【精选】英语高中作文汇编8篇
在学习、工作乃至生活中，大家总免不了要接触或使用作文吧，作文可分为小学作文、中学作文、大学作文（论文）。那么问题来了，到底应如何写一篇优秀的作文呢？以下是小编为大家收集的英语高中作文8篇，供大家参考借鉴，希望可以帮助到有需要的朋友。
英语高中作文 篇1
In the years following that first Arbor Day, Morton's idea spread beyond Nebraska with Kansas, Tennessee, Minnesota and Ohio all proclaiming their own Arbor Days. Today all 50 states celebrate Arbor Day although the dates may vary in keeping with the local climate. (State Arbor Days) At the federal level, in 1970, President Richard Nixon proclaimed the last Friday in April as National Arbor Day. Arbor Day is also now celebrated in other countries including Australia. Variations are celebrated as 'Greening Week' of Japan, 'The New Year's Days of Trees' in Israel, 'The Tree-loving Week' of Korea, 'The Reforestation Week' of Yugoslavia, 'The Students' Afforestation Day' of Iceland and 'The National Festival of Tree Planting' in India. Julius Sterling Morton would be proud. Sometimes one good idea can make a real difference.
For the homeowner, Arbor Day is an excellent opportunity to take stock of the trees on your property and plan for the future. Inspect your trees. Note any broken branches or evidence of disease or insect infestation. Think about how planting new trees might improve the look of your property or provide wind or heat protection. Take a trip to your local nursery to see what's available and to get new ideas. Walk around your neighbourhood. Are there any public areas where tree planting or tree maintenance might make a real difference to your community? Talk with your neighbours. Find out what their opinions are. And, oh yes, plant a tree.
英语高中作文 篇2
at a quarter past seven on the morning of february 8, i was walking along the road to the east. an old man standing on the other side near the city park was going to cross the street. when he was crossing the road, a yellow car ran out of the corner of the third street suddenly. the car was so fast that it was hard to stop at the old man. a terrible accident happened,the old man was run over by the car! to our great anger, the car didn＇t stop but ran away as quickly as possible. fortunately i noticed the car number. it was ac864. about two minutes later i stopped a car passing by and took the old man to the nearest hospital.
2月8日早晨7点15分，我正沿路向东走。站在路对面公园附近的一位老人想要过马路。他正在过马路时，一辆黄色轿车从第三大街拐角处突然驶来。车速太快了以致于很难在老人前停住。可怕的事情发生了，老人被撞倒。令我们气愤的是，车没有停下而是尽可能快地跑开了。幸运的是我留意了车号，它是ac864。大约两分钟后，我叫住了一辆过往的.车，把老人送到了最近的医院。
英语高中作文 篇3
Water is one of the most important things in life.the Water has no colour,no shapes,no taste and no smell.Water is every where.It's in the ocean,in the sea,in the river and in the late.Water is useful.We use water to cook rice.We use water to take showers.We use water to put out fires,and so on.Water brangs us happiness,too.We can swim in the late andsea inthesummer 。
Water is so important.Nothing can live without it.We should keep our water clean and protect our earth.
在我们的生活中,水是最重要的东西之一。水没有颜色,没有形状,没有味道也没有气味。水到处都有,在海洋里,在大海里,在小溪里都有水。水非常有用,我们可以用水淘米,用水洗澡,用水救火等等。水也能使我们开心,在夏天我们能在大海里游泳。
水如此重要,没有人生活能离开水,我们要保护地球是我们的'水变的更加清澈。
英语高中作文 篇4
a peaceful cabin
my sister and i spent last christmas day at our aunt＇s cabin①.
although it takes only half an hour to drive there from our home. we don＇t go there very often. to me the place is like another world. it is very peaceful. my aunt owns 20 acres② of woods with a little stream running through it. the cabin is surrounded by hills and the stream flows before it. the cabin is very small, maybe only half the size of a classroom, just big enough for a couple to live in. water from the stream can be used for washing only, because the people living upstream ③ often made the water too dirty to drink. drinking water has to be brought in from another place.
there is no electricity there, and therefore oil lamps are used in the evenings. there is a small wood-burning stove that looks like a fireplace. we are very comfortable in the evenings with the glow④ of the fire and the light of the oil lamps. there is no telephone or television set. no one bothers us, so we can enjoy a very quiet life. i think it is very romantic. i especially like to go there in winter. when big snow flakes ⑤ are falling outside, we are warm inside the cabin. now it＇s only a good memory for me, as my aunt left there a few months ago.
英语高中作文 篇5
Workload Too Demanding
We are at senior high school. Every day, we have many exercises that we can＇t complete and many books that we can＇t finish reading. The teachers continually repeat the words that we are already able to recite.
Teachers and students all work hard in order to improve the percentages① of those entering college. But the burden of work in class is so heavy that we have little time to do sports, which has left many of us in poor health. What＇s worse, many students have lost interest in their studies altogether.
It is known to all that good health is as important as knowledge. Virtues② such as bravery, discipline and love of our motherland can＇t be learned only in classes, but should also be learned through social practice. We should be given the time and opportunity to be exposed to society so we can learn what can＇t be taught from books.
We are young and we have young hearts. We love study as well as amusements. We hope that the number of exercises class will be reduced so we can take part in more after-class activities. In this way we will be able to learn much more and be more effective in our studies.
英语高中作文 篇6
The Attraction of Dangerous Activities
In the past, people often faced many dangers in their daily lives. They had to cope with not only natural disasters and frequent outbreaks of disease, but also dangerous animals and warfare. The need to hunt and to protect their territory from other people required them to be skilled in the use of weapons. In addition, any travel also involved great risk as there were few roads and bridges. Nowadays, people do not have to live with such dangers on a daily basis, and yet many people choose to involve themselves in risky activities such as dangerous sports. I believe the following reasons can explain the attraction of such activities.
One reason people are attracted to risky activities is that hey crave excitement. The thrill of mountain climbing or bungee jumping can satisfy their need to break out of their routine. Without the excitement of such sports, they may feel bored with their lives. Another reason people like such activities is that these activities often require a certain amount of skill. Learning to drive a racecar or hang-glide may satisfy the desire to excel and give the participant a feeling of accomplishment and personal confidence in his abilities. A final reason that people may choose to engage in risky activities is that they want to stand out from the crowd. By developing a skill that others don’t have, they can feel unique.
For all of these reasons, I believe that risky activities will continue to be popular with some people. In fact, it seems that as soon as one activity becomes safer or commonplace, thrill seekers come up with a new way to challenge their skills and courage.
英语高中作文 篇7
Should students make friends online？ Some people say yes。 Internet helps people make many friends。 Chatting on line， students can express their feelings and opinions more freely， and even get help for their foreign language studies。
学生应不应该在网上交友？有的人回答是肯定的。网络可以帮助人们交友。通过在网上聊天，学生们可以更自由地表达他们的感觉和想法，甚至是有助于他们的外语学习。
Others， however， think students should not。 They say making friends online is a waste of time， which should be spent more meaningfully on study。 Besides， some students get cheated online。
然而其他人认为学生不应该在网上交友。他们认为网上交友浪费时间，应该把这些时间的花在学习上。此外，有的'学生可能会沉迷于上网。
It is my opinion that students should place their study， health and safety before other things。 As for friendship， we can readily find it in our classmates and other people around us。
我认为学生应该把学习，健康和安全放在其他事情之首。对于友情，我们可以在同学和身边的人身上找到。
英语高中作文 篇8
there were three of them. there were four of us, and april lay on the campsite and on the river, a miture of dawn at a damp etreme and the sun in the leaves at cajole. this was deer lodge on the pine river in ossipee, new hampshire, though the lodge was naught but a foundation remnant in the earth. brother bentleys father, oren, had found this place sometime after the first world war, a foreign affair that had seriously done him no good but he found solitude abounding here. now we were here, post world war ii, post korean war, vietnam war on the brink. so much learned, so much yet to learn.
peace then was everywhere about us, in the riot of young leaves, in the spree of bird confusion and chatter, in the struggle of pre-dawn animals for the start of a new day, a cooper hawk that had smashed down through trees for a squealing rabbit, yap of a fo at a youngster, a skunk at rooting.
we had pitched camp in the near darkness, ed leblanc, brother bentley, walter ruszkowski, myself. a dozen or more years we had been here, and seen no one. now, into our campsite deep in the forest, so deep that at times we had to rebuild sections of narrow road (more a loggers path) flushed out by earlier rains, deep enough where we thought wed again have no traffic, came a growling engine, an old solid body van, a chevy, the kind i had driven for frankie pike and the lobster pound in lynn delivering lobsters throughout the merrimack valley. it had pre-ww ii high fenders, a faded black paint on a body youd swear had been hammered out of corrugated steel, and an engine that made sounds too angry and too early for the start of day. two elderly men, we supposed in their seventies, sat the front seat; felt hats at the slouch and decorated with an assortment of tied flies like a miniature bandoleer of ammunition on the band. they could have been conscripts for emilano zappata, so loaded their hats and their vests as they climbed out of the truck.
"mornin, been yet?" one of them said as he pulled his boots up from the folds at his knees, the tops of them as wide as a big mouth bass coming up from the bottom for a frog sitting on a lily pad. his hands were large, the fingers long and i could picture them in a shop barn working a primal plane across the face of a maple board. custom-made, old elegance, those hands said.
< 2 >
"barely had coffee," ed leblanc said, the most vocal of the four of us, quickest at friendship, at shaking hands. "weve got a whole pot almost. have what you want." the pot was pointed out sitting on a hunk of grill across the stones of our fire, flames licking lightly at its sides. the pot appeared as if it had been at war, a number of dents scarred it, the handle had evidently been replaced, and if not adjusted against a small rock it would have fallen over for sure. once, a half-hour on the road heading north, noting it missing, wed gone back to get it. when we fished the pine river, coffee was the glue, the morning glue, the late evening glue, even though wed often unearth our beer from a natural cooler in early evening. coffee, camp coffee, has a ritual. it is thick, it is dark, it is potboiled over a squaw-pine fire, it is strong, it is enough to wake the demon in you, stoke last evenings cheese and pepperoni. first man up makes the fire, second man the coffee; but into that pot has to go fresh eggshells to hold the grounds down, give coffee a taste of history, a sense of place. that means at least one egg be cracked open for its shells, usually in the shadows and glimmers of false dawn. i suspect thats where "scrambled eggs" originated, from some camp like ours, settlers rushing west, lumberjacks hungry, hoboes lobbying for breakfast. so, camp coffee has made its way into poems, gatherings, memories, a time and thing not letting go, not being manhandled, not being cast aside.
"youre early enough for eggs and bacon if you need a start." eddie added, his invitation tossed kindly into the morning air, his smile a match for morning sun, a man of welcomes. "we have hot cakes, kulbassa, home fries, if you want." we have the food of kings if you really want to know. there were nights we sat at his kitchen table at 101 main street, saugus, massachusetts planning the trip, planning each meal, planning the campsite. some menus were founded on a case of beer, a late night, a curse or two on the ride to work when day started.
"been there aready," the other man said, his weaponry also noted by us, a little more orderly in its presentation, including an old boy scout sash across his chest, the galay of flies in supreme positioning. they were old yankees, in the face and frame the pair of them undoubtedly brothers, staunch, written into early routines, probably had been up at three oclock to get here at this hour. they were taller than we were, no fat on their frames, wide-shouldered, big-handed, barely coming out of their reserve, but fishermen. that fact alone would win any of us over. obviously, theyd been around, a heft of time already accrued.
< 3 >
then the pounding came, from inside the truck, as if a tire iron was beating at the sides of the vehicle. it was not a timid banging, not a minor signal. bang! bang! it came, and bang! again. and the voice of authority from some place in space, some regal spot in the universe. "im not sitting here the livelong day whilst you boys gab away." a toothless meshing came in his words, like walter brennan at work in the jail in rio bravo or some such movie.
"comin, pa," one of them said, the most orderly one, the one with the old scout sash riding him like a bandoleer.
they pulled open the back doors of the van, swung them wide, to show his venerable self, ageless, white-bearded, felt hat too loaded with an arsenal of flies, sitting on a white wicker rocker with a rope holding him to a piece of vertical angle iron, the crude kind that could have been on early subways or trolley cars. across his lap he held three delicate fly rods, old as him, thin, bamboo in color, probably too slight for a lakes three-pounder. but on the pine river, upstream or downstream, under alders choking some parts of the rivers flow, at a significant pool where side streams merge and phantom trout hang out their eternal promise, most elegant, fingertip elegant.
"oh, boy," eddie said at an aside, "theres the boss man, and look at those tools." admiration leaked from his voice.
rods were taken from the caring hands, the rope untied, and his venerable self, white wicker rocker and all, was lifted from the truck and set by our campfire. i was willing to bet that my sister pat, the dealer in antiques, would scoop up that rocker if given the slightest chance. the old one looked about the campsite, noted clothes drying from a previous days rain, order of equipment and supplies aligned the way we always kept them, the canvas of our tent taut and true in its epanse, our fishing rods off the ground and placed atop the flyleaf so as not to tempt raccoons with smelly cork handles, no garbage in sight. he nodded.
we had passed muster.
"you the ones leave it cleaner than you find it ever year. we knowed sunthin bout you. never disturbed you afore. but we share the good spots." he looked closely at brother bentley, nodded a kind of recognition. "your daddy ever fish here, son?"
< 4 >
brother must have passed through the years in a hurry, remembering his father bringing him here as a boy. "a ways back," brother said in his clipped north saugus fashion, outlander, specific, no waste in his words. old oren bentley, it had been told us, had walked five miles through the unknown woods off route 16 as a boy and had come across the campsite, the remnants of an old lodge, and a great curve in the pine river so that a miles walk in either direction gave you three miles of stream to fish, upstream or downstream. paradise up north.
his venerable self nodded again, a man of signals, then said, "knowed him way back some. met him at the iron bridge. we passed a few times." instantly we could see the story. a whole history of encounter was in his words; it marched right through us the way knowledge does, as well as legend. he pointed at the coffeepot. "the boysll be off, but my days down there get cut up some. ill sit a while and take some of thet." he said thet too pronounced, too dramatic, and it was a short time before i knew why.
the white wicker rocker went into a slow and deliberate motion, his head nodded again. he spoke to his sons. "you boys be back no moren two-three hours so these fellers can do their things too, and keep the place tidied up."
the most orderly son said, "sure, pa. two-three hours." the two elderly sons left the campsite and walked down the path to the banks of the pine river, their boots swishing at thigh line, the most elegant rods pointing the way through scattered limbs, eperience on the move. trout beware, we thought.
"we been carpenters fever," he said, the clip still in his words. "those boys a mine been some good at it too." his head cocked, he seemed to listen for their departure, the leaves and branches quiet, the murmur of the stream a tinkling idyllic music rising up the banking. old venerable himself moved the wicker rocker forward and back, a small timing taking place. he was hearing things we had not heard yet, the whole symphony all around us. eddie looked at me and nodded his own nod. it said, "im paying attention and i know you are. this is our one encounter with a man who has fished for years the river we love, that we come to twice a year, in may with the mayflies, in june with the black flies." the gift and the scourge, wed often remember, having been both scarred and sewn by it.
< 5 >
brother was still at memory, we could tell. silence we thought was heavy about us, but there was so much going on. a bird talked to us from a high limb. a fo called to her young. we were on the pine river once again, nearly a hundred miles from home, in paradise.
"names roger treadwell. boys are nathan and truett." the introductions had been accounted for.
old venerable roger treadwell, carpenter, fly fisherman, rocker, leaned forward and said, "you boys wouldnt have a couple spare beers, would ya?"
now thats the way to start the day on the pine river.
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