精選愛(ài)英語(yǔ)作文十篇
在日常學(xué)習(xí)、工作抑或是生活中，大家總少不了接觸作文吧，作文是通過(guò)文字來(lái)表達(dá)一個(gè)主題意義的記敘方法。那么一般作文是怎么寫(xiě)的呢？以下是小編整理的愛(ài)英語(yǔ)作文10篇，歡迎閱讀，希望大家能夠喜歡。
愛(ài)英語(yǔ)作文 篇1
今天傍晚，我本以為我的父親會(huì)在學(xué)校出現(xiàn)，并遞給我一份熱氣騰騰的美食，可他，卻缺席了。這令我很傷心，也很失落，當(dāng)我看到其他（她）同學(xué)的父母來(lái)送飯，有說(shuō)有笑，心里別提有多難受了。我失望傷心地走在操場(chǎng)上，一個(gè)足球飛過(guò)來(lái)。砰一下飛在我頭上，差點(diǎn)昏在那兒。痛苦，失落，傷心圍繞著我，我竟哭了起來(lái)，那幾個(gè)玩球的人也落荒而逃。這時(shí)有一個(gè)聲音“鄭錦霞怎么哭啦？”
我一抬頭，見(jiàn)是Miss黃，便把眼淚抹了抹說(shuō)“沒(méi)什么。”
Miss黃一眼就看出來(lái)了“是不是爸爸媽媽沒(méi)來(lái)？你看，鴨肉。想不想吃？那就不要哭了，吃點(diǎn)東西吧！”
我看了一眼，里面不僅有鴨肉，還有紅辣椒和青椒。口水直流，沒(méi)想到平時(shí)兇狠的Miss黃卻有天使般的樣子。我嘗了一個(gè)，感覺(jué)還挺好吃，便狼吞虎咽地吃進(jìn)肚子里，Miss黃看了，笑著說(shuō)：“你看你，像不像個(gè)老人，并且長(zhǎng)著青色和紅色的胡子。”我舔了舔手，也笑了。我的心平靜了。
這是一份多么及時(shí)的愛(ài)呀，如果沒(méi)有她的話(huà)，說(shuō)不定，我的眼睛都會(huì)哭腫。
愛(ài)英語(yǔ)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
愛(ài)英語(yǔ)作文 篇3
父愛(ài)如樂(lè)曲，為我彈奏美妙的樂(lè)曲;
Father's love is like music, playing wonderful music for me;
父愛(ài)如泉水，在口干舌燥時(shí)給我補(bǔ)充水分。
Father's love is like spring water. When my mouth is dry, give me water.
父愛(ài)如支柱!是父親用他高大的脊背支撐著整個(gè)家。
Father's love is like a pillar! It is father who supports the whole family with his high back.
父親愛(ài)是偉大的
Father's love is great
愛(ài)英語(yǔ)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.
愛(ài)英語(yǔ)作文 篇5
在世界上有許多愛(ài)，父親對(duì)我的愛(ài)，是我一輩子都忘不了的。我的父親是一個(gè)十分疼愛(ài)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.
記得一個(gè)夏天的晚上，我正在寫(xiě)作業(yè)，忽然停電了。借著燭光寫(xiě)作業(yè)，頭上的汗珠一滴滴的往下流，實(shí)在熱得難以忍受。爸爸看在眼里連忙找來(lái)一把扇子，用他粗糙的'雙手幫我扇風(fēng)，一陣陣微風(fēng)吹過(guò)我全身，使我神清氣爽。
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.
雖然爸爸的手又黑又粗，但它給我了許多溫曖，也充滿(mǎn)了父愛(ài)。爸爸，我真想對(duì)您說(shuō)："爸爸我愛(ài)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.".
愛(ài)英語(yǔ)作文 篇6
父母的愛(ài)是無(wú)微不至的，記得小時(shí)候的一個(gè)冬天，我的手很冷你便拿起學(xué)搓一搓握住我的手給我取暖。
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，你總是把雨傘傾向在我這邊，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.
無(wú)論在哪里，你總是對(duì)我那么好。爸爸，我愛(ài)你，雖然所有的父母都是這樣，但我還是覺(jué)的你是的父親!
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!
愛(ài)英語(yǔ)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.
愛(ài)英語(yǔ)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。
我們的媽媽是賦予我們生命的人，她很有耐心和友好。當(dāng)我們范錯(cuò)誤的時(shí)候，爸爸會(huì)很生氣并且要打我們，但是媽媽的做法相反，她和爸爸交流，讓他平靜下來(lái)，原諒我們所做的。媽媽的愛(ài)如此溫和，我們伴隨著愛(ài)長(zhǎng)大。當(dāng)母親節(jié)到來(lái)的時(shí)候，我們應(yīng)該向媽媽表達(dá)愛(ài)。
愛(ài)英語(yǔ)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.
愛(ài)英語(yǔ)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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