuting, I barely glanced at him. However, the memory of the old Winter Man came back to me vividly. I walked back to the man on the ground. He was dressed in smart clothes with a neatly trimmed beard and only a straw hat for shade. I knelt down to ask if he was OK. His kind face looked at me.
Beside him, a takeaway cup of coffee and sugar sachets lay open. A flow of people kept walking by. He regained consciousness, albeit weakly, and told me he was diabetic and it might be a good idea to call an ambulance, which I did — it was a few minutes away.
In barely a whisper, he said to me, “Nobody stopped. Thank you.” Fighting back tears, I asked his name. “Greg,” he said. We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Volumes were spoken without a word being uttered. I saw a proud man who didn’t like what was happening to him. As the approaching ambulance’s siren proclaimed the arrival of help, a number of emotions rushed at me. I felt sadness tugging at my heart for the Winter Man and shame that I had almost walked past another person in need. I was amazed that it had been so easy to be helpful.

How did the manager find out what her junior’s felt about her actions?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

We don’t just mean the courage to make hard decisions or take tough actions, such as giving difficult feedback, denying a promotion to someone who’s good but not good enough, cutting popular but unsuccessful programs, or even laying off people when the economy goes bad.
We mean all that, those and similar actions do require courage, but we also mean something even harder: the need to see ourselves as others see us, even when others’ perceptions doesn’t match our own. Risking the possibility of finding out that others don’t consider us the capable, well-intentioned bosses we think we are, requires enormous courage.
We know a highly competent and caring manager whose people had to spend several late nights completing an important project. Though the work didn’t require her presence, she stayed late, too, as a way of sharing their burden and showing her support and appreciation. Weeks later, only after she thought to ask, she learned that those who stayed late resented what she did. Rather than seeing her presence as a sign of her support for them, they took it to mean she didn’t trust them to complete the work on time. Her presence thus weakened the bonds among them all and achieved the opposite of her intentions. She found this out only because she happened to ask casually.

What are ‘fillers’ according to the passage?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows:

Just as a chef is attuned to the subtleties of flavour and trends in the culinary arts, a presentation coach is attuned to the subtleties of language and trends in the communication art. One trend I’ve noted recently is the expression, “Does that make sense?” often used by a speaker during a conversation — or a presenter during a presentation — to check whether the listener or audience has understood or appreciated what the speaker has just said. Unfortunately, the expression has two negative implications:
- Uncertainty on the part of the speaker about the accuracy or credibility of the content
- Doubt about the ability of the audience to comprehend or appreciate the content.
“Does that make sense?” has become so pervasive, it joins the ranks of fillers, empty words that surround and diminish meaningful words, just as weeds diminish the beauty of roses in a garden. Most speakers are unaware that they are using fillers, and most audiences don’t bother to think of their implications.

What was the manager trying to do in the example illustrated in the passage?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

We don’t just mean the courage to make hard decisions or take tough actions, such as giving difficult feedback, denying a promotion to someone who’s good but not good enough, cutting popular but unsuccessful programs, or even laying off people when the economy goes bad.
We mean all that, those and similar actions do require courage, but we also mean something even harder: the need to see ourselves as others see us, even when others’ perceptions doesn’t match our own. Risking the possibility of finding out that others don’t consider us the capable, well-intentioned bosses we think we are, requires enormous courage.
We know a highly competent and caring manager whose people had to spend several late nights completing an important project. Though the work didn’t require her presence, she stayed late, too, as a way of sharing their burden and showing her support and appreciation. Weeks later, only after she thought to ask, she learned that those who stayed late resented what she did. Rather than seeing her presence as a sign of her support for them, they took it to mean she didn’t trust them to complete the work on time. Her presence thus weakened the bonds among them all and achieved the opposite of her intentions. She found this out only because she happened to ask casually.

How did Elizabeth feel after the conversation with her friend on the phone?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Elizabeth Nassau was stunned. She had called a good friend to wish her a happy birthday, when suddenly she found herself under attack. “Out of the blue, she launched into a long list of everything that bothered her about me, and dumped me over the phone,” says the 48 year old writer from Philadelphia.
Nassau blames jealousy: “My career was just starting to get off the ground. My book was about to be published, and I’d won an award for my essays. I felt my friend didn’t like it that I wasn’t so needy anymore.”
She spent two years fuming. “Every time I saw her, my blood boiled, my heart pounded and I’d get so tense that I literally felt sick.”
Who hasn’t felt the sting of betrayal, unfair treatment or something more abusive? Many of us cling to the resulting rage and pain, but others choose not to. The latest research shows that learning to forgive those who hurt us can have profound benefits. It’s become a hot new way to manage anger, cut stress and, maybe most important, improve health.
At an Atlanta conference last fall, some 40 researchers met to review what they’re finding in probing the healing power of making peace. One study showed that giving up grudges can reduce chronic back pain. Another found that forgiveness limited relapses among women battling substance-abuse problems. One intriguing project discussed at the event — run by the non profit, Campaign for Forgiveness Research — used MRI scans to explore how just thinking about empathy and reconciliation sparks activity in the brain’s left middle temporal gyrus, suggesting we all have a mental forgiveness center set to be tapped.

What is ‘courage’ according to the author?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

We don’t just mean the courage to make hard decisions or take tough actions, such as giving difficult feedback, denying a promotion to someone who’s good but not good enough, cutting popular but unsuccessful programs, or even laying off people when the economy goes bad.
We mean all that, those and similar actions do require courage, but we also mean something even harder: the need to see ourselves as others see us, even when others’ perceptions doesn’t match our own. Risking the possibility of finding out that others don’t consider us the capable, well-intentioned bosses we think we are, requires enormous courage.
We know a highly competent and caring manager whose people had to spend several late nights completing an important project. Though the work didn’t require her presence, she stayed late, too, as a way of sharing their burden and showing her support and appreciation. Weeks later, only after she thought to ask, she learned that those who stayed late resented what she did. Rather than seeing her presence as a sign of her support for them, they took it to mean she didn’t trust them to complete the work on time. Her presence thus weakened the bonds among them all and achieved the opposite of her intentions. She found this out only because she happened to ask casually.

Who has the author compared, the ‘presentation coach’ to in the passage?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows:

Just as a chef is attuned to the subtleties of flavour and trends in the culinary arts, a presentation coach is attuned to the subtleties of language and trends in the communication art. One trend I’ve noted recently is the expression, “Does that make sense?” often used by a speaker during a conversation — or a presenter during a presentation — to check whether the listener or audience has understood or appreciated what the speaker has just said. Unfortunately, the expression has two negative implications:
- Uncertainty on the part of the speaker about the accuracy or credibility of the content
- Doubt about the ability of the audience to comprehend or appreciate the content.
“Does that make sense?” has become so pervasive, it joins the ranks of fillers, empty words that surround and diminish meaningful words, just as weeds diminish the beauty of roses in a garden. Most speakers are unaware that they are using fillers, and most audiences don’t bother to think of their implications.

‘Does that make sense’… what is the implication of this phrase?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows:

Just as a chef is attuned to the subtleties of flavour and trends in the culinary arts, a presentation coach is attuned to the subtleties of language and trends in the communication art. One trend I’ve noted recently is the expression, “Does that make sense?” often used by a speaker during a conversation — or a presenter during a presentation — to check whether the listener or audience has understood or appreciated what the speaker has just said. Unfortunately, the expression has two negative implications:
- Uncertainty on the part of the speaker about the accuracy or credibility of the content
- Doubt about the ability of the audience to comprehend or appreciate the content.
“Does that make sense?” has become so pervasive, it joins the ranks of fillers, empty words that surround and diminish meaningful words, just as weeds diminish the beauty of roses in a garden. Most speakers are unaware that they are using fillers, and most audiences don’t bother to think of their implications.

According to Elizabeth, why did her friend start attacking her verbally?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Elizabeth Nassau was stunned. She had called a good friend to wish her a happy birthday, when suddenly she found herself under attack. “Out of the blue, she launched into a long list of everything that bothered her about me, and dumped me over the phone,” says the 48 year old writer from Philadelphia.
Nassau blames jealousy: “My career was just starting to get off the ground. My book was about to be published, and I’d won an award for my essays. I felt my friend didn’t like it that I wasn’t so needy anymore.”
She spent two years fuming. “Every time I saw her, my blood boiled, my heart pounded and I’d get so tense that I literally felt sick.”
Who hasn’t felt the sting of betrayal, unfair treatment or something more abusive? Many of us cling to the resulting rage and pain, but others choose not to. The latest research shows that learning to forgive those who hurt us can have profound benefits. It’s become a hot new way to manage anger, cut stress and, maybe most important, improve health.
At an Atlanta conference last fall, some 40 researchers met to review what they’re finding in probing the healing power of making peace. One study showed that giving up grudges can reduce chronic back pain. Another found that forgiveness limited relapses among women battling substance-abuse problems. One intriguing project discussed at the event — run by the non profit, Campaign for Forgiveness Research — used MRI scans to explore how just thinking about empathy and reconciliation sparks activity in the brain’s left middle temporal gyrus, suggesting we all have a mental forgiveness center set to be tapped.

What according to the passage is wrong with praising a particular form of financial sacrifice?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Tony wrote that we should “save our admiration for people whose lives are about serving a greater good, and our greatest admiration for those who are willing to make sacrifices to do so.”
I disagree on three fronts. First, financial sacrifice and serving the greater good are often not correlated. My role models for serving the greater good are not the people who walk around in sack cloth and ashes but industrialists like Gustavus Swift, who developed the refrigerated boxcar, which dramatically reduced life-threatening food-borne illness; the drug companies that continue to innovate new forms of protease inhibitors that keep my HIV-positive friends alive; and my friend who’s risking his savings to start an ice cream business, which will employ a dozen people.
Second, this elevation of a particular type of sacrifice, financial sacrifice, keeps us from solving more of the most urgent social problems of our time. It reinforces the notion that we should not allow people who want to make money to do it in the humanitarian sector. It denies our humanitarian organisations some of the best talent in the world.
Human beings act out of self-interest. Including when they make sacrifices. When society restricts the types of self-interest that people may indulge when it comes to humanitarian causes to conspicuous (or even inconspicuous) acts of selflessness, we prohibit large numbers of very talented people from making a difference in the world, simply because their flavour of self-interest might be money. We laud the martyr who is paid poverty wages — and who lets everyone know it — without knowing anything about his talent or productivity. He gets his psychological needs met by being praised as one who sacrifices on behalf of others. Fine. Yet we refuse the talents of someone who may be far more productive because his self-interest is simply in dollars instead of sainthood.

According to the author:

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Tony wrote that we should “save our admiration for people whose lives are about serving a greater good, and our greatest admiration for those who are willing to make sacrifices to do so.”
I disagree on three fronts. First, financial sacrifice and serving the greater good are often not correlated. My role models for serving the greater good are not the people who walk around in sack cloth and ashes but industrialists like Gustavus Swift, who developed the refrigerated boxcar, which dramatically reduced life-threatening food-borne illness; the drug companies that continue to innovate new forms of protease inhibitors that keep my HIV-positive friends alive; and my friend who’s risking his savings to start an ice cream business, which will employ a dozen people.
Second, this elevation of a particular type of sacrifice, financial sacrifice, keeps us from solving more of the most urgent social problems of our time. It reinforces the notion that we should not allow people who want to make money to do it in the humanitarian sector. It denies our humanitarian organisations some of the best talent in the world.
Human beings act out of self-interest. Including when they make sacrifices. When society restricts the types of self-interest that people may indulge when it comes to humanitarian causes to conspicuous (or even inconspicuous) acts of selflessness, we prohibit large numbers of very talented people from making a difference in the world, simply because their flavour of self-interest might be money. We laud the martyr who is paid poverty wages — and who lets everyone know it — without knowing anything about his talent or productivity. He gets his psychological needs met by being praised as one who sacrifices on behalf of others. Fine. Yet we refuse the talents of someone who may be far more productive because his self-interest is simply in dollars instead of sainthood.

Who according to the author is worthy of admiration?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Tony wrote that we should “save our admiration for people whose lives are about serving a greater good, and our greatest admiration for those who are willing to make sacrifices to do so.”
I disagree on three fronts. First, financial sacrifice and serving the greater good are often not correlated. My role models for serving the greater good are not the people who walk around in sack cloth and ashes but industrialists like Gustavus Swift, who developed the refrigerated boxcar, which dramatically reduced life-threatening food-borne illness; the drug companies that continue to innovate new forms of protease inhibitors that keep my HIV-positive friends alive; and my friend who’s risking his savings to start an ice cream business, which will employ a dozen people.
Second, this elevation of a particular type of sacrifice, financial sacrifice, keeps us from solving more of the most urgent social problems of our time. It reinforces the notion that we should not allow people who want to make money to do it in the humanitarian sector. It denies our humanitarian organisations some of the best talent in the world.
Human beings act out of self-interest. Including when they make sacrifices. When society restricts the types of self-interest that people may indulge when it comes to humanitarian causes to conspicuous (or even inconspicuous) acts of selflessness, we prohibit large numbers of very talented people from making a difference in the world, simply because their flavour of self-interest might be money. We laud the martyr who is paid poverty wages — and who lets everyone know it — without knowing anything about his talent or productivity. He gets his psychological needs met by being praised as one who sacrifices on behalf of others. Fine. Yet we refuse the talents of someone who may be far more productive because his self-interest is simply in dollars instead of sainthood.

What are better foods according to the author?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Self control is the ability to say no, in the face of temptation, and to take sustained action, despite the difficulty of a given challenge. At its heart, self-control requires the ability to delay gratification. More commonly, it’s called discipline, or will. Without self-control, we can’t accomplish almost anything of enduring value. And we rarely pay much attention to it.
Over the past decade, I’ve built a company, The Energy Project, which is devoted to helping people and organisations improve sustainable performance, in a large part by more systematically exercising self-control. Over the years, we’ve learned that nearly everything people tend to believe about self-control is wrong. Most of us assume the only way to resist our impulses, or persevere under pressure, is to grit our teeth, furrow our brows, steel our nerves, and tough it out. Precisely the opposite is true.
Energy is the fuel for self-control. We each have one reservoir of energy to get things done. Each act that requires self-control progressively depletes this energy reservoir, whether it’s when you use it to resist a piece of cake, or focus single-mindedly on a difficult problem, or stay calm when you feel provoked.
Eating strategically is the most fundamental way to increase the energy we have available for self-control. Eating more frequently — five to six times a day — provides us with regular doses of glucose, which is the body’s primary source of energy. It serves us best to eat low-glycemic foods, such as lean proteins and complex carbohydrates, which provide a more sustaining source of energy than sugars and simple carbohydrate.