无机及分析化学实验 下载 pdf 电子版 epub 免费 txt 2025

本教材根据化学教学内容与课程体系改革的精神，借鉴国内外其他院校化学实验教学体系和内容改革的经验，结合作者历年来的实验教学实践进行编写，是化学专业、应用化学专业、医学专业和军事材料工程专业无机化学实验和分析化学实验课程的教材，也

可作为其他专业化学实验课的选用教材。

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书籍介绍

本教材根据化学教学内容与课程体系改革的精神，借鉴国内外其他院校化学实验教学体系和内容改革的经验，结合作者历年来的实验教学实践进行编写，是化学专业、应用化学专业、医学专业和军事材料工程专业无机化学实验和分析化学实验课程的教材，也

可作为其他专业化学实验课的选用教材。

• 作者：电磁花生 发布时间：2011-12-20 13:48:40

  画风没的说.故事一般吧

• 作者：风流云散 发布时间：2017-09-05 22:54:45

  尴尬的剧情、画风、分镜和人设。画女硬说男。cp已经有四对了，然而攻受模式都大同小异，攻几乎都是占有欲强、容易吃醋、无所不能、地位高且多金的霸道总裁；受几乎都是容易害羞脸红、没能力、只会卖萌的傲娇弱受。攻受二人每次拥抱的时候姿势都是男女拥抱的姿势，受都身姿妖娆双颊飞红，醉人…

• 作者：王一 发布时间：2012-12-15 08:28:20

  史料是还不错的，遗憾的是为何不由儿子来写？看龙朱画的父亲，笔下神韵是很生动的

• 作者：粟熙 发布时间：2011-05-24 22:26:10

  lovely snake

• 作者：用户942641412 发布时间：2019-09-18 18:21:55

  爽快的人生

• 作者：乐水 发布时间：2013-07-31 18:51:31

  冲着牌间联系这点看的

• 谢利

  作者：lazywqq 发布时间：2010-07-05 21:06:16

  说实话，差点没有读下去，不过，虽然情节没有太吸引我，但是，人物的刻画却还是并不错的。谢利和卡琳娜，注定要成为好朋友的。穆尔兄弟，两个不同性格的人也是有共通之处的，自知不自负，自爱不自恋，正好是那几位道貌岸然的副牧师所缺少的。谢利的爽朗与热情，卡利的温柔与善良，谢利的敢作敢当，敢爱敢恨，卡利的真诚勇敢。虽然卡利有时候稍显懦弱与不自信，但是从她偷偷地探访穆尔这一举动看来，她真是个勇敢的可人儿。谢利就更不用提了，都已经自封基达尔老爷了。不得不说，勃朗特的思想还是很前卫的嘛。在当时的大背景下，就有这种思想，而且肯定资本家的新作风，不错。才女啊！

• That Slant of light

  作者：noontide 发布时间：2011-02-16 12:28:58

  I thought after courting trouble for a good week I was finally coming down with a fever. All day yesterday I sat in my office shivering, had to steady my voice every time before I spoke on a conference call. Then after a night of whisky and cigarette (the best medicine, you just gotta do it with blind faith), I woke up to a brisk early Saturday morning after only 3 hours of sleep. With a cup of instant coffee in hands and the whole day ahead of me, I feel wounded but invincible.

   

  I stood in front of the bookshelf and hesitated a little. Will it be too obvious to read Emily Dickinson on a January morning, especially when I’m sitting in the crisp wind that’s coming through the window (I opened it to let out the smoke that has been trapped in the living room for a whole night)? But I remembered that certain slant of light and decided to re-read it for a before-lunch quick fix.

   

  Usually when i read a poem, I took it for its face value and am largely oblivious to the circumstance under which it was created. It’s sort of like, if you will, trying to make a bona fide assessment of an abstract painting, by stripping away any worldly context that might impose itself on the canvas and add a cacophony to the conversation between pure shapes and colors. But when it comes to Dickinson I found it hard to do. Her words, or the omission of them which Harold Bloom admires so much, often project a strong image on me, and it’s an image of an old lady sitting in a dark room in the bleak winter that is New England in December, alone, rotting. She had the mental power to hold the whole world captivated but was ultimately not able to relate to anyone or anything in it. The pains, desperation, and eventual resignation that she propelled from her curt lines are no doubt of an altogether different magnitude compared with the mere whimper and lamentations of a strange old lady, but to me they are still only spikes on her personal emotional spectrum, events of her own agenda. Of course that should not matter to a sophisticated reader, and maybe I’m reading her all wrong, it’s highly likely that I simply lack the mental capacity that she demanded of her real audience. But I find her frequent self references a distraction more than anything else. The strange thing is similar references by other poets wouldn’t affect me nearly as much. For example

   

  I cannot live with You –

  It would be Life –

  And Life is over there –

  Behind the Shelf

   

  The Sexton keeps the Key to –

  Putting up

  Our Life – His porcelain -

  Like a Cup –

   

  reads like a straight-up love poem to me. powerful, but I feel like a stand-by dutifully watching a frustrated woman venting her desperation. But a somewhat similar stanza:

   

  For I have known them all already, known them all;

  Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

  I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

  I know the voices dying with a dying fall

  Beneath the music from a farther room.

  So how should I presume?

   

  has a much more immanent effect on me. Maybe it’s because Dickinson always leaves much unsaid, no more than a few unconnected words hinting the very essence of a scenario, as if unwilling to describe a situation all-too-obvious to her. Here, Life is depicted as an image that’s qualified by pretty much just three words: shelf, key, cup. You think, cup, locked away in a sexton behind the shelf, collecting dust, probably in a dark corner that never sees sunshine. So the image gradually emerged. But it’s a whole lot more mental exertion that the T. S. Eliot piece, which is beautiful, straightforward, and an instant grantification. But you have to earn your satisfaction with Dickinson, and I guess I just haven't learned to read a poem with the brain instead of the heart.

   

  When on rare occasions I am able to pull away from my general detachment toward her, I can appreciate the universality of her words:

   

  There’s a certain Slant of light

  Winter Afternoons –

  That oppresses, like the Heft

  Of Cathedral Tunes –

   

  Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –

  We can find no scar,

  But internal difference,

  Where the Meanings, are –

  None may teach it – Any –

  ‘Tis the Seal Despair –

  An imperial affliction

  Sent us of the air –

   

  When it comes, the Landscape listens –

  Shadows – hold their breath –

  When it goes, ’tis like the Distance

  On the look of Death –

   

  I tried to think whether I’ll appreciate it as much if all the references to “we” and “us” are replaced with “I” and ”me”. I would think it will fundamentally change the motif of the second paragraph. As it stands now, at least to me, the Meanings with a capital M speaks of a universal truth, an accumulated cognition and a collective identity. A Heavenly Hurt would naturally inflict on every moving thing on earth indiscriminately. But what really elevate this poem is the first two lines in the third paragraph. When I first read it, I had this epiphany of being lifted off the ground and raised into mid-air, among the overcasting clouds and overlooking a bleak winter land, vast, silent. Dead. But when I actually read the word “Death”, I felt short-changed, it’s almost as if it’s too easy, too obvious. Her choice of certain words often have this shocking effect on me. Shocking in the sense that it’s so abrupt, and unfitting, it’s as if you are dragging your feet along an awfully long and barren road in the desert, and suddenly, out of nowhere there is this a gigantic, oddly shaped tree blocking your expected progression, and staring right at you as if it’s a living and breathing thing. You need to make an honest effort to reconcile with it, to swallow it. For instance, I guess Heavenly Hurt would follow naturally to the oppression of Cathedral Tunes, but when I first saw the phrase, it was as if it suddenly popped up from underground and tripped me, I stared at it and I drew a blank. It just wouldn’t conjure up any meaning like words are supposed to do. Of course, with enough mental exertion I more or less came resting on an interpretation that’s probably all wrong but tangible enough to placate my intellectual ego. But Emily Dickinson is never someone you can have a figurative secret handshake with.