實用的愛英語作文3篇
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愛英語作文 篇1
Nowadays many parents have a common sense that their children are so precious to them so they always try their best to give their children a happy and meaningful life. Therefore, an increasing number of parents spoil their children and do everything for them, even control their life. For example, many children have to obey their parent' s idea about which school they should go into after they graduating; some children must go to art class like dancing, piano and paint even though they have no interest in them; what' s more, some strict parents even involve children' s freedom about what friends they should make. On one hand, these parents care and protect their children, however, on the other hand they may do harm to their children.
As far as I am concerned, in is necessary that parents should give their children more space and freedom so that their children may become more independent. For instance, children could do something they like, so they may be much more active and responsible. What' s more, it is also a good way to let their children study in a boarding school for children must face something by their own, such as, their relationship with friends and student, their study and busy life and so on. A good case in point, parents may encourage their children to take part-time jobs during summer or winter holiday. By doing this, I believe, these children may become more independent, brave and responsible.
In summary, spoiling children is no right. Parents should know better that an independent, responsible and brave person is able to adapt society better.
愛英語作文 篇2
One day more than a decade ago, our parents with tears, smiles and happiness to greet our arrival. But when we came to the world at the moment, the parents have more of a heavy work - to take care of us. Although this is a heavy burden, but the parents have no complaints and I grew up raising. In order to give us a comfortable living environment, they are always so hard, then the effort. Small, I always treat this issue as a matter of course, because I do not understand the hard work their parents do not know. Now, I grew up, and I know with a heart of Thanksgiving to appreciate their parents, should take care, the responsibility of your parents.
Sun is just past my 20th birthday that day, I would first think of Thanksgiving is to parents, because my parents have only gives me the opportunity to savor the world of colorful and well-being of life, enjoy life happiness and well-being, is that they gave me life, gave me the care of in every possible way. With sons and daughters happy, happy most of the parents, children with depression, it is most concerned about the parents. Licking the calf love, parental love, deep as the sea. Therefore, no matter the social status of parents, level of knowledge and other qualities, they are our greatest benefactor this life is worthy of our love of the people forever.
Students might say nothing of their own blessings, but for parents, this sound a better blessing than anything, are unforgettable, are sufficient to enable them to tears!
十多年前的某一天，我們的父母用淚水和幸福的笑容迎接了我們的到來。但當我們來到世上的那一刻起，父母們卻多了一項繁重的工作——照顧我們。盡管這是一種沉重的負擔，但父母們卻毫無怨言地撫養(yǎng)我長大。為了給我們一個舒適的生活環(huán)境，他們總是那么辛苦，那么努力。小的時候，我總把這當作天經(jīng)地義，因為我不了解，也不知道父母的辛苦�，F(xiàn)在，我長大了，我知道該懷著一顆感恩之心去體諒父母，應(yīng)該擔當起，照顧、孝敬父母的.責任。
剛剛過去的星期天是我20歲的生日，那天，我首先想到的就是要感恩父母，因為有了父母才有了我，才使我有機會在這五彩繽紛的世界里體味人生的冷暖，享受生活的快樂與幸福，是他們給了我生命，給了我無微不至的關(guān)懷。兒女有了快樂，最為之開心的是父母，兒女有了苦悶，最為之牽掛的也是父母。舔犢情深，父母之愛，深如大海。因此，不管父母的社會地位、知識水平以及其它素養(yǎng)如何，他們都是我們今生最大的恩人，是值得我們永遠去愛的人。
同學們，或許一聲祝福對自己算不了什么，但對父母來說，這聲祝福卻比什么都美好，都難忘，都足以使他們熱淚盈眶!
愛英語作文 篇3
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 next 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 expression of life, of love. I glance up in time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.
The next 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 exchange 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 next 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 about 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 about something from my past, Herman," Roma explains 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 about each other-after all, we were young, and we only exchanged 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 explode, 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 don't 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.
Valentine's Day, 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah Winfrey Show to honor her on national television. I want to tell her in front 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."
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