红字的英文读后感
The Scarlet LetterThe scarlet letter stands as the best work of Hawthorn and one of the indubitable masterpieces of American literature ，in which Hawthorne remarkably handls the Puritan background，and carefully suppresses everything expect the deep shadows from which the grim tragedy naturally proceeds . the theme of novel is depicting sin and its consequences around which the moods created are those feelings are remorse,sorrow ,and despaire .moreover ,all these feelings are woven so completely and harmoniously into the story that its characters,action,and setting blend into a delicate but enduring work of art . The story that the novel tells is very simple.it main tells a story about an adultery .Her mother was found guilty of adultery and giving birth to Pearl ,and condemned to wear on the breast of her grown the scarlet letter A.which stood for adultary.It was imprinted on the flesh above his heart.because she can not find her husband .they gain a lot of taunt and unfair treatment.at last,she found her father and died .but she still wore the letter A on his breast,which was no longer the sign pf shame,but am emblem of her tender mercy and kindness .At her death she hoped that the only inscription on her tombstone should be the scarlet letter A.希望对你有所帮助 没有在网上查找资料
读后感鸟、200字
这则寓言的内容是：狐狸讥笑母狮子每胎只生一子，母狮子回答说：“然而是狮子
”这个故事虽然不长，但它的启示却不小。
它让我懂得了，事物不在多，而在于精。
也就是说，美好的事物在质而不在量。
记得上小学时，有一次，老师布置了一项作业，要求把语文书第一单元的生字一个抄两遍。
回到家，我就翻开作业，以最快的速度三下五除二地抄完了。
抄完后，觉得第一单元的生字还比较少，便自作主张又把第二的生字抄完了。
合上作业本，我就喜滋滋地等着第二天交上去后老师给我的表扬。
可当作业本再次发下来，我的本子被老师用红笔写道：“写得不认真
”，看着这几个红字我心里就很不服气：哼，多写了一点还要受批评，什么意思嘛
求韩静霆的《纯情山水》读后感，200字就好
竹筏这么咿咿呀呀一摇，我就飘到武夷山的怀里了。
刚刚还行在星村九曲溪码头。
小街。
晚炊。
石桥。
祖传秘方。
卡啦OK。
高跟鞋。
计划生育。
晋江时装……目不暇接的是小镇人情世态。
等到上了竹筏，艄公一篙点破湿漉漉的夕阳，满溪满溪化开了胭脂。
接着，竹筏打了个弯儿，星村和码头顷刻成了昨日，连翩的山和盈眼的绿就匆匆忙忙扑过来抱人了。
忽然就闯入武夷山空阔的大水墨之中，欢喜得不知怎么好，觉得有点儿像不知起处的梦。
左边是山，右边也是。
枕下的溪流里飘着山。
天上的云中藏着山。
翠衣罗带的山。
裸着脊梁的山。
呼作玉女的山。
号称大王的山。
形同兜鍪的山。
嬉如童子的山。
山在散步。
山在遐思。
山与山凝望。
山和山耳语。
山山山山，山接山迎。
山环山绕。
山的迷宫。
山的节日。
能够曲尽这如簇翠峰之妙，多亏筏下的水。
溪水从上游一万里群山之中冲波逆折而来，似乎就为我作此大山世界之游?这段水路不算长，不足三十里。
没见过比这里的溪水更痴情的，逢山便缠绵缱绻一番，一路下来竟成九曲之溪。
九曲回肠多少情意?山和水浅斟低唱。
水和山耳鬓厮磨。
九曲溪是九叠情歌，只因为武夷山水没有被现代工业污染，没有被那些将古建筑整旧如新的行家整治，隐居在此，保持了纯真和纯情，亘古的情歌才能唱到而今。
唱的都是海誓山盟，地久天长。
说不尽武夷山中放筏的情致。
细想，峨嵋的滑竿虽好，要把人娇成土财主的；香山的空中缆车虽快，终逃不脱钢索绞人的神经，太匆匆也太现代。
攀华山只顾了脚下方寸，心来不及骋游，登庐山云又太顽皮，千呼万唤犹抱琵琶。
相形之下，武夷山中的竹筏更轻灵，更随意，更陶然，和山和水更亲近。
筏行九曲，水直处静如沉壁，舒缓如歌；转折时急流涌雪，大珠小珠溅个满怀。
真正的山重水复，真正的柳暗花明。
心儿呢，忽抑，忽扬，忽悠，忽闪。
跌宕。
起伏。
幽深。
舒朗。
快三和慢四，狐步舞或华尔兹，一切听其自然，人也自然会自然起来。
身在碧水之上，心上的老茧不泡软么?能不忘却严酷的世界么?被荣辱悲欢事业家庭撕扯着的灵魂一旦得此自然轻松，会不会产生隐遁山林的奇想? 山水迤逦来去。
碧螺似的山峰之间，时有紫黑的崖出水千尺，始知武夷山秀媚之中含着奇伟。
崖间题刻很多，红字如血。
陆游，辛弃疾已先行一步，不知载酒放筏相去几程?五曲溪边朱熹讲学处犹存，试问溪边斜出一竹，是否朱子钓竿?一代名将戚继光也在崖上题过诗：“一剑横空星斗寒，甫随平虏复征蛮，他年觅取封侯印，愿向君王换此山。
”戚诗气吞云海，后两句却绕于名利，过分贪心了。
幸好武夷山水没有归姓哪位王侯，成为权势者的玩具，幸好武夷山没有落入亭台楼榭窠臼，沾了媚俗之气，幸好“革文化的命”的年代没将此山此水涂满红油漆，幸好经历了许多沧桑，许多战乱，许多岁月之后，武夷山还是武夷山。
说到武夷山水的绿，不知朱自清君意下为何?他太挑剔。
杭州虎跑嫌绿得太浓，北京什刹海嫌绿得太淡，西湖太明，秦淮河太暗。
可是我敢说，自清先生到此也只能油然忘机，心平气和。
武夷山水：绿得单纯，绿得繁复，绿得幽深，绿得明快，深深浅浅，浓浓淡淡，兼容并蓄。
绿得清瘦的是竹枝。
绿得肥腴的是芭蕉。
苍绿的是石上的苔。
茸绿的是坡上的草。
浓得化不开的是深溪山影。
淡在有无中的是水中清晰可数的石砾。
水面上飘浮的雾也绿了，绿得淡淡的，柔柔的。
西方画家尝试在人身上画满藤蔓，蕨类植物，以求与大自然一体。
到头来，不过是会走路的绘画。
在武夷山放筏却不同，随机恍惚，陶然如醉，绿山绿水绿云绿雾荡涤身心，不觉已是物我相融。
我看青山多妩媚，青山看我应如是。
此番，心灵与山水，你中有我，我中有你的佳境，才是最高品位，何必再求胸膛上长出马齿苋和藤萝花呢? 武夷的山，武夷的水，诗境?画境?梦境?幻境?抑或是仙境?艄公一路说不完的神话，难免穿凿附会。
可是那千仞绝壁湿滑如铁，悬在壁上的船棺从何而来?向何而去?崖洞穴中的稻草如何会千载不腐?真实的神话?神话般真实?揣着这个谜，竹筏已悠然划出九曲溪，该弃筏登岸了。
回眸恋恋地一望，山高月小，澄溪为炼。
哪里是浴香潭?哪里是更衣台?哪里是换骨岩?说是武夷山中这三个去处，沐浴，更衣，换骨，即会羽化成仙的。
哑然一笑，我还是上岸了。
到底红尘中还有舍不得的夙缘，而且还惦着来日再接受一回武夷山水的洗礼呢。
说实话，在全球生态危机和生存劳顿之中，我很累的。
精神上常有无家可依的感觉。
幸好这儿有一片纯情山水，心身在这儿就宁静了，平和了，舒活了，似乎找到了梦里的家园。
还是白居易说的好：“我生本无乡，心安是归处。
”
求200多字的世界名著读后感3篇!
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求《红字》英文读后感，500~600个单词即可
共30篇书评。
点击打开。
between Hawthorne's earlier and his later productions there is no solution of literary continuity, but only increased growth and grasp. Rappaccini's Daughter, Young Goodman Brown, Peter Goldthwaite's Treasure, and The Artist of the Beautiful, on the one side, are the promise which is fulfilled in The Scarlet Letter and the House of The Seven Gables, on the other; though we should hardly have understood the promise had not the fulfillment explained it. The shorter pieces have a lyrical quality, but the longer romances express more than a mere combination of lyrics; they have a rich, multifarious life of their own. The material is so wrought as to become incidental to something loftier and greater, for which our previous analysis of the contents of the egg had not prepared us. The Scarlet Letter was the first, and the tendency of criticism is to pronounce it the most impressive, also, of these ampler productions. It has the charm of unconsciousness; the author did not realize while he worked, that this most prolix among tales was alive with the miraculous vitality of genius. It combines the strength and substance of an oak with the subtle organization of a rose, and is great, not of malice aforethought, but inevitably. It goes to the root of the matter, and reaches some unconventional conclusions, which, however, would scarce be apprehended by one reader in twenty. For the external or literal significance of the story, though in strict correspondence with the spirit, conceals that spirit from the literal eye. The reader may choose his depth according to his inches but only a tall man will touch the bottom.The punishment of the scarlet letter is a historical fact; and, apart from the symbol thus ready provided to the author's hand, such a book as The Scarlet Letter would doubtless never have existed. But the symbol gave the touch whereby Hawthorne's disconnected thoughts on the subject were united and crystallized in organic form. Evidently, likewise, it was a source of inspiration, suggesting new aspects and features of the truth,—a sort of witch-hazel to detect spiritual gold. Some such figurative emblem, introduced in a matter-of-fact way, but gradually invested with supernatural attributes, was one of Hawthorne's favorite devices in his stories. We may realize its value, in the present case, by imagining the book with the scarlet letter omitted. It is not practically essential to the plot. But the scarlet letter uplifts the theme from the material to the spiritual level. It is the concentration and type of the whole argument. It transmutes the prose into poetry. It serves as a formula for the conveyance of ideas otherwise too subtle for words, as well as to enhance the gloomy picturesqueness of the moral scenery. It burns upon its wearer's breast, it casts a lurid glow along her pathway, it isolates her among mankind, and is at the same time the mystic talisman to reveal to her the guilt hidden in other hearts. It is the Black Man's mark, and the first plaything of the infant Pearl. As the story develops, the scarlet letter becomes the dominant figure,—everything is tinged with its sinister glare. By a ghastly miracle its semblance is reproduced upon the breast of the minister, where God's eye beheld it! the angels were forever pointing at it! the devil knew it well, and fretted it continually with the touch of his burning finger!—and at last, to Dimmesdale's crazed imagination, its spectre appears even in the midnight sky as if heaven itself had caught the contagion of his so zealously hidden sin. So strongly is the scarlet letter rooted in every chapter and almost every sentence of the book that bears its name. And yet it would probably have incommoded the average novelist. The wand of Prospero, so far from aiding the uninititated, trips him up, and scorches his fingers. Between genius and every other attribute of the mind is a difference not of degree, but of kind. Every story may be viewed under two aspects: as the logical evolution of a conclusion from a premise, and as something colored and modified by the personal qualities of the author. If the latter have genius, his share in the product is comparable to nature's in a work of human art,—giving it everything except abstract form. But the majority of fiction-mongers are apt to impair rather than enhance the beauty of the abstract form of their conception, -- if, indeed, it possess any to begin with. At all events, there is no better method of determining the value of a writer's part in a given work than to consider the work in what may be termed its prenatal state. How much, for example, of The Scarlet Letter was ready made before Hawthorne touched it? The date is historically fixed at about the middle of the seventeenth century. The stage properties, so to speak, are well adapted to become the furniture and background of a romantic narrative. A gloomy and energetic religious sect, pioneers in a virgin land, with the wolf and the Indian at their doors, but with memories of England in their hearts and English traditions and prejudices in their minds; weak in numbers, but strong in spirit; with no cultivation save that of the Bible and the sword; victims, moreover of a dark and bloody superstition,—such a people and scene give admirable relief and color to a tale of human frailty and sorrow. Amidst such surroundings, then, the figure of a woman stands, with the scarlet letter on her bosom. But here we come to a pause, and must look to the author for the next step.For where shall the story begin? A twenty-number novel, of the Dickens or Thackeray type, would start with Hester's girlhood, and the bulk of the narrative would treat of the genesis and accomplishment of the crime. Nor are hints wanting that this phase of the theme had been canvassed in Hawthorne's mind. We have glimpses of the heroine in the antique gentility of her English home; we see the bald brow and reverend beard of her father, and her mother's expression of heedful and anxious love; we behold the girl's own face, glowing with youthful beauty. She meets the pale, elderly scholar, with his dim yet penetrating eyes, and the marriage, loveless on her part and folly on his, takes place; but they saw not the bale-fire of the scarlet letter blazing at the end of their path. The ill-assorted pair make their first home in Amsterdam; but at length, tidings of the Puritan colony in Massachusetts reaching them, they prepare to emigrate thither. But Prynne, himself delaying to adjust certain affairs, sends his young, beautiful, wealthy wife in advance to assume her station in the pioneer settlement. In the wild, free air of that new world her spirits kindled, and many unsuspected tendencies of her impulsive and passionate nature were revealed to her. The rich, voluptuous, Oriental characteristics of her temperament, her ardent love of beauty, her strong intellectual fibre, and her native energy and capacity,—such elements needed a strong and wise hand to curb and guide them, scarcely disguised as they were by the light and graceful foliage of her innocent, womanly charm. Being left, however, for two years to her own misguidance, her husband had little cause to wonder, when, on emerging from the forest, the first object to meet his eyes was Hester Prynne, standing up, a statue of ignominy, before the people. She doubtless was strongly tempted to her fall; and though the author leaves the matter there, so far as any explicit statement is concerned, it is manifest that, had he written out what was already pictured before his imagination, the few pregnant hints scattered through the volume would have been developed into as circumstantial and laborious a narrative as any the most deliberate English or French novelist could desire.For his forbearance he has received much praise from well-meaning critics, who seem to think that he was restrained by considerations of morality or propriety. This appears a little strained. As an artist and as a man of a certain temperament, Hawthorne treated that side of the subject which seemed to him the more powerful and interesting. But a writer who works with deep insight and truthful purpose can never be guilty of a lack of decency. Indecency is a creation, not of God or of nature, but of the indecent. And whoever takes it for granted that indecency is necessarily involved in telling the story of an illicit passion has studied human nature and good literature to poor purpose.
