最后一片藤叶的英文原文

英语的英文是什么~

英语的英文是English ['ɪŋɡlɪʃ]
adj. 英文的；英国的；英国人的，英格兰的n. 英语；英文；英国人；英格兰人
例句：
English has hurt me a thousand times, but I still regard it as my first love.
英语伤我千万遍，我待它如初恋。
无论以前你学英语多长时间，始终开不了口。不是你不努力，而是你缺少了一套好的学习方法。以前是学习别人写好的英文句子，然后分析这个句子用到的知识点，当时你是明白了，但日后学的知识点还是用不出来，这叫阅读式学习，读懂英文句子就认为学会了，自欺欺人罢了，并且这是一种不动脑的低效学习。
大多数人背单词，学语法，背句子，耗费了大量的精力和时间，到头来学了个寂寞。其实，那不叫英语学习，那是为学英语做准备工作，自我感动罢了，很多人做了一辈子的准备工作，始终没有学成英语。
那什么叫真正地学英语？先把语言能力学到家，也就是说有造句的能力，然后才能背大量的单词，只有自己能用出来的单词才能长久记忆，否则任何记单词的方法都是短暂的记忆，很快就忘记了。
在没有语言能力之前，练听力，学口语都是在浪费时间，进步就那么一丁点。当你有了语言能力之后再去实践，这时你的英语水平会进步很快。
思维系英语是一种新的英语学习方法，从中文入手，把中英文两种结构建立联系，用大脑根据英文结构快速组织出英文句子来。这种学习方法就是培养翻译能力基本功，降维打击读说听写，让英语水平在短时间内见到成果，是一种高效学习方法。
学英语方法大于努力，如果没有正确的方法指导，会花费大量的时间，并且效果不佳，这就是我们学不好英语的主要原因。其实，大多数人很努力学英语，始终水平没有大的提高，这是一个普遍现象。归根结底是没有把中文和英文建立联系，并且也没有练习反应速度。思维系英语就是把中英文建立联系并且练习反应速度的一种新的英语学习方法。有不明白的小伙伴，欢迎联系我。

区别很大。英文是英国语言的文字，文化。好比中国语文，是中国文化。这不是谁都可以研究的。英语，就是英国人之间相互交流的语言工具。好比国语，是语言。语言是人人都会的工具，只不过有人高明，有人笨拙而已。傻瓜都会语言。文字能看，语言能说。看的是英文，说的是英语。写下来的是英文歌曲，唱出来的是英语歌曲。作为普通百姓，建议我们学英语，日语，汉语，韩语，不要研究英文，日文，中文，韩文。那是文学家们的事。您以为呢？

IIn a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called places. These places make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!
So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a colony.
At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. Johnsy was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the tabled'hôte of an Eighth Street Delmonico's, and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss- grown places.
Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.
One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow.
She has one chance in - let us say, ten, he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?
She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day. said Sue.
Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?
A man? said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind.
Well, it is the weakness, then, said the doctor. I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten.
After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.
Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.
As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.
Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward.
Twelve, she said, and little later eleven; and then ten, and nine; and then eight and seven, almost together.
Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.
What is it, dear? asked Sue.
Six, said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now.
Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie.
Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?
Oh, I never heard of such nonsense, complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self.
You needn't get any more wine, said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too.
Johnsy, dear, said Sue, bending over her, will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down.
Couldn't you draw in the other room? asked Johnsy, coldly.
I'd rather be here by you, said Sue. Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves.
Tell me as soon as you have finished, said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.
Try to sleep, said Sue. I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back.
Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.
Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.
Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings.
Vass! he cried. Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy.
She is very ill and weak, said Sue, and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet.
You are just like a woman! yelled Behrman. Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes.
Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.
When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.
Pull it up; I want to see, she ordered, in a whisper.
Wearily Sue obeyed.
But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground.
It is the last one, said Johnsy. I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time.
Dear, dear! said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?
But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.
The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.
When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.
The ivy leaf was still there.
Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove.
I've been a bad girl, Sudie, said Johnsy. Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook.
And hour later she said:
Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples.
The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left.
Even chances, said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. With good nursing you'll win. And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable.
The next day the doctor said to Sue: She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all.
And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.
I have something to tell you, white mouse, she said. Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell.

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隆德县15118217510： 最后一片藤叶(欧亨利同名小说改编短文) - 搜狗百科？
泷奚银屑：[答案] ＂The Last leaves＂ because of Hainan last piece leaves floated down and thought to be dead.Last Leaf of Rattan because of the persistently insist

隆德县15118217510： 求The Last Leaf的英文版大意,还有主要人物介绍 - ？
泷奚银屑：[答案] 作者简介: O.Henry(1862~1910),是美国20世纪初颇受读者欢迎的短篇小说家.他原名William Sydney Porter,出生于美国... 连夜冒雨爬上墙头画了一片藤叶,他自己因而染上肺炎,两天后去世.老画家所画的最后一片叶子,成了他的毕生杰作

隆德县15118217510： 求《最后一片叶子》英文简介 - ？
泷奚银屑： 欧·亨利是世界文坛上最杰出的短篇小说家之一,他的文章以“含泪的微笑”打动着世人的心.我最喜欢的是他的小小说《最后一片叶子》. 《最后一片叶子》这篇小说主要叙述的是这样一个故事:有一位年轻的少女画家乔安西不幸得了肺炎,...

隆德县15118217510： 欧亨利的小说《最后的常春藤叶》 - ？
泷奚银屑： (1)因为她本来把自己的生命寄托在常春藤叶上,觉得常春藤叶落光的时候,她的生命也结束了.等到贝尔曼先生在最后一片藤叶掉落的时候在墙上画了一幅杰作——最后的常春藤叶.那片叶子总是不落下,琼珊慢慢地开始反思,觉得自己之前的...

隆德县15118217510： 书名《最后一片常春藤叶》用英语怎么说啊?？
泷奚银屑：the last ivy leaf

隆德县15118217510： 译英文《最后一片树叶》中琼西因最后一片树叶的飘落而自以为将要死去,又因最后一片藤叶的坚持而坚持.这 - ？
泷奚银屑： In ＂The Last Leaf＂ by O Henry, the thought of the last ivy leaf falling led Johnsy to believe that her own life would end; but in the end, its perseverance inspired Johnsy to want to live.

隆德县15118217510： 谁有欧亨利的<最后一片树叶>的原文? - ？
泷奚银屑： 在某个时候 起了深秋的风 我在满地落叶里一个人走 四周是梧桐 枯尽了青春 我在残枝间发现孤独的梦 最后一片树叶顽强在枝头 摇摆在冷风里不肯坠落 我猜它一定会挺过寒冬 高高地傲视着满地腐朽 天诚难明神难测 在我欣喜的那一刻 最后一支叶梗开始松动 最后一片树叶发了疯 摇摇晃晃一直往下冲 映着残阳划破了天空 坠在一地树叶里 不见了影踪