give the floor to

In the preface ______ my book, I express my sincere gratitude to all the teachers and friends who have been of help to me during my three years' life in the university.

As he took his foot off the clutch the car ______ forward and the passenger was almost thrown through the windscreen.

印花税

违约责任

元宵节

HTTP

The Book of Changes

As a rule, what's efficient in one place will be efficient in most other places, thus American businesses are fierce competitors ______ they choose to sell their product, having been formed in a competitive environment that breeds optimality.

Medicaid

外交豁免权

解放思想

I expect this course to open my eyes to story material, to unleash my too dormant imagination, to develop that quality utterly lacking in my nature--a sense of form. I do not expect to acquire much technique, l expect to be able to seize upon the significant, reject the trivial. I hope to acquire a greater love for humanity in all its forms. I have long wondered just what my strength was as a writer. I am often filled with tremendous enthusiasm for a subject, yet my writing about it will seem a sorry attempt. Above all, I possess a driving sincerity—that prime virtue of any creative worker. I write only what I believe to be the absolute truth—even if I must ruin the theme in so doing. In this respect I feel far superior to those glib people in my classes who often garner better grades than I do. They are so often pitiful frauds-artificial-insincere. They have a line that works. They do not write from the depths of their hearts. Nothing of theirs was ever born of pain. Many an incoherent yet sincere piece of writing has outlived the polished product. I write only about people and things that I know thoroughly. Perhaps I have become a mere reporter, not a writer. Yet I feel that this is all my present abilities permit. I will open my eyes in my youth and store this raw, living material. Age may bring the fire that molds experience into artistry. I have a genuine love of nature. It is not the least bit affected, but an integral and powerful part of my life. I know that Cooper is a fraud—that he doesn't give a true sense of the sublimity of American scenery. I know that Muir and Thoreau and Burroughs speak the truth. I can sense the moods of nature almost instinctively. Ever since I could walk, I have spent as much time as I could in the open. A perception of nature—no matter how delicate, how subtle, how evanescent—remains with me forever. I am influenced too much, perhaps, by natural objects. I seem bound by the very room I'm in. I've associated so long with prosaic people that I've dwarfed myself spiritually. When I get alone under an open sky where man isn't too evident—then I'm tremendously exalted and a thousand vivid ideas and sweet visions flood my consciousness. I think that I possess story material in abundance. I have had an unusual upbringing. I was let alone, thank God! My mother insisted upon two things—that I strive for perfection in whatever I did and that I always try to be a gentleman. I played with Italians, with Russians, Poles, and the 'sissies' on Michigan avenue. I was carefully watched, yet allowed to follow my own inclinations. I have seen a good deal of life that would never have been revealed to an older person. Up to the time I came to college then I had seen humanity in diverse forms. Now I'm cramped and unhappy. I don't feel that these idiotic adolescents are worth writing about. In the summer, I turn animal and work for a few weeks in a factory. Then I'm happy. My literary achievements have been insignificant. At fourteen, I made a speech which was translated into twenty-six languages and used as Red Cross propaganda. When I was younger, it seemed that everything I wrote was eminently successful. I always won a prize when I entered an essay contest. In college, I've been able to get only one 'A' in four rhetoric courses. I feel this keenly. If I can't write, what can I do? I wonder. When I was a freshman, I told Carlton Wells that I knew I could write whether he thought so or not. On my next theme he wrote 'You can Write!' How I have cherished that praise! It is bad form to talk about grades. I know. If I don't get an 'A' in this course, it wouldn't be because t haven't tried. I've made a slow start. I' m going to spend Christmas vacation writing. A 'B' symbolizes defeat to me. I've been beaten too often. I do wish that we were allowed to keep our stories until we felt that we had worked them into the best possible form. I do not have the divine urge to write. There seems to be something surging within, —a profound undercurrent of emotion. Yet there is none of that fertility of creation which distinguishes the real writer. Nevertheless, I have faith in myself. I'm either going to be a good writer or a poor fool.

He has been resisting ______ pressure to resign as the head of the organization.

货到付款

身外之物

Even though formidable winters are the norm in the Dakotas, many people were unprepared for the ______ of the blizzard of 1888.

Passage Three 'A writer's job is to tell the truth,' said Hemingway in 1942. No other writer of our time had so fiercely asserted, so pugnaciously defended or so consistently exemplified the writer's obligation to speak truly. His standard of truth—telling remained, moreover, so high and so rigorous that he was ordinarily unwilling to admit secondary evidence, whether literary evidence or evidence picked up from other sources than his own experience. 'I only know what I have seen,' was a statement which came often to his lips and pen. What he had personally done, or what he knew unforgettably by having gone through one version of it, was what he was interested in telling about. This is not to say that he refused to invent freely. But he always made it a sacrosanct point to invent in terms of what he actually knew from having been there. The primary intent of his writing, from first to last, was to seize and project for the reader what he often called 'the way it was.' This is a characteristically simple phrase for a concept of extraordinary complexity, and Hemingway's conception of its meaning subtly changed several times in the course of his career—always in the direction of greater complexity. At the core of the concept, however, one can invariably discern the operation of three aesthetic instruments ; the sense of place the sense of fact and the sense of scene. The first of these, obviously a strong passion with Hemingway, is the sense of place. 'Unless you have geography, background,' he once told George Anteil, 'You have nothing. ' You have, that is to say, a dramatic vacuum. Few writers have been more place-conscious. Few have so carefully charted out the geographical ground work of their novels while managing to keep background so conspicuously unobtrusive. Few, accordingly, have been able to record more economically and graphically the way it is when you walk through the streets of Paris in search of breakfast at corner caf or when, at around six O's clock of a Spanish dawn, you watch the bulls running from the corrals at the Puerta Rochapea through the streets of Pamplona towards the bullring. 'When I woke it was the sound of the rocket exploding that announced the release of the bulls from the corrals at the edge of town. Down below the narrow street was empty. All the balconies were crowded with people. Suddenly a crowd came down the street. They were all running, packed close together. They passed along and up the street toward the bullring and behind them came more men running faster, and then some stragglers who were really running. Behind them was a little bare space, and then the bulls, galloping, tossing their heads up and down. It all went out of sight around the corner. One man fell, rolled to the gutter, and lay quiet. But the bulls went right on and did not notice him. They were all running together. ' This landscape is as morning-fresh as a design in India ink on clean white paper. First is the bare white street, seen from above, quiet and empty. Then one sees the first packed clot of runners. Behind these are the thinner ranks of those who move faster because they are closer to bulls. Then the almost comic stragglers, who are 'really running. ' brilliantly behind these shines the 'little bare space,' a desperate margin for error. Then the clot of running bulls—closing the design, except of course for the man in the gutter making himself, like the designer's initials, as inconspicuous as possible.

Investors said they were 'surprised and encouraged' by the sentiment, although other shareholders seemed ______ to having Prosser in the role.

cognitive psychology