爱英语作文

时间：2021-07-08 17:57:02 其他类英语作文我要投稿

精选爱英语作文十篇

　　在日常学习、工作抑或是生活中，大家总少不了接触作文吧，作文是通过文字来表达一个主题意义的记叙方法。那么一般作文是怎么写的呢？以下是小编整理的爱英语作文10篇，欢迎阅读，希望大家能够喜欢。

精选爱英语作文十篇

爱英语作文篇1

　　今天傍晚，我本以为我的父亲会在学校出现，并递给我一份热气腾腾的美食，可他，却缺席了。这令我很伤心，也很失落，当我看到其他（她）同学的父母来送饭，有说有笑，心里别提有多难受了。我失望伤心地走在操场上，一个足球飞过来。砰一下飞在我头上，差点昏在那儿。痛苦，失落，伤心围绕着我，我竟哭了起来，那几个玩球的人也落荒而逃。这时有一个声音“郑锦霞怎么哭啦？”

　　我一抬头，见是Miss黄，便把眼泪抹了抹说“没什么。”

　　Miss黄一眼就看出来了“是不是爸爸妈妈没来？你看，鸭肉。想不想吃？那就不要哭了，吃点东西吧！”

　　我看了一眼，里面不仅有鸭肉，还有红辣椒和青椒。口水直流，没想到平时凶狠的Miss黄却有天使般的样子。我尝了一个，感觉还挺好吃，便狼吞虎咽地吃进肚子里，Miss黄看了，笑着说：“你看你，像不像个老人，并且长着青色和红色的胡子。”我舔了舔手，也笑了。我的心平静了。

　　这是一份多么及时的爱呀，如果没有她的话，说不定，我的眼睛都会哭肿。

爱英语作文篇2

　　Father's love

　　All say that love is great and selfless, in fact, fatherly love is express volumes.

　　My father is a carpenter, a black and a white hair, a pair of one's eyes brimming with radiating vigour eyes, big nose is a lovely catfish mouth. This is my ordinary father.

　　My father is a real redneck, usually not much words, silent as a mountain. But the simple, honest, can not cover up the elegant temperament, he always pay attention to their words, in their own words and deeds to tell me the truth in life.

　　Once, my father took a wooden work, nor let the father on the door to do color pretty, red. My father came home for dinner, thinking of this, watch TV and thinking about it. I couldn't help, complained: " Dad, you still think which! You play nice, people do not give you money, play is not pretty, and they will not give you the money, but also so much, why old miss! "

　　Father says: " no no, play beautiful even though he does not give me money, but I the performance obtained his approval, he will be looking for me to do the work, n

爱英语作文篇3

　　父爱如乐曲，为我弹奏美妙的乐曲;

　　Father's love is like music, playing wonderful music for me;

　　父爱如泉水，在口干舌燥时给我补充水分。

　　Father's love is like spring water. When my mouth is dry, give me water.

　　父爱如支柱!是父亲用他高大的脊背支撑着整个家。

　　Father's love is like a pillar! It is father who supports the whole family with his high back.

　　父亲爱是伟大的

　　Father's love is great

爱英语作文篇4

　　From small to large, I think I am the happiest child in the world, because my parents' love for me is higher than the sky and deeper than the sea.

　　Once, when I was in school, I suddenly felt my head hurt so much that I could not hear the lesson. The teacher found that I was pale and not right. I asked my parents after calling the reason. In a few moments, mom and dad came. My mother hurried to me and touched my forehead and said nervously, "ah! Why is it so hot? It looks like a fever is coming to the hospital! " Mom took my hand, Dad carried my schoolbag, and we went straight to the hospital. In the car, my mother comforted me, "nothing is wrong. I will be good with you and your father in any disease. You are a man and must be strong!" When I got to the hospital, my mother hurriedly found the doctor and said, "see my son quickly!" The doctor walked over and looked at me with a glimpse of it. He said, as if nothing happened, "small things, just drop the stream!" At last, mom and Dad were relieved. When I was dripping, Dad sometimes went out to buy delicious food for me. Sometimes he went out to buy toys for me, and sometimes sat beside the bed to make me happy. Mommy massage my head for a while, press my shoulder for a while, ask me if I'm hungry or not, and wash my fruit for a while. Looking at it, my eyes moistened, and a warm current surged into my heart. Mom and Dad were very kind to me. I am the happiest child in the world. I was all right soon after mom and dad looked after them. But mom and dad are busy and thin. I can go to school, they look happy!

　　Mom and Dad, it's a book that can't be read. They give me love, I will never forget it. Now I have to study hard, find a good job when I grow up, and repay my parents.

爱英语作文篇5

　　在世界上有许多爱，父亲对我的爱，是我一辈子都忘不了的。我的父亲是一个十分疼爱我的人。

　　There is a lot of love in the world. My father's love for me is something I will never forget. My father is a very loving person.

　　记得一个夏天的晚上，我正在写作业，忽然停电了。借着烛光写作业，头上的汗珠一滴滴的往下流，实在热得难以忍受。爸爸看在眼里连忙找来一把扇子，用他粗糙的'双手帮我扇风，一阵阵微风吹过我全身，使我神清气爽。

　　I remember one summer evening, I was doing my homework, and suddenly there was a power failure. Writing homework by candlelight, sweat drips down my head, which is too hot to bear. Dad looked in his eyes and quickly found a fan. He used his rough hands to help me with the fan. The breeze blew all over my body, making me feel refreshed.

　　虽然爸爸的手又黑又粗，但它给我了许多温暧，也充满了父爱。爸爸，我真想对您说："爸爸我爱你"。

　　Although my father's hand is black and thick, but it gives me a lot of warm, also full of father's love. Dad, I really want to say to you, "Dad, I love you.".

爱英语作文篇6

　　父母的爱是无微不至的，记得小时候的一个冬天，我的手很冷你便拿起学搓一搓握住我的手给我取暖。

　　Parents love is meticulous, remember one winter when I was a child, my hand is very cold, so you pick up and learn to rub my hand to warm me.

　　或是在下雨天，你总是把雨伞倾向在我这边，生怕我淋到雨。

　　Or on rainy days, you always lean your umbrella on my side, lest I get caught in the rain.

　　无论在哪里，你总是对我那么好。爸爸，我爱你，虽然所有的父母都是这样，但我还是觉的你是的父亲!

　　No matter where you are, you are always so kind to me. Dad, I love you, although all parents are like this, but I still think you are the father!

爱英语作文篇7

　　I used to write a composition is about a mother's love, only just realized a mother's love. When I read a story about a mother's love, will be great. But whenever I see a father, I feel very hypocritical. But when I experience, to know the greatness of a father.

　　My father looks mediocre, sometimes the mood is not good he will also have the feeling of disgust. He had no talent, even not finished elementary school, he, with a clueless look on his face when I read English sometimes I just in my heart secretly scorn.

　　In my eyes he is a "silly".

　　One night, eight more minutes, my mother said to me: "it's time for bed, so late. Again the don't come tomorrow." I have to hang down his head, a face of injustice. I laid the quilt, I dull looking at the white ceiling. Secretly wonder that morning new English song "trouble is a friend", at that moment, a stamped on the ground of the voice is getting closer and closer to me, I began to pretend to sleep, it is my dad, he came to the house, he stopped footsteps, even small panting breath, I can feel he has been tightly staring at me. He stopped for several minutes, and then quietly left.

　　At this point, I unknowingly shed tears, don't know what I to.

　　I've seen people describing a father "the father loves the mountain". I don't know the father. In fact, father is really serious, he just couldn't express. He never said 1: "I love you, baby." Such disgusting words. When what I want, he will try to meet me.

　　My father in my life, always will be a giver.

　　In that day, I read - deep a father.

爱英语作文篇8

　　Our mother is the one who gives birth to us， she is patient and kind。 When we are making mistakes， our father will be angry and beat us， but mother does the other way， she talks to our father， letting him pace and forgives for what we do。 Mother’s love is so tender， we grow up with it。 When Mothers’ Day comes， we should show our love to her。

　　我们的妈妈是赋予我们生命的人，她很有耐心和友好。当我们范错误的时候，爸爸会很生气并且要打我们，但是妈妈的做法相反，她和爸爸交流，让他平静下来，原谅我们所做的。妈妈的爱如此温和，我们伴随着爱长大。当母亲节到来的时候，我们应该向妈妈表达爱。

爱英语作文篇9

　　It's raining. School is over. I didn't bring my umbrella. I thought, "no one will come to pick me up." because my mother is ill, my father is away on business. Grandma and grandpa are too old to walk. I looked at the rain more and more big, less and less people, I am also more and more anxious, what should I do? I was about to go home in the rain.

　　Suddenly see a familiar figure, riding a bike slowly appeared from the rain, primary school grade three. This familiar figure is getting closer and closer, and I thought to myself, "this figure must be mother.". It's getting closer. It's really mom. I watched the rain trickling down my mother's face. Suddenly, a warm stream came up. I went straight to my mother and shouted, "Mom, mom, how did you get here?"" Mom smiled and said, "I know you didn't bring your umbrella and you knew it was raining."." Oh That's how it happened.

　　Step by step, the mother brought me home, but walk to a large slope in front of my house, to ride uphill to the home, the mother struggling to ride a bike, I said: "my mother riding a real don't ride up and down." Mother said, "I'll get wet when I come down."." Mother rode slowly and heavily on the slope.

　　When I got home, I wasn't wet at all. But my mother got wet already. I saw my mother's tired figure, and I couldn't help crying.

　　I know, mother's love is priceless.

爱英语作文篇10

　　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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