【英语语言学习】人性
时间:2019-02-16 作者:英语课 分类:英语语言学习
英语课
My search is always to find ways to chronicle, to share and to document stories about people, just everyday people. Stories that offer transformation 1, that lean into transcendence, but that are never sentimental 2, that never look away from the darkest things about us. Because I really believe that we're never more beautiful than when we're most ugly. Because that's really the moment we really know what we're made of. As Chris said, I grew up in Nigeria with a whole generation -- in the '80s -- of students who were protesting a military dictatorship, which has finally ended. So it wasn't just me, there was a whole generation of us.
But what I've come to learn is that the world is never saved in grand messianic gestures, but in the simple accumulation of gentle, soft, almost invisible acts of compassion 3, everyday acts of compassion. In South Africa, they have a phrase called Ubuntu. Ubuntu comes out of a philosophy that says, the only way for me to be human is for you to reflect my humanity back at me. But if you're like me, my humanity is more like a window. I don't really see it, I don't pay attention to it until there's, you know, like a bug 4 that's dead on the window. Then suddenly I see it, and usually, it's never good. It's usually when I'm cussing in traffic at someone who is trying to drive their car and drink coffee and send emails and make notes. So what Ubuntu really says is that there is no way for us to be human without other people. It's really very simple, but really very complicated.
So, I thought I should start with some stories. I should tell you some stories about remarkable 5 people, so I thought I'd start with my mother. (Laughter) And she was dark, too. My mother was English. My parents met in Oxford 6 in the '50s, and my mother moved to Nigeria and lived there. She was five foot two, very feisty and very English. This is how English my mother is -- or was, she just passed. She came out to California, to Los Angeles, to visit me, and we went to Malibu, which she thought was very disappointing. (Laughter) And then we went to a fish restaurant, and we had Chad, the surfer dude, serving us, and he came up and my mother said, "Do you have any specials, young man?" And Chad says, "Sure, like, we have this, like, salmon 7, that's, like, rolled in this, like, wasabi, like, crust. It's totally rad." And my mother turned to me and said, "What language is he speaking?" (Laughter) I said, "English, mum." And she shook her head and said, "Oh, these Americans. We gave them a language, why don't they use it?" (Laughter)
So, this woman, who converted from the Church of England to Catholicism when she married my father -- and there's no one more rabid than a Catholic convert -- decided 8 to teach in the rural areas in Nigeria, particularly among Igbo women, the Billings ovulation method, which was the only approved birth control by the Catholic Church. But her Igbo wasn't too good. So she took me along to translate. I was seven. (Laughter) So, here are these women, who never discuss their period with their husbands, and here I am telling them, "Well, how often do you get your period?" (Laughter) And, "Do you notice any discharges?" (Laughter) And, "How swollen 9 is your vulva?" (Laughter) She never would have thought of herself as a feminist 10, my mother, but she always used to say, "Anything a man can do, I can fix." (Applause) And when my father complained about this situation, where she's taking a seven-year-old boy to teach this birth control, you know, he used to say, "Oh, you're turning him into -- you're teaching him how to be a woman." My mother said, "Someone has to." (Laughter)
This woman -- during the Biafran war, we were caught in the war. It was my mother with five little children. It takes her one year, through refugee camp after refugee camp, to make her way to an airstrip where we can fly out of the country. At every single refugee camp, she has to face off soldiers who want to take my elder brother Mark, who was nine, and make him a boy soldier. Can you imagine this five-foot-two woman, standing 11 up to men with guns who want to kill us? All through that one year, my mother never cried one time, not once. But when we were in Lisbon, in the airport, about to fly to England, this woman saw my mother wearing this dress, which had been washed so many times it was basically see through, with five really hungry-looking kids, came over and asked her what had happened. And she told this woman. And so this woman emptied out her suitcase and gave all of her clothes to my mother, and to us, and the toys of her kids, who didn't like that very much, but -- (Laughter) -- that was the only time she cried. And I remember years later, I was writing about my mother, and I asked her, "Why did you cry then?" And she said, "You know, you can steel your heart against any kind of trouble, any kind of horror. But the simple act of kindness from a complete stranger will unstitch you."
The old women in my father's village, after this war had happened, memorized the names of every dead person, and they would sing these dirges 13, made up of these names. Dirges so melancholic 14 that they would scorch 15 you. And they would sing them only when they planted the rice, as though they were seeding the hearts of the dead into the rice. But when it came for harvest time, they would sing these joyful 16 songs, that were made up of the names of every child who had been born that year. And then the next planting season, when they sang the dirge 12, they would remove as many names of the dead that equaled as many people that were born. And in this way, these women enacted 17 a lot of transformation, beautiful transformation.
Did you know, that before the genocide in Rwanda, the word for rape 18 and the word for marriage was the same one? But today, women are rebuilding Rwanda. Did you also know that after apartheid, when the new government went into the parliament houses, there were no female toilets in the building? Which would seem to suggest that apartheid was entirely 19 the business of men. All of this to say, that despite the horror, and despite the death, women are never really counted. Their humanity never seems to matter very much to us.
When I was growing up in Nigeria -- and I shouldn't say Nigeria, because that's too general, but in Afikpo, the Igbo part of the country where I'm from -- there were always rites 20 of passage for young men. Men were taught to be men in the ways in which we are not women, that's essentially 21 what it is. And a lot of rituals involved killing 22, killing little animals, progressing along, so when I turned 13 -- and, I mean, it made sense, it was an agrarian 23 community, somebody had to kill the animals, there was no Whole Foods you could go and get kangaroo steak at -- so when I turned 13, it was my turn now to kill a goat. And I was this weird 24, sensitive kid, who couldn't really do it, but I had to do it. And I was supposed to do this alone. But a friend of mine, called Emmanuel, who was significantly older than me, who'd been a boy soldier during the Biafran war, decided to come with me. Which sort of made me feel good, because he'd seen a lot of things. Now, when I was growing up, he used to tell me stories about how he used to bayonet people, and their intestines 25 would fall out, but they would keep running. So, this guy comes with me. And I don't know if you've ever heard a goat, or seen one -- they sound like human beings, that's why we call tragedies "a song of a goat." My friend Brad Kessler says that we didn't become human until we started keeping goats. Anyway, a goat's eyes are like a child's eyes. So when I tried to kill this goat and I couldn't, Emmanuel bent 26 down, he puts his hand over the mouth of the goat, covers its eyes, so I don't have to look into them, while I kill the goat. It didn't seem like a lot, for this guy who'd seen so much, and to whom the killing of a goat must have seemed such a quotidian 27 experience, still found it in himself to try to protect me. I was a wimp 28. I cried for a very long time. And afterwards, he didn't say a word. He just sat there watching me cry for an hour. And then afterwards he said to me, "It will always be difficult, but if you cry like this every time, you will die of heartbreak. Just know that it is enough sometimes to know that it is difficult." Of course, talking about goats makes me think of sheep, and not in good ways. (Laughter)
So, I was born two days after Christmas. So growing up, you know, I had a cake and everything, but I never got any presents, because, born two days after Christmas. So, I was about nine, and my uncle had just come back from Germany, and we had the Catholic priest over, my mother was entertaining him with tea. And my uncle suddenly says, "Where are Chris' presents?" And my mother said, "Don't talk about that in front of guests." But he was desperate to show that he'd just come back, so he summoned me up, and he said, "Go into the bedroom, my bedroom. Take anything you want out of the suitcase. It's your birthday present." I'm sure he thought I'd take a book or a shirt, but I found an inflatable sheep. (Laughter) So, I blew it up and ran into the living room, my finger where it shouldn't have been, I was waving this buzzing sheep around, and my mother looked like she was going to die of shock. (Laughter) And Father McGetrick was completely unflustered, just stirred his tea and looked at my mother and said, "It's all right Daphne, I'm Scottish." (Laughter) (Applause)
My last days in prison, the last 18 months, my cellmate -- for the last year, the first year of the last 18 months -- my cellmate was 14 years old. The name was John James, and in those days, if a family member committed a crime, the military would hold you as ransom 29 till your family turned themselves in. So, here was this 14-year-old kid on death row. And not everybody on death row was a political prisoner. There were some really bad people there. And he had smuggled 30 in two comics, two comic books -- "Spiderman" and "X-Men." He was obsessed 31. And when he got tired of reading them, he started to teach the men in death row how to read, with these comic books. And so, I remember night after night, you'd hear all these men, these really hardened criminals, huddled 32 around John James, reciting, "Take that, Spidey!" (Laughter) It's incredible. I was really worried. He didn't know what death row meant. I'd been there twice, and I was terribly afraid that I was going to die. And he would always laugh, and say, "Come on, man, we'll make it out." Then I'd say, "How do you know?" And he said, "Oh, I heard it on the grapevine." They killed him. They handcuffed him to a chair, and they tacked 33 his penis to a table with a six-inch nail, then left him there to bleed to death. That's how I ended up in solitary 34, because I let my feelings be known. All around us, everywhere, there are people like this.
The Igbo used to say that they built their own gods. They would come together as a community, and they would express a wish. And their wish would then be brought to a priest, who would find a ritual object, and the appropriate sacrifices would be made, and the shrine 35 would be built for the god. But if the god became unruly and began to ask for human sacrifice, the Igbos would destroy the god. They would knock down the shrine, and they would stop saying the god's name. This is how they came to reclaim 36 their humanity. Every day, all of us here, we're building gods that have gone rampant 37, and it's time we started knocking them down and forgetting their names. It doesn't require a tremendous thing. All it requires is to recognize among us, every day -- the few of us that can see -- are surrounded by people like the ones I've told you.
There are some of you in this room, amazing people, who offer all of us the mirror to our own humanity. I want to end with a poem by an American poet called Lucille Clifton. The poem is called "Libation," and it's for my friend Vusi who is in the audience here somewhere. "Libation, North Carolina, 1999. I offer to this ground, this gin. I imagine an old man crying here, out of the sight of the overseer. He pushes his tongue through a hole where his tooth would be, if he were whole. It aches in that space where his tooth would be, where his land would be, his house, his wife, his son, his beautiful daughter. He wipes sorrow from his face, and puts his thirsty finger to his thirsty tongue, and tastes the salt. I call a name that could be his. This is for you, old man. This gin, this salty earth." Thank you. (Applause)
But what I've come to learn is that the world is never saved in grand messianic gestures, but in the simple accumulation of gentle, soft, almost invisible acts of compassion 3, everyday acts of compassion. In South Africa, they have a phrase called Ubuntu. Ubuntu comes out of a philosophy that says, the only way for me to be human is for you to reflect my humanity back at me. But if you're like me, my humanity is more like a window. I don't really see it, I don't pay attention to it until there's, you know, like a bug 4 that's dead on the window. Then suddenly I see it, and usually, it's never good. It's usually when I'm cussing in traffic at someone who is trying to drive their car and drink coffee and send emails and make notes. So what Ubuntu really says is that there is no way for us to be human without other people. It's really very simple, but really very complicated.
So, I thought I should start with some stories. I should tell you some stories about remarkable 5 people, so I thought I'd start with my mother. (Laughter) And she was dark, too. My mother was English. My parents met in Oxford 6 in the '50s, and my mother moved to Nigeria and lived there. She was five foot two, very feisty and very English. This is how English my mother is -- or was, she just passed. She came out to California, to Los Angeles, to visit me, and we went to Malibu, which she thought was very disappointing. (Laughter) And then we went to a fish restaurant, and we had Chad, the surfer dude, serving us, and he came up and my mother said, "Do you have any specials, young man?" And Chad says, "Sure, like, we have this, like, salmon 7, that's, like, rolled in this, like, wasabi, like, crust. It's totally rad." And my mother turned to me and said, "What language is he speaking?" (Laughter) I said, "English, mum." And she shook her head and said, "Oh, these Americans. We gave them a language, why don't they use it?" (Laughter)
So, this woman, who converted from the Church of England to Catholicism when she married my father -- and there's no one more rabid than a Catholic convert -- decided 8 to teach in the rural areas in Nigeria, particularly among Igbo women, the Billings ovulation method, which was the only approved birth control by the Catholic Church. But her Igbo wasn't too good. So she took me along to translate. I was seven. (Laughter) So, here are these women, who never discuss their period with their husbands, and here I am telling them, "Well, how often do you get your period?" (Laughter) And, "Do you notice any discharges?" (Laughter) And, "How swollen 9 is your vulva?" (Laughter) She never would have thought of herself as a feminist 10, my mother, but she always used to say, "Anything a man can do, I can fix." (Applause) And when my father complained about this situation, where she's taking a seven-year-old boy to teach this birth control, you know, he used to say, "Oh, you're turning him into -- you're teaching him how to be a woman." My mother said, "Someone has to." (Laughter)
This woman -- during the Biafran war, we were caught in the war. It was my mother with five little children. It takes her one year, through refugee camp after refugee camp, to make her way to an airstrip where we can fly out of the country. At every single refugee camp, she has to face off soldiers who want to take my elder brother Mark, who was nine, and make him a boy soldier. Can you imagine this five-foot-two woman, standing 11 up to men with guns who want to kill us? All through that one year, my mother never cried one time, not once. But when we were in Lisbon, in the airport, about to fly to England, this woman saw my mother wearing this dress, which had been washed so many times it was basically see through, with five really hungry-looking kids, came over and asked her what had happened. And she told this woman. And so this woman emptied out her suitcase and gave all of her clothes to my mother, and to us, and the toys of her kids, who didn't like that very much, but -- (Laughter) -- that was the only time she cried. And I remember years later, I was writing about my mother, and I asked her, "Why did you cry then?" And she said, "You know, you can steel your heart against any kind of trouble, any kind of horror. But the simple act of kindness from a complete stranger will unstitch you."
The old women in my father's village, after this war had happened, memorized the names of every dead person, and they would sing these dirges 13, made up of these names. Dirges so melancholic 14 that they would scorch 15 you. And they would sing them only when they planted the rice, as though they were seeding the hearts of the dead into the rice. But when it came for harvest time, they would sing these joyful 16 songs, that were made up of the names of every child who had been born that year. And then the next planting season, when they sang the dirge 12, they would remove as many names of the dead that equaled as many people that were born. And in this way, these women enacted 17 a lot of transformation, beautiful transformation.
Did you know, that before the genocide in Rwanda, the word for rape 18 and the word for marriage was the same one? But today, women are rebuilding Rwanda. Did you also know that after apartheid, when the new government went into the parliament houses, there were no female toilets in the building? Which would seem to suggest that apartheid was entirely 19 the business of men. All of this to say, that despite the horror, and despite the death, women are never really counted. Their humanity never seems to matter very much to us.
When I was growing up in Nigeria -- and I shouldn't say Nigeria, because that's too general, but in Afikpo, the Igbo part of the country where I'm from -- there were always rites 20 of passage for young men. Men were taught to be men in the ways in which we are not women, that's essentially 21 what it is. And a lot of rituals involved killing 22, killing little animals, progressing along, so when I turned 13 -- and, I mean, it made sense, it was an agrarian 23 community, somebody had to kill the animals, there was no Whole Foods you could go and get kangaroo steak at -- so when I turned 13, it was my turn now to kill a goat. And I was this weird 24, sensitive kid, who couldn't really do it, but I had to do it. And I was supposed to do this alone. But a friend of mine, called Emmanuel, who was significantly older than me, who'd been a boy soldier during the Biafran war, decided to come with me. Which sort of made me feel good, because he'd seen a lot of things. Now, when I was growing up, he used to tell me stories about how he used to bayonet people, and their intestines 25 would fall out, but they would keep running. So, this guy comes with me. And I don't know if you've ever heard a goat, or seen one -- they sound like human beings, that's why we call tragedies "a song of a goat." My friend Brad Kessler says that we didn't become human until we started keeping goats. Anyway, a goat's eyes are like a child's eyes. So when I tried to kill this goat and I couldn't, Emmanuel bent 26 down, he puts his hand over the mouth of the goat, covers its eyes, so I don't have to look into them, while I kill the goat. It didn't seem like a lot, for this guy who'd seen so much, and to whom the killing of a goat must have seemed such a quotidian 27 experience, still found it in himself to try to protect me. I was a wimp 28. I cried for a very long time. And afterwards, he didn't say a word. He just sat there watching me cry for an hour. And then afterwards he said to me, "It will always be difficult, but if you cry like this every time, you will die of heartbreak. Just know that it is enough sometimes to know that it is difficult." Of course, talking about goats makes me think of sheep, and not in good ways. (Laughter)
So, I was born two days after Christmas. So growing up, you know, I had a cake and everything, but I never got any presents, because, born two days after Christmas. So, I was about nine, and my uncle had just come back from Germany, and we had the Catholic priest over, my mother was entertaining him with tea. And my uncle suddenly says, "Where are Chris' presents?" And my mother said, "Don't talk about that in front of guests." But he was desperate to show that he'd just come back, so he summoned me up, and he said, "Go into the bedroom, my bedroom. Take anything you want out of the suitcase. It's your birthday present." I'm sure he thought I'd take a book or a shirt, but I found an inflatable sheep. (Laughter) So, I blew it up and ran into the living room, my finger where it shouldn't have been, I was waving this buzzing sheep around, and my mother looked like she was going to die of shock. (Laughter) And Father McGetrick was completely unflustered, just stirred his tea and looked at my mother and said, "It's all right Daphne, I'm Scottish." (Laughter) (Applause)
My last days in prison, the last 18 months, my cellmate -- for the last year, the first year of the last 18 months -- my cellmate was 14 years old. The name was John James, and in those days, if a family member committed a crime, the military would hold you as ransom 29 till your family turned themselves in. So, here was this 14-year-old kid on death row. And not everybody on death row was a political prisoner. There were some really bad people there. And he had smuggled 30 in two comics, two comic books -- "Spiderman" and "X-Men." He was obsessed 31. And when he got tired of reading them, he started to teach the men in death row how to read, with these comic books. And so, I remember night after night, you'd hear all these men, these really hardened criminals, huddled 32 around John James, reciting, "Take that, Spidey!" (Laughter) It's incredible. I was really worried. He didn't know what death row meant. I'd been there twice, and I was terribly afraid that I was going to die. And he would always laugh, and say, "Come on, man, we'll make it out." Then I'd say, "How do you know?" And he said, "Oh, I heard it on the grapevine." They killed him. They handcuffed him to a chair, and they tacked 33 his penis to a table with a six-inch nail, then left him there to bleed to death. That's how I ended up in solitary 34, because I let my feelings be known. All around us, everywhere, there are people like this.
The Igbo used to say that they built their own gods. They would come together as a community, and they would express a wish. And their wish would then be brought to a priest, who would find a ritual object, and the appropriate sacrifices would be made, and the shrine 35 would be built for the god. But if the god became unruly and began to ask for human sacrifice, the Igbos would destroy the god. They would knock down the shrine, and they would stop saying the god's name. This is how they came to reclaim 36 their humanity. Every day, all of us here, we're building gods that have gone rampant 37, and it's time we started knocking them down and forgetting their names. It doesn't require a tremendous thing. All it requires is to recognize among us, every day -- the few of us that can see -- are surrounded by people like the ones I've told you.
There are some of you in this room, amazing people, who offer all of us the mirror to our own humanity. I want to end with a poem by an American poet called Lucille Clifton. The poem is called "Libation," and it's for my friend Vusi who is in the audience here somewhere. "Libation, North Carolina, 1999. I offer to this ground, this gin. I imagine an old man crying here, out of the sight of the overseer. He pushes his tongue through a hole where his tooth would be, if he were whole. It aches in that space where his tooth would be, where his land would be, his house, his wife, his son, his beautiful daughter. He wipes sorrow from his face, and puts his thirsty finger to his thirsty tongue, and tastes the salt. I call a name that could be his. This is for you, old man. This gin, this salty earth." Thank you. (Applause)
n.变化;改造;转变
- Going to college brought about a dramatic transformation in her outlook.上大学使她的观念发生了巨大的变化。
- He was struggling to make the transformation from single man to responsible husband.他正在努力使自己由单身汉变为可靠的丈夫。
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的
- She's a sentimental woman who believes marriage comes by destiny.她是多愁善感的人,她相信姻缘命中注定。
- We were deeply touched by the sentimental movie.我们深深被那感伤的电影所感动。
n.同情,怜悯
- He could not help having compassion for the poor creature.他情不自禁地怜悯起那个可怜的人来。
- Her heart was filled with compassion for the motherless children.她对于没有母亲的孩子们充满了怜悯心。
n.虫子;故障;窃听器;vt.纠缠;装窃听器
- There is a bug in the system.系统出了故障。
- The bird caught a bug on the fly.那鸟在飞行中捉住了一只昆虫。
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的
- She has made remarkable headway in her writing skills.她在写作技巧方面有了长足进步。
- These cars are remarkable for the quietness of their engines.这些汽车因发动机没有噪音而不同凡响。
n.牛津(英国城市)
- At present he has become a Professor of Chemistry at Oxford.他现在已是牛津大学的化学教授了。
- This is where the road to Oxford joins the road to London.这是去牛津的路与去伦敦的路的汇合处。
n.鲑,大马哈鱼,橙红色的
- We saw a salmon jumping in the waterfall there.我们看见一条大马哈鱼在那边瀑布中跳跃。
- Do you have any fresh salmon in at the moment?现在有新鲜大马哈鱼卖吗?
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的
- This gave them a decided advantage over their opponents.这使他们比对手具有明显的优势。
- There is a decided difference between British and Chinese way of greeting.英国人和中国人打招呼的方式有很明显的区别。
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀
- Her legs had got swollen from standing up all day.因为整天站着,她的双腿已经肿了。
- A mosquito had bitten her and her arm had swollen up.蚊子叮了她,她的手臂肿起来了。
adj.主张男女平等的,女权主义的
- She followed the feminist movement.她支持女权运动。
- From then on,feminist studies on literature boomed.从那时起,男女平等受教育的现象开始迅速兴起。
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的
- After the earthquake only a few houses were left standing.地震过后只有几幢房屋还立着。
- They're standing out against any change in the law.他们坚决反对对法律做任何修改。
n.哀乐,挽歌,庄重悲哀的乐曲
- She threw down her basket and intoned a peasant dirge.她撂下菜篮,唱起庄稼人的哀歌。
- The stranger,after listening for a moment,joined in the mournful dirge.听了一会儿后这个陌生人也跟著唱起了悲哀的挽歌。
n.挽歌( dirge的名词复数 );忧伤的歌,哀歌
- The radio played dirges all day long. 广播电台整天都在播放哀乐。 来自《简明英汉词典》
- It was as if the Night sang dirges with clenched teeth. 那仿佛是夜神正在那儿咬牙切齿地唱挽歌。 来自辞典例句
忧郁症患者
- A absurd tragedy accompany a melancholic song by the Tiger Lillies. 一出荒诞的悲剧,在泰戈莱利斯犹豫的歌声中缓缓上演。
- I have never heard her sing a melancholic song. 我从来没有听她唱过忧伤的曲子。
v.烧焦,烤焦;高速疾驶;n.烧焦处,焦痕
- I could not wash away the mark of the scorch.我洗不掉这焦痕。
- This material will scorch easily if it is too near the fire.这种材料如果太靠近炉火很容易烤焦。
adj.欢乐的,令人欢欣的
- She was joyful of her good result of the scientific experiments.她为自己的科学实验取得好成果而高兴。
- They were singing and dancing to celebrate this joyful occasion.他们唱着、跳着庆祝这令人欢乐的时刻。
制定(法律),通过(法案)( enact的过去式和过去分词 )
- legislation enacted by parliament 由议会通过的法律
- Outside in the little lobby another scene was begin enacted. 外面的小休息室里又是另一番景象。 来自英汉文学 - 嘉莉妹妹
n.抢夺,掠夺,强奸;vt.掠夺,抢夺,强奸
- The rape of the countryside had a profound ravage on them.对乡村的掠夺给他们造成严重创伤。
- He was brought to court and charged with rape.他被带到法庭并被指控犯有强奸罪。
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地
- The fire was entirely caused by their neglect of duty. 那场火灾完全是由于他们失职而引起的。
- His life was entirely given up to the educational work. 他的一生统统献给了教育工作。
仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 )
- to administer the last rites to sb 给某人举行临终圣事
- He is interested in mystic rites and ceremonies. 他对神秘的仪式感兴趣。
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上
- Really great men are essentially modest.真正的伟人大都很谦虚。
- She is an essentially selfish person.她本质上是个自私自利的人。
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财
- Investors are set to make a killing from the sell-off.投资者准备清仓以便大赚一笔。
- Last week my brother made a killing on Wall Street.上个周我兄弟在华尔街赚了一大笔。
adj.土地的,农村的,农业的
- People are leaving an agrarian way of life to go to the city.人们正在放弃农业生活方式而转向城市。
- This was a feature of agrarian development in Britain.这是大不列颠土地所有制发展的一个特征。
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的
- From his weird behaviour,he seems a bit of an oddity.从他不寻常的行为看来,他好像有点怪。
- His weird clothes really gas me.他的怪衣裳简直笑死人。
n.肠( intestine的名词复数 )
- Perhaps the most serious problems occur in the stomach and intestines. 最严重的问题或许出现在胃和肠里。 来自辞典例句
- The traps of carnivorous plants function a little like the stomachs and small intestines of animals. 食肉植物的捕蝇器起着动物的胃和小肠的作用。 来自辞典例句
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的
- He was fully bent upon the project.他一心扑在这项计划上。
- We bent over backward to help them.我们尽了最大努力帮助他们。
adj.每日的,平凡的
- Television has become part of our quotidian existence.电视已成为我们日常生活的一部分。
- Most solutions to the problem of global warming are tediousl,almost oppressively,quotidian.大多数应对全球变暖的措施都是冗长乏味,几近压制,以及司空见惯的。
n.无用的人
- The more she called her husband a wimp,the more timid he became.她越叫她先生懦夫,他就越胆小怯懦。
- I hate those who get on their high horses in front of wimps.我最恨那些在弱者面前盛气凌人的人。
n.赎金,赎身;v.赎回,解救
- We'd better arrange the ransom right away.我们最好马上把索取赎金的事安排好。
- The kidnappers exacted a ransom of 10000 from the family.绑架者向这家人家勒索10000英镑的赎金。
水货
- The customs officer confiscated the smuggled goods. 海关官员没收了走私品。 来自《现代汉英综合大词典》
- Those smuggled goods have been detained by the port office. 那些走私货物被港务局扣押了。 来自互联网
adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的
- He's obsessed by computers. 他迷上了电脑。
- The fear of death obsessed him throughout his old life. 他晚年一直受着死亡恐惧的困扰。
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式)
- We huddled together for warmth. 我们挤在一块取暖。
- We huddled together to keep warm. 我们挤在一起来保暖。
用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 ); 附加,增补; 帆船抢风行驶,用粗线脚缝
- He tacked the sheets of paper on as carefully as possible. 他尽量小心地把纸张钉上去。
- The seamstress tacked the two pieces of cloth. 女裁缝把那两块布粗缝了起来。
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士
- I am rather fond of a solitary stroll in the country.我颇喜欢在乡间独自徜徉。
- The castle rises in solitary splendour on the fringe of the desert.这座城堡巍然耸立在沙漠的边际,显得十分壮美。
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣
- The shrine was an object of pilgrimage.这处圣地是人们朝圣的目的地。
- They bowed down before the shrine.他们在神龛前鞠躬示敬。
v.要求归还,收回;开垦
- I have tried to reclaim my money without success.我没能把钱取回来。
- You must present this ticket when you reclaim your luggage.当你要取回行李时,必须出示这张票子。