英语高中作文合集6篇

在我们平凡的日常里，大家都写过作文吧，作文是通过文字来表达一个主题意义的记叙方法。如何写一篇有思想、有文采的作文呢？以下是小编为大家收集的英语高中作文6篇，欢迎阅读与收藏。

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.

I’m a senior 3 student. The college entrance exam is on the way yone around us is trying their best to help us in different ways. At school, all the teachers work very hard, encourage us to build up our confidence and inspire us to improve our study ever we meet with difficulties, they are ready to come to our help . Meanwhile, our school also provides good facilities for us students, for example the library stays open in the evenings and even on the weekends. At home, our parents take good care of us and make sure we are well fed so that we can always be full of energy. I’m very grateful for the efforts of our parents and teachers. I’m determined to try my best to prepare for the exam. I am sure that with their encouragement and timely help I’ll be able to achieve my goal and be a useful person of our society in the near future.

我是一名3年级的学生。大学入学考试就在路上，我们身边的每一个人都在尽最大的努力帮助我们。在学校，所有的老师都非常努力工作，鼓励我们建立信心，激励我们改进学习，只要我们遇到困难，他们都会乐于助人。同时，我们学校也为我们学生提供了很好的设施，例如图书馆在晚上开放，甚至在周末。在家里，我们的父母照顾我们，确保我们是美联储，以便我们能永远充满活力。我非常感谢我们的父母和老师的努力。我决心尽力为考试做准备。我相信他们的鼓励和及时的'帮助，我将能够实现我的目标，并在不久的将来成为我们社会的一个有用的人。

Today, when I read the news on the Internet, I saw the very interesting news that caught my attention immediately. The news reported all kinds of food in the canteen of different countries. I thought about my canteen, which was complaining by students all the time.

There were always students felt not satisfied with their schools’ canteens, so I was so curious about the foreign canteens. When I scanned over all the pictures, I was so surprised that I felt the food in our canteen was delicious.

The food in countries like American and England had the meat and some dry vegetables, while the food in Asian countries like Japan and Korea look delicious. After seeing these pictures, I realized the food in our canteen was not that bad, we had the rice and the food choices were balanced, which helped to keep fit.

今天,当我在互联网上看新闻的时候,我看到了非常有趣的消息,立即引起了我的注意。新闻报道各种食物在不同国家饭堂的情况。我想到我的食堂,总是被学生抱怨。总有学生不满意学校的食堂,所以我很好奇外国的食堂。当我浏览了所有的照片后,我很惊讶,我觉得我们食堂的食物是美味的。像美国和英国的食物有肉和一些干蔬菜,而亚洲国家如日本和韩国的食物看起来很好吃。看到这些照片后,我意识到我们食堂的食物并不是那么糟糕,我们有米饭，食物搭配是平衡的,有助于保持健康。

Today, when I went home after school, I saw the delicious snack, so I wanted to buy one of the snacks, then I could not find my wallet, I searched it many times, at last, I had to admit that my wallet was lost. I felt so worried, so I turned back to find my wallet, I watched the road carefully, suddenly, a black dog was in front of me, I felt so scared. The hog yelled at me, so I ran, the dog run after me, I run into the shop and got rid of the dog. I have to went home because of it was dark, my mother came out and told me I forget to bring my wallet, how stupid I am.

1． 世博期间，上万的志愿者参加志愿工作，请你谈谈此现象的看法。

During the period of holding the World Expo in Shanghai, tens of thousands of citizens are participating in volunteer work, hoping to devote themselves to the grand occasion. As far as I am concerned, everyone ought to enter for it. Here are the reasons I want to mention.

It can be argued that the advantages of doing unpaid volunteer work are enormous, because volunteer work is actually a two-way street. First of all, volunteer work should always benefit people who need help. Those who need help will feel happier due to our immediate help. On the other hand, as far as the young people ourselves are concerned, we have more opportunities to develop the sense of responsibility, independence as well as interpersonal skills in the process of helping others.

Through this kind of work, we become confident and mature. In addition, we can make many friends and increase our chances of getting the jobs of our dreams. Furthermore, volunteer work plays an active role in building up a harmonious society.

In a word, compared with the merits of volunteer work offered by the young adults, the demerits of that are just a few though they cannot be overlooked. The youth volunteers do make a difference by the voluntary work! Why not join them and do something for our country?

2．你班将组队参加学校组织的集体舞比赛(group dancing competition)，班长希望大家积极参与。对此谈谈你的想法。 （09年高考题）

你的文章必须包括以下内容：

n 你是否会参加比赛

n 你做出该决定的具体理由

Version 1：

A group dancing competition will be held in our school and the monitor calls on everybody to take an active part in it. While most of my classmates are still hesitating whether to participate, I have said yes to our monitor with great pleasure.

Generally speaking, there are two reasons for my decision. First, it is a good opportunity for me to relax myself, which will enable me to study more efficiently. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, so goes the saying, which clearly shows us the importance of relaxation. Besides, I think I am a good dancer after learning dance for more than five years. Participating in the contest will be a golden chance for me to show my dancing skills and make some contributions to the class.

For the two reasons mentioned above, it is no surprise that I have such a strong enthusiasm on the group dancing competition.

the tray didnt just hit the floor. it crashed and smashed his lunch to pieces. serves you damn well right, i thought. you were staring again.

he stood stock-still and looked down at the food. suddenly i got up and moved towards him. i hadnt intended to, hadnt wanted to help him. i called to the woman behind the counter. she closed her mouth and brought a cloth to clean up the mess. i picked up crockery, put it on the tray. there was a soppy stain on his trousers and through it you could see just how bony his knees were. like the rest of him. all bones, dangling jacket and hanging trousers. stooped shoulders and mile-long arms. then he smiled at me. a wonderful smile that creased up his worn face and totally surprised me.

"thank you."

i shoved the tray at him and went back to my table.

i worked at a large publishing company and ate lunch in the canteen. i had noticed him because he stared at me. he was weird-looking. his hair was badly cut and his clothes were ancient and dull; too-short corduroys, baggy at the knees and colour-less sweaters, dotted with fluff. often he sat alone and just picked at his food. or he read and jotted things down.

a few days after the crash, he stopped at the table i was sharing with mark from proof reading, and asked if he might sit down. i said the seats were taken and continued eating. he apologised and took his tray off somewhere else.

"whats your problem, leanna?" asked mark.

"no problem. its just that i like to choose who i share my mealtimes with."

"a bit rough on the old chap though."

i shrugged.

it was mark who told me more about him. he had gone over to scrounge a cigarette. by the time he came back to the table, i had my head stuck into the news-paper.

"interesting chap. sub-editor. been all over the world," said mark.

i decided to find the newspaper more interesting and finally mark shut up and finished smoking.

"asked your name," he said.

"he what?"

"yeah."

"whatd you say?"

"leanna, of course."

i folded the newspaper.

"ive loads of work this afternoon."

"said you look familiar," said mark. "like someone he knew."

"someone he knew?"

"yeah. could be strategy. maybe he fancies you."

"fancies me? but hes old."

"only old enough to be your father."

i grabbed my tray and left the table.

i didnt do much work that afternoon. i kept wishing mark hadnt said what he had said. old enough to be your father.

the following week i took along a book to read during lunchtime. when i got into the lift on my floor, he was already inside. he greeted me so i had to reply but i didnt smile. we were alone and that worried me. i wondered whether i should get out at the net floor and walk up the stairs to the canteen. dont panic, i thought. just because hes stared at you for ages doesnt mean hes going to do anything.

" well, i suppose one of us should press the button or well be here all day, wont we?"

id been so busy wondering what he was going to do and epecting him to do something, that id completely forgotten to do anything myself. i felt like an idiot and this made me smile and i hadnt wanted to. he smiled back, his blue eyes crinkling right up to the grey hair at his ears and making him look ... nice. then there was a slap. my book hit the floor. i bent down and so did he, and we bashed heads. at that moment, the lift shuddered to a stop and the doors seemed to fling themselves wide open. i was so embarrassed, i marched out of the lift, straight towards the queue at the counter. i ordered without looking at the menu and took my tray to a table where there was only one empty seat. i breathed a sigh of relief and began to eat. but the salad stuck in my throat when i noticed that everyone else at the table had already finished lunch and they were getting up to go. i glanced over at the counter. he was paying and in a second, his eyes would scan the room to find me. i ducked my head. waited. any minute now hed sit down with his tray.

short stories from australasia. my book appeared in front of my eyes. his fingers were the longest id seen and his nails were manicured. i hadnt thought hed bother.

"you left it in the lift," he said. "may i sit down?"

his voice was soft. cultivated. what could i say? the tables were all pretty full so i nodded. he said bon app.