描述性英语作文定稿版

描述性英语作文精编W O R D版IBM system office room 【A0816H-A0912AAAHH-GX8Q8-GNTHHJ8】M y N e w R o o m m a t e It was my first day at the institute．I got into the building where 1 was going to live．My eyes searched carefully from the door of one bedroom to that of another for my name which ought to have been pasted on the door of one of these bedrooms．At last I found it．On stepping into the bedroom I found there was already in it a student who was making his bed．Having exchanged with me a few words of greetings，he resumed his arrangement of bedding and no longer paid any attention to me．“What a stuck-up fellow．”I thought and began to survey the room．It looked quite similar to any other bedroom in the building．Even the furniture in all bedrooms was uniform．It seemed my bedroom had already been thoroughly cleaned by my new roommate．He was thin，short and dark-skinned．His hair looked like a bundle of straw．His dirty clothes and lusterless eyes clearly indicated that he had had a long journey．His clothes were made of cheap cloth．His coat was too short，and the legs of his trousers were too loose．He wore a pair of unfashionable rubber shoes．Thus he did not look like a smart freshman at a11.“A yokel,” I concluded．The second time he spoke，his accent told me that he was from the south．“May I help you get your luggage from the office?”I did not decline his help because I really needed it．He was quick in movement． He walked out of the room and was soon far ahead of me in the corridor．“A good guy,” I said to myself．“I will make friends with him．”I hurried and caught up with him．My English TeacherI like most of my teachers in college．They were，for the most part，friendly and competent, willing to help students．I liked them — but I don’t remember them very well，except for Mr. Jones，my freshman English teacher．He was an enthusiastic， sensitive man，who knew his subject and was determined that we would learn it and love it, too．Mr. Jones was a tall，slender man in his mid-forties with gray, thinning hair．Perched precariously on his nose，his glasses gave him a serious look．But they didn’t remain there long，for he was always either taking them off and polishing their two pieces of glass or putting either of the two earpieces in his mouth when he was meditating a response to some question raised by a student．When on his way to our classroom，he always carried two or three books with strips of paper sticking out of them，which were for marking the passages he wanted to read to us．I remember, too， his cardigan sweaters．He must have had a dozen of them．On rainy days he would have a blue raincoat on．But what is most tenacious in my memory is his smile．When he smiled，his whole face lit up；his eyes sparkled．His smile made you feel good，at ease，and somehow reassured．Though habitually friendly and at ease with everybody, he was a bit primin classroom，and he could be stem on occasions．He never called us by ourfirst names．He obviously enjoyed his work and loved his students，but he kept his distance．He never deliberately or publicly embarrassed a student by using sarcastic language．Nevertheless he could distinctly reveal his displeasure in his own way．He’d look steadily at an offending student for quite a few freezing seconds．That was usually enough for the little culprit to be cowed．But if it didn’t work，he’d say something to the student in a lowered tone of voice．He didn’t do this often, though．Mr. Jones had personality, integrity, vitality — a11 of which made him popular；but what I liked most about him was that he was a fine teacher It was true that he cared about his students，but he cared more about teaching them his subject．And that meant homework，lots of it，and pop quizzes now and then to keep them current on the reading．He lectured occasionally to provide background information whenever we moved on to a new literary period．After a brief glance at his notes，he’d begin to move around as he talked to the blackboard to the window, back to the 1ectem．But he preferred discussion，a Socratic dialogue．He’d write several questions on the board for the next day’s discussion，and he’d expect you to be prepared to discuss them．He directed the discussion, but he didn’t dominate it：for he was a goodlistener and made sure we all had a chance to respond, whether we wanted to or not．If he was pleased with a response，he’d nod his head and smile．Occasionally he’d read a student’s essay, praising its good points and then winking at the writer as he passed it back．But he was tough-minded，too，as I suggested before．He really nailed you for sloppy work or inattention．When you got an A from him，you really felt good，for he wasn’t an easy grader．We used to complain about his grading standards，usually to no avail, though he would change a grade if he thought he had been unfair．Mr. Jones was a competent teacher．He knew what he was doing in classroom，and he could conduct his class very well．But what was more important was that he made his students fall in love with the course he offered．He led us to take the initiative in delving into it on out own．Mariak AnagianShe was ninety-two years old when I met her, a gentle，diminutive lady in European dress．Her face was deeply lined，and her coarse grey hair had yellowed with the years．She spoke softly in a quivering voice in half English and half American．Her gnarled hands testified to the years of hard work on the farm in her homeland．Yet．in her dark eyes and in her gentle manner there was a childlike simplicity as she told me her story．I thought“she has the wisdom that comes with years of experience and the gentle purity of a child—that was a wonderful but strange combination of traits．”I knew that l would never forget her．Her name was Mariak Anagian When she was a young woman，her homeland was invaded by foreign troops．She had been keeping house for her father, brothers， husband，and her two young children．One day she returned from the market and found the mutilated（残缺不全的）bodies of her father and one ofher brothers on her doorstep．They were among the many victims of the war．Mariak’s husband was much older than she，and he soon succumbed to the rigorous demands of field work and mental strain，leaving Mariak alone in the world to take care of her two small children．Many of the town’s people helped her, and she was able to produce enough on the small farm to feed her family．Shortly after the turn of the century, her daughter married and went to America．A few years later，Mariak’s daughter sent her some money which enabled her to come to the United States．Thus Mariak came to live in the United States for thirty years．As Mariak told her story, her eyes grew large with fear and her breath quickened with excitement．Then she wept．After a short time，she sat silently with her head bowed．Suddenly, she rose from the chair, lifted her skirt to just above her ankles，and began to dance in short，jerky steps．She sang almost inaudibly in her native language，but I knew it was a children’s song．Her simple melody and simple dance steps were typically those of an average child．Her eyes shone with youthful gaiety, and her voice was light and happy．Her grandson appeared at this time，spoke to her affectionately, and led her away from the room．My Dormitory BedroomMy dormitory bedroom on the second floor of Bienville Hall is small and cluttered up．Its dark green walls and dirty white ceiling make it look gloomy and thuseven smaller than it is．On entering the bedroom．one would find my bed is right in his way because it takes up half of the room．The two large windows over my bed are obstructed from view by the golden heavy drapes．Against the left wall is a large book case extending into the comer which is behind the head of my bed．The bookcase is crammed with piles of sheets of paper, books，and knickknacks．Wedged in between the bookcase and the wall opposite the bed is a small grey metal desk．Near the desk stands a brown wooden chair which fills up the left end of the room．Stuffed under the desk is a wastepaper basket overflowing with tom pieces of Paper and refuse．The wall above the bookcase and desk is completely taken up with two small posters．On the right side of the room is a narrow closet with clothes，shoes，hats，tennis racquets， and boxes bulging out of its sliding doors．Every time 1 walk out of my bedroom．I think to myself, Now I know what it is like to live in a closet．”SubwaysSubways are long，dark，gloomy, sooty tunnels under the ground．Trains with many cars clatter on steel tracks through these tunnels．The automatic doors open noisily, one at each end and another in the middle of the car．The trains have bright electric lights and long benches for passengers’comfort．There are many colorful posters on the damp metal walls of the trains．Some advertise toothpaste for the family．Many posters plead for support for charity organizations．A lot of posters urge subway riders to buy a special lime-scented deodorant or a particular lemon-oil haft tonic．A fewposters ask readers to buy this soap or that shoe polish．Most of the riders read the posters．A few of them read books or newspapers．Not many riders talk to their fellow travelers as they burrow through the earth from one end of the city to another．A Spring MorningIt was early in a morning in spring．The sun was just scrambling upward from the eastern horizon and shedding vermilion steaks to penetrate the ambient clouds that were drifting across the sky．Soon the campus was bathedin the first rays of the sun. Then the lake，the trees and the bamboos looked as if they were all gilded．The ground was covered with tender grasses and the beaded dewdrops stood on their tips and were ready to reflect the nascent sunshine．Birds flew about in the woods，twittering restlessly．Some boy students who were absorbed in reading leaned against trees with buds peeping out from beneath the gray bark．A couple of girl students were reading from their English textbooks aloud while walking up and down the gravel path around the lake where a sort of stream rose to form swirls of thin mist．It was really a morning of beauty, vigor and hope．A Pleasant SummerWhat can aptly characterize a pleasant summer should consist of such as bright sunshine，refreshing breeze，and comfortable warmth．In a pleasant summer, when the breeze is soothing，when the blue sky is heartening，and whenthe white clouds are nurturing your reverie，you cannot refrain from imagining that you are overwhelmed with heavenly bliss．The invigorating air and the intoxicating landscape are all what you need to make yourself feelirresistibly fascinated with your own life．Given them all，what else do you need to make your life more worth livingNone indeed!The beautiful landscape pampers you．The high mountains in the distance，the crystalline brook meandering in your vicinity, the verdure surrounding you，the fragrant flowers nodding to you，the birds circling overhead，the little wild beasts skittering away into wilderness，are all pleasing sights to your mind and the eyes．A walk along a pond covered with sweet lily—flowers or teeming with various aquatic growths is also a very good pastime．Even though it is rather warm in daytime，most nights in a pleasant summer can be extremely enjoyable with stars twinkling in the sky and the shining moon cascading a profusion of light onto treetops．The soothing breeze caresses your face lovingly．Musical cicadas are singing merrily from the branches of trees．What else do you want of a summer 1ike this! Nothing else indeed!A TeaspoonA teaspoon is a utensil for scooping up and carrying small amounts of something. It has two joined parts: a flat, narrow, tapered handle, by whichit is held, and a shadow, oval bowl to dip and carry liquid, food or other materials. The handle is about four inches long. It arches slightly upward at the wide end. It curves sharply downward at the narrow end. The shape of the handle allows it to fit easily in the hand when it is correctly held resting across the third finger and grasped between the thumb and first joint of the fore-finger of the right hand. When the bowl is level the handle points upward at a shallow angle. A spoon is usually made of metal or some other hard-wearing, unbreakable material.Roger H. Garrison, “A Teaspoon” in A Guide to CreativeWritingThe Earliest Coins in ChinaOf the various currencies in ancient China, the round bronze coin with a square hole in the center was by far the most common. The earliest coins inthis form, known as Qin ban liang, were a product of China’s firstcentralized kingdom, the Qin dynasty, established by Qin Shi Huang in 221 B.C. Before the Qin dynasty, Chinese currency had taken many forms. Coins shapedlike various items of clothing, farm implements, or knives were in circulation, but they were costly and hard to produce, and difficult to carry and transport. The new coins were a great improvement – they were relatively simple to cast and could be strung together for ease of transportation. The new coins alsohad a particular philosophical significance to the ancient Chinese, who madethe coins to symbolize their belief that heaven was round and the earth as square, and that heaven sheltered the earth and all things in the universe were united. This concept of unity was important to the Qin emperors, who ruled over a unified China and believed their power great enough to spread to the four corners of the earth.The coins also had great aesthetic appeal. They were thought to represent the relationship between man and nature. Commonly found in nature, the circle represents freedom, comfort, and ease; whereas the square is seen as something man-made, a symbol of law, order, and restraint.A Wet Sunday in a Country Inn!A wet Sunday in a country inn! Whoever has had the luck to experience one can alone judge of my situation．The rain pattered against the casements；the bells tolledfor church with a melancholy sound．I went to the windows in quest of something to amuse the eye；but it seemed as if I had been placed completely out of the reach of all amusement．The windows of my bed．room looked out among tiled roofs and stacks of chimneys．while those of my sitting．room commanded a full view of the stable yard．I know of nothing more calculated to make a man sick of this world than a stable yard on a rainy day．The place was littered with wet straw that had been kicked about by travelers and stable-boys．In one comer was a stagnant pool of water, surrounding an island of muck；there were several half-drowned fowls crowded together under a cart，among which was a miserable，crest．fallen cock，drenched out of all life and spirit；his drooping tail matted，as it were，into a single feather, along which the water trickled from his back；near the cart was a half-dozing cow, chewing her cud，and standing patiently to be rained on，with wreaths of vapor rising from her reeking hide；a wall-eyed horse，tired of the loneliness of the stable，was poking his spectral head out of a window, with the rain dripping on it from the eaves；an unhappy cur, chained to a dog-house hard by，uttered something every now and then between a bark and a yelp：a drab of a kitchen wench tramped backwards and forwards through the yard in patterns，looking as sulky as the weather itself；everything，in short，was comfortless and forlorn，excepting a crew of hardened ducks，assembled like boon companions round a puddle and making a riotous noise over their liquor．An Open RobberyThe expensive shops in a famous arcade near Piccadilly were just opening．At this time of the morning，the arcade was almost empty．Mr．Taylor, the owner of a jewelry shop，was admiring a new window display．Two of his assistants had been working busily since 8 o’clock and had only just finished．Diamond necklaces and tings had been beautifully arranged on a background of black velvet．After gazing at the display for several minutes．Mr．Taylor went back into his shop．The silence was suddenly broken when a large car, with its headlights on and its horn blaring，roared down the arcade．It came to a stop outside the jeweler’s．One man stayed at the wheel while two others with black stockingsover their faces jumped out and smashed the window of the shop with iron bars．While this was going on，Mr． Taylor was upstairs．He and his assistants began throwing furniture out of the window．Chairs and tables went flying into the arcade．One of the thieves was struck by a heavy statue，but he was too busy helping himself to diamonds to notice any pain．The raid was all over in three minutes，for the men scrambled back into the car and it moved off at a fantastic speed．Just as it was leaving，Mr．Taylor rushed out and ran after it throwing ashtrays and vases，but it was impossible to stop the thieves．They had got away with thousands of pounds worth of diamonds．。