【推荐】爱英语作文4篇
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爱英语作文 篇1
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 net 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 epression of life, of love. i glance up in time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.the net 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 echange 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 shipped to another camp. this could mean the end for me. and it definitely means the end for me and my friend.the net 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 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 something from my past, herman," roma eplains 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 each other-after all, we were young, and we only echanged 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 eplode, 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 dont 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.
valentines 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."
爱英语作文 篇2
my son brendan cried his first day of school. even mrs. phillips, a kind, soft-spoken master of the si-year-old mind, could not coa him to a seat. his eyes streamed, his nose ran and he clung to me like a snail on a strawberry. i plucked him off and escaped.
it wasnt that brendan didnt like school. he just didnt like being apart from me. wed had some good times, he and i, in those preschool years. we played at the pool. we skated on quiet morning ice. we sampled half the treat tray at weekly neighborhood coffee parties. now in grade 1, brendan was faced with five hours of wondering what i was doing with my day.
brendan always came home for lunch, the only one of his class not to eat at his desk. but once home, fed and hugged, a far-away look of longing would crease his gentle brow—he wanted to go back to school to play! so i walked him back, waited with him until he spotted someone he knew, then left. he told me once that he watched me until he couldnt see me anymore, so i always walked fast and never looked back.
one day when i took brendan back after lunch, he spied a friend, kissed me goodbye, and scampered right off. i went, feeling pleased for him, celebrating his new independence, his entry into the first-grade social loop. then—i didnt know why—i glanced back. and there he was. the playground buzzed all around him, kids everywhere, and he stood, his chin tucked close, his body held small, his face intent but not sad, blowing me kisses. so brave, so unashamed, so completely loving, brendan was watching me go.
no book on mothering could have prepared me for that quick, raw glimpse into my childs soul. my mind leaped 15 years ahead to him packing boes and his dog grown old and him saying, "dry up, mom. its not like im leaving the country." in my mind i tore up the card every mother signs saying shell let her child go when hes ready. i looked at my brendan, his shirt tucked in, every button done up, his toes just turned in a bit, and i thought, "ok, youre si for me forever." with a smile i had to really dig for, i blew him a kiss, turned and walked away.
爱英语作文 篇3
Mother’s love wins people’s praises for its selflessness. In fact, father’s love is as great as that. They bury their love in the deep bottom of their hearts and will never show it. My father is of this kind. I remembered once I felt ill. Mother wasn’t at home at that moment. Father acted as a father and as a mother as well. When he came home from work, he would cook dinner for me first. The way he fed me made me think of my kind and tender mother. His eyes were full of love and expectation. I did feel a father’s love at that time.
参考翻译
父爱
母亲的爱因无私而赢得人们的赞扬。事实上，父亲的爱是如此的伟大。他们把自己的爱埋在心底，永远不会显露出来。我的'父亲是这样的。我记得有一次我感到不舒服。那时母亲不在家。父亲是父亲，母亲也是母亲。当他下班回家时，他会先为我做晚饭。他喂我的方式使我想起了我那温柔体贴的母亲。他的眼睛充满了爱和期待。那时我确实感到了父亲的爱。
爱英语作文 篇4
my son brendan cried his first day of school。 even mrs。 phillips， a kind， soft-spoken master of the six-year-old mind， could not coax him to a seat。 his eyes streamed， his nose ran and he clung to me like a snail on a strawberry。 i plucked him off and escaped。
it wasn't that brendan didn't like school。 he just didn't like being apart from me。 we'd had some good times， he and i， in those preschool years。 we played at the pool。 we skated on quiet morning ice。 we sampled half the treat tray at weekly neighborhood coffee parties。 now in grade 1， brendan was faced with five hours of wondering what i was doing with my day。
brendan always came home for lunch， the only one of his class not to eat at his desk。 but once home， fed and hugged， a far-away look of longing would crease his gentle brow—he wanted to go back to school to play! so i walked him back， waited with him until he spotted someone he knew， then left。 he told me once that he watched me until he couldn't see me anymore， so i always walked fast and never looked back。
one day when i took brendan back after lunch， he spied a friend， kissed me goodbye， and scampered right off。 i went， feeling pleased for him， celebrating his new independence， his entry into the first-grade social loop。 then—i didn't know why—i glanced back。 and there he was。 the playground buzzed all around him， kids everywhere， and he stood， his chin tucked close， his body held small， his face intent but not sad， blowing me kisses。 so brave， so unashamed， so completely loving， brendan was watching me go。
no book on mothering could have prepared me for that quick， raw glimpse into my child's soul。 my mind leaped 15 years ahead to him packing boxes and his dog grown old and him saying， "dry up， mom。 it's not like i'm leaving the country。" in my mind i tore up the card every mother signs saying she'll let her child go when he's ready。 i looked at my brendan， his shirt tucked in， every button done up， his toes just turned in a bit， and i thought， "ok， you're six for me forever。" with a smile i had to really dig for， i blew him a kiss， turned and walked away。
