《一顿午餐》的读后感
《一顿午餐美国大卫·莫尼斯的。
一天,作者的姨妈要和他一起吃午饭。
姨妈对他很好,所以他无法拒绝,尽管他这个月只剩下20先令了。
到了中午,他决定带姨妈去一家小饭店,这样两个人只要花6先令就可以了,但姨妈却选择了一家大饭店。
作者明知道自己钱不够,但他仍没有拒绝。
姨妈不停地点最贵的菜,而作者却一直不好意思说“不”,结果这顿饭一共花了20先令,而且还要给侍者1先令的小费。
作者自然只能拿出20先令……最后姨妈付了账,还给了作者5英镑。
姨妈告诉他,其实她早就知道作者没有足够的钱上这家饭店,她只是想给作者一个教训l。
最后,他的姨妈告诉他,在所有的语言中,“不”这个字最难说。
是啊,生活中有太多的尴尬和无奈,而造成这种尴尬和无奈的原因,或许就是文中姨妈说的那句话:没有学会说“不”。
学会说“不”,就意味着学会选择,学会自己主持自己的人生。
(指导教师刘思成)学会说“不”——读《一顿午餐》有感@王岚$黑龙江省建三江局直中学新世纪文学社<正> 《一顿午餐》是美国大卫·莫尼斯的作品。
一天,作姨妈要和他一起吃午姨妈对他很好,所以他无法拒绝,尽管他这个月只剩下20先令了......
the luncheon文章中的主要矛盾是什么
The Luncheon_百度翻译The Luncheon 网络 午餐; 午宴; luncheon_百度翻译luncheon 英[ˈlʌntʃən] 美[ˈlʌntʃən] n. 午餐; 午宴; 午餐会; 两餐之间吃的一点食物; [例句]Earlier this month, a luncheon for former UN staff was held in Vienna.
在the luncheon里一句话如何翻译
make it of any consequence to a woman使这个对女人来说很重要；it 指代what they saytoo old to make it…太老了以至于无法…翻译：我这里插一句，男人们不到衰老得所说的话对女人完全无足轻重时，很少有人学会这个。
“这不是结束，甚至不是结束的开始，而可能是开始的结束。
”(This is not the end.
北非战场的转折点是阿拉曼战,这次战役有灭了德国的有生.丘吉尔自己就说：“在阿拉曼战役之前,我们从未获胜过；在阿拉曼战役之后,我们从未失败过.”在这期间,尽管盟军取得了历史性的转折,但地中海形势复杂,特别是促使法国投降过程中,自由法兰西的拥护者有较多的不满,并引发了达尔朗被刺事件.此外,在此之前盟军确实取得了一连串的胜利：太平洋战场（中途岛日本战败）,北非战场（阿拉曼战役）,欧洲战场（斯大林格勒战役）,在各线战场上,盟军都得到了标志性的胜利,特别是对于欧洲人来说美军也下水了,无论是心理上还是事实上民众都有了满意和松懈的苗头,一种认为大战已即将结束,大局已定的安逸思潮在蔓延.也正是在此期间（在1942年11月10日,伦敦市府,阿拉曼战役庆祝午宴上）,丘吉尔发表了名为The End of the Beginning的演讲：“这不是结束,甚至这也并非结束的序幕已然到来,但或许,这是序幕已经结束!”,同一时间的罗斯福也演讲到：“现在还不是狂欢的时候,我们现在没有时间干别的事,只有为了胜利而战斗,而工作!”.绝大多数的中译文都简简单单地进行了丘吉尔名句的直译,甚至辞不达意.对于这段话来说,(Now this is not the end.It is not even the beginning of the end.But it is,perhaps,the end of the beginning),简单把二战看作“防守-反击”过程的话,“the beginning of the end”中的end表示的是反击阶段,而“the end of the beginning”中的beginning指的是防守阶段.当然实际上二战并非如此简单的两段式的过程,然而更好理解丘吉尔这段话的含义,是应该对小过程进行抽象和凝练的.后来,此句外延被扩展了,广泛地被用于到处,表达的意义也穷期所想.不过,中译文中比较流行的一种译法“这不是结束,甚至不是结束的开始,而仅仅是开始的结束!”,还是很有一点趣味的,尽管猛一看到的时候会比较费解一点并且译文对原文的语气进行了善意的曲解.Now this is not the end.It is not even the beginning of the end.But it is,perhaps,the end of the beginning.Sir Winston Churchill,— Lord Mayor's Luncheon,Mansion House following the victory at El Alameinin North Africa,London,10 November 1942.British politician (1874 - 1965)
邱吉尔1942年说的这句什么意思
英语原文怎么说的
“这不是结束，甚至这也并非结束的序幕已然到来，但或许，这是序幕已经结束
”————————这是丘吉尔演讲原文：Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning. Sir Winston Churchill, — Lord Mayor's Luncheon, Mansion House following the victory at El Alameinin North Africa, London, 10 November 1942. 当时无论是心理上还是事实上民众都有了满意和松懈的苗头，一种认为大战已即将结束，大局已定的安逸思潮在蔓延。
也正是在此期间（在1942年11月10日，伦敦市府，阿拉曼战役庆祝午宴上），丘吉尔发表了名为The End of the Beginning的演讲：“这不是结束，甚至这也并非结束的序幕已然到来，但或许，这是序幕已经结束
”，同一时间的罗斯福也演讲到：“现在还不是狂欢的时候，我们现在没有时间干别的事，只有为了胜利而战斗，而工作
”。
小说结尾的妙处
看是什么小说了，但是通常大众完美结局总是顺应民心，但是成就经典的少，小说的结局还是不要完美的好（通常会被FS们批评结局怎么怎么的，让你修文，也很无奈，其实心里是想完美的）。
我觉得不写结局更好
其实怎么样的结局无所谓，最重要的是加进去自己的东西。
不要看到你的文，联想起的文无数，那就没有风格了。
求一份比较完整比较全面的外交学英语必备词汇谢谢了，大神帮忙啊
I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10 And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20 You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 30 Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; They called me the hyacinth girl. - Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40 Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Od' und leer das Meer. Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. 50 Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: One must be so careful these days. Unreal City, 60 Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying Stetson! You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! 70 That corpse you planted last year in your garden, Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men, Or with his nails he'll dig it up again! You! hypocrite lecteur! - mon semblable, - mon frere! II. A GAME OF CHESS The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble, where the glass Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines From which a golden Cupidon peeped out 80 (Another hid his eyes behind his wing) Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra Reflecting light upon the table as The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it, From satin cases poured in rich profusion; In vials of ivory and coloured glass Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, Unguent, powdered, or liquid - troubled, confused And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air That freshened from the window, these ascended 90 In fattening the prolonged candle-flames, Flung their smoke into the laquearia, Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling. Huge sea-wood fed with copper Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, In which sad light a carved dolphin swam. Above the antique mantel was displayed As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale 100 Filled all the desert with inviolable voice And still she cried, and still the world pursues, Jug Jug to dirty ears. And other withered stumps of time Were told upon the walls; staring forms Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Footsteps shuffled on the stair. Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair Spread out in fiery points Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. 110 My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak. What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? I never know what you are thinking. Think. I think we are in rats' alley Where the dead men lost their bones. What is that noise? The wind under the door. What is that noise now? What is the wind doing? Nothing again nothing. 120 Do You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember Nothing? I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes. Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head? But O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag - It's so elegant So intelligent 130 What shall I do now? What shall I do? I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow? What shall we ever do? The hot water at ten. And if it rains, a closed car at four. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door. When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said - I mince my words, I said to her myself, 140 HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart. He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there. You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you. And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert, He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time, And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said. Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said. 150 Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look. HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said. Others can pick and choose if you can't. But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling. You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique. (And her only thirty-one.) I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face, It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said. ( had five already, and nearly died of young George.) 160 The chemist said it would be alright, but I've never been the same. You are a proper fool, I said. Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said, What you get married for if you don't want children? HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon, And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot - HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. 170 Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night. III. THE FIRE SERMON The river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; 180 Departed, have left no addresses. By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . . Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. A rat crept softly through the vegetation Dragging its slimy belly on the bank While I was fishing in the dull canal On a winter evening round behind the gashouse 190 Musing upon the king my brother's wreck And on the king my father's death before him. White bodies naked on the low damp ground And bones cast in a little low dry garret, Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year. But at my back from time to time I hear The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring. O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter And on her daughter 200 They wash their feet in soda water Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole! Twit twit twit Jug jug jug jug jug jug So rudely forc'd. Tereu Unreal City Under the brown fog of a winter noon Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants 210 C.i.f. London: documents at sight, Asked me in demotic French To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel Followed by a weekend at the Metropole. At the violet hour, when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting, I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives, Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives 220 Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea, The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights Her stove, and lays out food in tins. Out of the window perilously spread Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays, On the divan are piled (at night her bed) Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays. I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest - I too awaited the expected guest. 230 He, the young man carbuncular, arrives, A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare, One of the low on whom assurance sits As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire. The time is now propitious, as he guesses, The meal is ended, she is bored and tired, Endeavours to engage her in caresses Which still are unreproved, if undesired. Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; Exploring hands encounter no defence; 240 His vanity requires no response, And makes a welcome of indifference. (And I Tiresias have foresuffered all Enacted on this same divan or bed; I who have sat by Thebes below the wall And walked among the lowest of the dead.) Bestows one final patronising kiss, And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . . She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed lover; 250 Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over. When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone. This music crept by me upon the waters And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street. O City city, I can sometimes hear Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 260 The pleasant whining of a mandoline And a clatter and a chatter from within Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls Of Magnus Martyr hold Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold. The river sweats Oil and tar The barges drift With the turning tide Red sails 270 Wide To leeward, swing on the heavy spar. The barges wash Drifting logs Down Greenwich reach Past the Isle of Dogs. Weialala leia Wallala leialala Elizabeth and Leicester Beating oars 280 The stern was formed A gilded shell Red and gold The brisk swell Rippled both shores Southwest wind Carried down stream The peal of bells White towers Weialala leia 290 Wallala leialala Trams and dusty trees. Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe. My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart Under my feet. After the event He wept. He promised 'a new start'. I made no comment. What should I resent? On Margate Sands. 300 I can connect Nothing with nothing. The broken fingernails of dirty hands. My people humble people who expect Nothing. la la To Carthage then I came Burning burning burning burning O Lord Thou pluckest me out O Lord Thou pluckest 310 burning IV. DEATH BY WATER Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell And the profit and loss. A current under sea Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell He passed the stages of his age and youth Entering the whirlpool. Gentile or Jew O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, 320 Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you. V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying Prison and palace and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience 330 Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water If there were water we should stop and drink Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand If there were only water amongst the rock Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit 340 There is not even silence in the mountains But dry sterile thunder without rain There is not even solitude in the mountains But red sullen faces sneer and snarl From doors of mudcracked houses If there were water And no rock If there were rock And also water And water 350 A spring A pool among the rock If there were the sound of water only Not the cicada And dry grass singing But sound of water over a rock Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop But there is no water Who is the third who walks always beside you? 360 When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman - But who is that on the other side of you? What is that sound high in the air Murmur of maternal lamentation Who are those hooded hordes swarming Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth 370 Ringed by the flat horizon only What is the city over the mountains Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air Falling towers Jerusalem Athens Alexandria Vienna London Unreal A woman drew her long black hair out tight And fiddled whisper music on those strings And bats with baby faces in the violet light 380 Whistled, and beat their wings And crawled head downward down a blackened wall And upside down in air were towers Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells. In this decayed hole among the mountains In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home. It has no windows, and the door swings, 390 Dry bones can harm no one. Only a cock stood on the rooftree Co co rico co co rico In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust Bringing rain Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves Waited for rain, while the black clouds Gathered far distant, over Himavant. The jungle crouched, humped in silence. Then spoke the thunder 400 DA Datta: what have we given? My friend, blood shaking my heart The awful daring of a moment's surrender Which an age of prudence can never retract By this, and this only, we have existed Which is not to be found in our obituaries Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor In our empty rooms 410 DA Dayadhvam: I have heard the key Turn in the door once and turn once only We think of the key, each in his prison Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus DA Damyata: The boat responded Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar 420 The sea was calm, your heart would have responded Gaily, when invited, beating obedient To controlling hands I sat upon the shore Fishing, with the arid plain behind me Shall I at least set my lands in order? London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina Quando fiam ceu chelidon - O swallow swallow Le Prince d'Aquitaine a la tour abolie 430 These fragments I have shored against my ruins Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe. Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata. Shantih shantih shantih
