life of ma parker 读后感
When the literary gentleman, whose flat old Ma Parker cleaned every Tuesday, opened the door to her that morning, he asked after her grandson. Ma Parker stood on the doormat inside the dark little hall, and she stretched out her hand to help her gentleman shut the door before she replied. We buried 'im yesterday, sir, she said quietly.Oh, dear me! I'm sorry to hear that, said the literary gentleman in a shocked tone. He was in the middle of his breakfast. He wore a very shabby dressing-gown and carried a crumpled newspaper in one hand. But he felt awkward. He could hardly go back to the warm sitting-room without saying something--something more. Then because these people set such store by funerals he said kindly, I hope the funeral went off all right.Beg parding, sir? said old Ma Parker huskily.Poor old bird! She did look dashed. I hope the funeral was a--a-- success, said he. Ma Parker gave no answer. She bent her head and hobbled off to the kitchen, clasping the old fish bag that held her cleaning things and an apron and a pair of felt shoes. The literary gentleman raised his eyebrows and went back to his breakfast.Overcome, I suppose, he said aloud, helping himself to the marmalade.Ma Parker drew the two jetty spears out of her toque and hung it behind the door. She unhooked her worn jacket and hung that up too. Then she tied her apron and sat down to take off her boots. To take off her boots or to put them on was an agony to her, but it had been an agony for years. In fact, she was so accustomed to the pain that her face was drawn and screwed up ready for the twinge before she'd so much as untied the laces. That over, she sat back with a sigh and softly rubbed her knees...Gran! Gran! Her little grandson stood on her lap in his button boots. He'd just come in from playing in the street.Look what a state you've made your gran's skirt into--you wicked boy!But he put his arms round her neck and rubbed his cheek against hers.Gran, gi' us a penny! he coaxed.Be off with you; Gran ain't got no pennies.Yes, you 'ave.No, I ain't.Yes, you 'ave. Gi' us one!Already she was feeling for the old, squashed, black leather purse.Well, what'll you give your gran?He gave a shy little laugh and pressed closer. She felt his eyelid quivering against her cheek. I ain't got nothing, he murmured...The old woman sprang up, seized the iron kettle off the gas stove and took it over to the sink. The noise of the water drumming in the kettle deadened her pain, it seemed. She filled the pail, too, and the washing-up bowl.It would take a whole book to describe the state of that kitchen. During the week the literary gentleman did for himself. That is to say, he emptied the tea leaves now and again into a jam jar set aside for that purpose, and if he ran out of clean forks he wiped over one or two on the roller towel. Otherwise, as he explained to his friends, his system was quite simple, and he couldn't understand why people made all this fuss about housekeeping.You simply dirty everything you've got, get a hag in once a week to clean up, and the thing's done.The result looked like a gigantic dustbin. Even the floor was littered with toast crusts, envelopes, cigarette ends. But Ma Parker bore him no grudge. She pitied the poor young gentleman for having no one to look after him. Out of the smudgy little window you could see an immense expanse of sad-looking sky, and whenever there were clouds they looked very worn, old clouds, frayed at the edges, with holes in them, or dark stains like tea.While the water was heating, Ma Parker began sweeping the floor. Yes, she thought, as the broom knocked, what with one thing and another I've had my share. I've had a hard life.Even the neighbours said that of her. Many a time, hobbling home with her fish bag she heard them, waiting at the corner, or leaning over the area railings, say among themselves, She's had a hard life, has Ma Parker. And it was so true she wasn't in the least proud of it. It was just as if you were to say she lived in the basement-back at Number 27. A hard life!...At sixteen she'd left Stratford and come up to London as kitching-maid. Yes, she was born in Stratford-on-Avon. Shakespeare, sir? No, people were always arsking her about him. But she'd never heard his name until she saw it on the theatres.Nothing remained of Stratford except that sitting in the fire-place of a evening you could see the stars through the chimley, and Mother always 'ad 'er side of bacon, 'anging from the ceiling. And there was something- -a bush, there was--at the front door, that smelt ever so nice. But the bush was very vague. She'd only remembered it once or twice in the hospital, when she'd been taken bad.That was a dreadful place--her first place. She was never allowed out. She never went upstairs except for prayers morning and evening. It was a fair cellar. And the cook was a cruel woman. She used to snatch away her letters from home before she'd read them, and throw them in the range because they made her dreamy...And the beedles! Would you believe it?-- until she came to London she'd never seen a black beedle. Here Ma always gave a little laugh, as though--not to have seen a black beedle! Well! It was as if to say you'd never seen your own feet.When that family was sold up she went as help to a doctor's house, and after two years there, on the run from morning till night, she married her husband. He was a baker.A baker, Mrs. Parker! the literary gentleman would say. For occasionally he laid aside his tomes and lent an ear, at least, to this product called Life. It must be rather nice to be married to a baker!Mrs. Parker didn't look so sure.Such a clean trade, said the gentleman.Mrs. Parker didn't look convinced.And didn't you like handing the new loaves to the customers?Well, sir, said Mrs. Parker, I wasn't in the shop above a great deal. We had thirteen little ones and buried seven of them. If it wasn't the 'ospital it was the infirmary, you might say!You might, indeed, Mrs. Parker! said the gentleman, shuddering, and taking up his pen again.Yes, seven had gone, and while the six were still small her husband was taken ill with consumption. It was flour on the lungs, the doctor told her at the time...Her husband sat up in bed with his shirt pulled over his head, and the doctor's finger drew a circle on his back.Now, if we were to cut him open here, Mrs. Parker, said the doctor, you'd find his lungs chock-a-block with white powder. Breathe, my good fellow! And Mrs. Parker never knew for certain whether she saw or whether she fancied she saw a great fan of white dust come out of her poor dead husband's lips...But the struggle she'd had to bring up those six little children and keep herself to herself. Terrible it had been! Then, just when they were old enough to go to school her husband's sister came to stop with them to help things along, and she hadn't been there more than two months when she fell down a flight of steps and hurt her spine. And for five years Ma Parker had another baby--and such a one for crying!--to look after. Then young Maudie went wrong and took her sister Alice with her; the two boys emigrimated, and young Jim went to India with the army, and Ethel, the youngest, married a good-for-nothing little waiter who died of ulcers the year little Lennie was born. And now little Lennie--my grandson...The piles of dirty cups, dirty dishes, were washed and dried. The ink- black knives were cleaned with a piece of potato and finished off with a piece of cork. The table was scrubbed, and the dresser and the sink that had sardine tails swimming in it...He'd never been a strong child--never from the first. He'd been one of those fair babies that everybody took for a girl. Silvery fair curls he had, blue eyes, and a little freckle like a diamond on one side of his nose. The trouble she and Ethel had had to rear that child! The things out of the newspapers they tried him with! Every Sunday morning Ethel would read aloud while Ma Parker did her washing.Dear Sir,--Just a line to let you know my little Myrtil was laid out for dead...After four bottils...gained 8 lbs. in 9 weeks, and is still putting it on.And then the egg-cup of ink would come off the dresser and the letter would be written, and Ma would buy a postal order on her way to work next morning. But it was no use. Nothing made little Lennie put it on. Taking him to the cemetery, even, never gave him a colour; a nice shake-up in the bus never improved his appetite.But he was gran's boy from the first...Whose boy are you? said old Ma Parker, straightening up from the stove and going over to the smudgy window. And a little voice, so warm, so close, it half stifled her--it seemed to be in her breast under her heart-- laughed out, and said, I'm gran's boy!At that moment there was a sound of steps, and the literary gentleman appeared, dressed for walking.Oh, Mrs. Parker, I'm going out.Very good, sir.And you'll find your half-crown in the tray of the inkstand.Thank you, sir.Oh, by the way, Mrs. Parker, said the literary gentleman quickly, you didn't throw away any cocoa last time you were here--did you?No, sir. Very strange. I could have sworn I left a teaspoonful of cocoa in the tin. He broke off. He said softly and firmly, You'll always tell me when you throw things away--won't you, Mrs. Parker? And he walked off very well pleased with himself, convinced, in fact, he'd shown Mrs. Parker that under his apparent carelessness he was as vigilant as a woman.The door banged. She took her brushes and cloths into the bedroom. But when she began to make the bed, smoothing, tucking, patting, the thought of little Lennie was unbearable. Why did he have to suffer so? That's what she couldn't understand. Why should a little angel child have to arsk for his breath and fight for it? There was no sense in making a child suffer like that....From Lennie's little box of a chest there came a sound as though something was boiling. There was a great lump of something bubbling in his chest that he couldn't get rid of. When he coughed the sweat sprang out on his head; his eyes bulged, his hands waved, and the great lump bubbled as a potato knocks in a saucepan. But what was more awful than all was when he didn't cough he sat against the pillow and never spoke or answered, or even made as if he heard. Only he looked offended.It's not your poor old gran's doing it, my lovey, said old Ma Parker, patting back the damp hair from his little scarlet ears. But Lennie moved his head and edged away. Dreadfully offended with her he looked--and solemn. He bent his head and looked at her sideways as though he couldn't have believed it of his gran.But at the last...Ma Parker threw the counterpane over the bed. No, she simply couldn't think about it. It was too much--she'd had too much in her life to bear. She'd borne it up till now, she'd kept herself to herself, and never once had she been seen to cry. Never by a living soul. Not even her own children had seen Ma break down. She'd kept a proud face always. But now! Lennie gone--what had she? She had nothing. He was all she'd got from life, and now he was took too. Why must it all have happened to me? she wondered. What have I done? said old Ma Parker. What have I done?As she said those words she suddenly let fall her brush. She found herself in the kitchen. Her misery was so terrible that she pinned on her hat, put on her jacket and walked out of the flat like a person in a dream. She did not know what she was doing. She was like a person so dazed by the horror of what has happened that he walks away--anywhere, as though by walking away he could escape...It was cold in the street. There was a wind like ice. People went flitting by, very fast; the men walked like scissors; the women trod like cats. And nobody knew--nobody cared. Even if she broke down, if at last, after all these years, she were to cry, she'd find herself in the lock-up as like as not.But at the thought of crying it was as though little Lennie leapt in his gran's arms. Ah, that's what she wants to do, my dove. Gran wants to cry. If she could only cry now, cry for a long time, over everything, beginning with her first place and the cruel cook, going on to the doctor's, and then the seven little ones, death of her husband, the children's leaving her, and all the years of misery that led up to Lennie. But to have a proper cry over all these things would take a long time. All the same, the time for it had come. She must do it. She couldn't put it off any longer; she couldn't wait any more...Where could she go?She's had a hard life, has Ma Parker. Yes, a hard life, indeed! Her chin began to tremble; there was no time to lose. But where? Where?She couldn't go home; Ethel was there. It would frighten Ethel out of her life. She couldn't sit on a bench anywhere; people would come arsking her questions. She couldn't possibly go back to the gentleman's flat; she had no right to cry in strangers' houses. If she sat on some steps a policeman would speak to her.Oh, wasn't there anywhere where she could hide and keep herself to herself and stay as long as she liked, not disturbing anybody, and nobody worrying her? Wasn't there anywhere in the world where she could have her cry out-- at last?Ma Parker stood, looking up and down. The icy wind blew out her apron into a balloon. And now it began to rain. There was nowhere.
DEAR LIFE怎么样
Alice Munro is unique for two reasons: she only writes short stories and all her stories took place in Ontario (occasionally on the west coast). She lives......
Dear是什么意思
A hat frightening? If you see it as a snake to swallow the elephant? In this full of utilitarian world, the big people's eyes Forever only the number of children has long been the world, they have overlooked. It has already lost a child-like purity gone? In order to find the answer to that question, I won the Little Prince. Little Prince is a clear spiritual books, is an adult fairy tale written for adults, is a book about life and the lives of the fable. As the book said, the water on the heart is beneficial. And Little Prince on the water like a thorough clarification of people feel warmth and tranquility. The story of the little prince of life with a serious attitude, he diligently to clear the crater, pulling the monkey bread tree seedlings. However, The Little Prince is a lonely, depressed mood in his time, he would mention a stool chasing the sun to see the sunset. Only enjoy the sunset when the twilight Feelings tenderness that is his only pleasure. He had read 43 times a day sunset, because his heart is full of endless loneliness and sorrow. Fortunately a Rose entered his life, Rose has a quiet tenderness, she will lie was exposed repeatedly cough, she is a beautiful and very proud of flowers. She恋着sad little prince, little prince also sincerely love roses. A trivial matter, however they eventually made to separate the sensitive Little Prince as an angry Rose of Love from doubt, he got out of their own stars, leaving behind Rose and started their own travel alone. And then he came to Earth, he encountered a small fox, and the request of a small fox domestication her. She believes that if the Little Prince domesticate her, her life will be happy. Little Prince, together with a small fox days, the little prince to understand the unique Rose, and he began to think that Rose tamed him, he must assume responsibility for the roses. Little Prince, where the foxes learned to love, aware of what he wants to pursue things, he is going to leave a small fox to assume his responsibility. Little Prince finally found themselves unable to go back, he places on Earth hovering repeatedly and deeply miss his flowers. Can not go back in the days to come, The Little Prince will be looking at their own stars, he said: If you fell in love with a grown up in a star on the flowers, then at night, do you feel looking at a pleasant sweetness. All the stars both seem to blooming. distressed fragile little prince could not bear to miss the pain that he would eagerly go back, and finally he chose to snake venom end their lives, even though he was afraid of the pain, but he think it will be able to cast off their bulky body to go back. Every time, Little Prince, have been such a child-like attitude about the world moving, how naive, childish, could also how pure and sincere. In real life, we are busy throughout the day, such as groups of flies without a soul. The passage of time, childhood away, we have gradually grown up and taken away many years of memories, but also eroded the bottom of my heart to have, That childish innocence. Because the little prince little story, we live in quiet, the heart has a hope and tenderness, have touched on the responsibility of domestication中文翻译： 一顶帽子可怕吗
如果把它看成是一条吞了大象的蟒蛇呢?在这个充满着功利的世界里，大人们的眼中永远只有数字,孩子们的世界早已被他们忽略。
那早已丢失的孩童般的纯净去了哪里
为了找寻问题的答案，我捧起了《小王子》。
《小王子》是一本清澈心灵的书，是一本成年人写给成年人的童话，是一本关于生活和生命的寓言。
正如书中所说的，水对心是有益处的。
而《小王子》就如水般澄清透彻，使人安宁并且心生暖意。
故事中的小王子对生活抱着认真的态度，他勤勉地疏通火山口，拔着猴面包树的幼苗。
然而小王子是孤独的，在他心情低落的时候，他会提着凳子追着太阳看日落。
只有欣赏日落时那脉脉含情的余晖，才是他唯一的乐趣。
他曾一天看了四十三次日落，因为他心里充满了无尽的孤独和忧伤。
有幸的是一朵玫瑰进入了他的生活，玫瑰有着沉静的柔情，她在谎言被揭穿后会反复咳嗽，她是一朵美丽而且非常骄傲的花。
她恋着忧伤的小王子，小王子也真诚地爱着玫瑰。
然而一件小事最终却使他们分开，敏感的小王子因为玫瑰的一次恼怒而对爱生起怀疑，他离开了自己的星星，抛下了玫瑰，开始了自己孤单的旅行。
而然后他来到地球，他碰到了小狐狸，并且在小狐狸的要求下驯养了她。
她认为，如果小王子驯养了她，她的生活一定会是欢快的。
小王子在与小狐狸一起的日子，小王子懂得了玫瑰的独一无二，并且他开始认为玫瑰驯服了他，他必须对玫瑰承担起责任。
小王子在狐狸那里学会了爱，认识到了他所要追求的东西，他要离开小狐狸去承担他的责任。
小王子最后发现自己无法回去，他在降临地球的地方反复徘徊，并且深深想念着他的花儿。
在不能回去的日子里，小王子会望着自己的星星，他说：“如果你爱上了一朵生长在一颗星星上的花，那么夜间，你看着就感到甜蜜愉快。
所有的星星上都好象开着花。
”忧伤脆弱的小王子无法忍受想念的痛苦，他要急切地回去，最后他选择了以蛇的毒液结束自己的生命，尽管他害怕痛苦，但是他认为这样就能抛下自己笨重的身体回去。
每一次读《小王子》，都被这种孩子式的看待世界的态度感动，多么天真、幼稚，可又多么纯洁、真诚。
在现实生活中，我们整天忙忙碌碌，像一群群没有灵魂的苍蝇.时光流逝，童年远去，我们渐渐长大，岁月带走了许许多多的记忆，也消蚀了心底曾经拥有的那份童稚的纯真。
因为小王子小小的故事，我们在静静的生活时，心中有着希望和温存，有着感动和关于驯养的责任
for dear life是什么意思
for dear life致亲爱的生命**************************************************************如果你对这个答案有什么疑问，请追问，另外如果你觉得我的回答对你有所帮助，请千万别忘记采纳哟
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for dear life是什么意思
for dear life 为了逃命，拼命地，不顾死活地 [例句]He ran for dear life toward his house.他拼命地向他的房子跑去。
