中公2013年福建省公务员考试考前冲刺预测试卷 下载 pdf 电子版 epub 免费 txt 2025

暂无相关简介，正在全力查找中！

暂无相关目录，正在全力查找中！

暂无相关内容，正在全力查找中

暂无出版社相关信息，正在全力查找中！

暂无相关书籍摘录，正在全力查找中！

在线阅读地址：中公2013年福建省公务员考试考前冲刺预测试卷在线阅读

在线听书地址：中公2013年福建省公务员考试考前冲刺预测试卷在线收听

在线购买地址：中公2013年福建省公务员考试考前冲刺预测试卷在线购买

暂无原文赏析，正在全力查找中！

暂无其它内容！

• 作者：panda 发布时间：2015-04-20 10:54:43

  很通俗易懂的读物，但又没有为了适应读者而过度简化或扭曲相关概念，译者翻译的也很流畅。个人觉得7.5的评分对这本书过低了，果断给5星

• 作者：Thomas2333 发布时间：2022-09-15 02:54:32

  初中看得津津有味，现在再看仍可称得上是精美。

• 作者：Pass.K 发布时间：2021-06-08 18:16:44

  如果你在学英语，又对荷兰感兴趣，那这本书还是很适合你的。阅读过程中，发现有些细节中英文对不上

• 作者：言桉 发布时间：2020-12-07 14:14:46

  看戏剧文学，要有超强的想象力和画面感，不然读完之后很可能是一团浆糊，分辨不出谁是主角谁是配角，搞不清人物关系，也理不清因果关系。

• 作者：盘瑟俚 发布时间：2012-03-17 20:32:11

  有错版，待重印。。

• 作者：Danco 发布时间：2018-04-20 01:01:43

  前2/3是广告，剩余部分讲了一点小技巧，但并没有深入及原理分析。或许是我段位还不够，理解不足。

• “哭”的前世今生

  作者：泊南(●—●) 发布时间：2015-09-20 21:20:50

• But Now, I Know That Our Time On Earth Is Finite

  作者：Welfare 发布时间：2017-05-17 18:14:20

  This is a deep, touching cartoon memoir! The author went long history of her family and their survival during WWII and the VietNam War. The French fought with the Japanese for the VietName colony in the 1930's. Then after Japan surrendered, a new regime (Ho Chi Minh) that was both Nationalist and Communist declared the independence of the country. But the French didn't want to give it up; they came back to re-colonize it at least the South VietNam, hence had to fight aginst the communists from the North in the 1960's. The French weren't capable of doing this and here came the Americans to deter the Vietnamese communists in the 1970's.

  

  The author's grandfather is a son of a landowner who rebelled his class and became a high official in the North communist area. But his son, the author's father, rebelled too and rushed to the South capitalist city Saigon. The author's parents were public school teachers trained by French schools in the old time. Once after the South VietName government surrendered, their actions were monitored and their safety threatened by the new communist government due to the class of their original families. They had to escape via the sea to Malaysia. There, they lived in refugee camps and finally flew to the USA under the aids of Red Cross, human rights organizations, and their relatives settled in the USA earlier.

  

  Many years later, when the author gave birth to her son, it leads her to reflect, understand, and empathize with her father and mother --- because of her, her mother had the responsibility to fulfill hence never had the chance to become the person she dreamed to be when young. The time she could be with her mother is finite on this earth. Through all those wars and refugee camps, their later generations can enjoy a safe, free life. That is the best they could do.

  

  

  ---------------------

  Cite:

  pp23 Somehow large responsibilities such as having a child lead to more responsibilities like a steady job and mortgage.

  pp31 Proximity and closeness are not the same.

  pp33 In VietName, my parents, would be considered very old in their seventies. In America, where people their age run marathons or at least live independently, my parents are stuck in limbo between two sets of expectations...and I feel guilty.

  pp38 I suppose for my mother, "I love you" sticks in the throat.

  pp39 How di we get to such a lonely place? We live so close to each other and yet feel so far apart. I keep looking toward the past tracing our journey in reverse over the ocean through the war, seeking an origin story that will set everything right.

  pp 185 Revisiting this game of war and strategy, I think about how none of the VietNamese people have a name or a voice. My grandparents, my parents, my sisters, and me --- We weren't any of the pieces on the chessboard. We were more like ants, scrambling out of the way of giants, getting just far enough from danger to survive.

  pp211 There is no single story of that day, April 30, 1975. In VietNam today, among the victors, it is called Liberation Day. Overseas, among expats like my parents, it is remembered as the day we lost our country.

  pp 221 Life in South Saigon occupied by the North communists: It meant constant monitoring, distrust, and the ever-present feeling that our family could, at any moment, be separated, our safety jeopardized.

  pp 224 The daily fight to survive wore her down.

  

  pp296 I am always amazed at the amount of stuff some people collect in their lives. My family kept sparse records of our existence.

  pp 312---329:

  "That first week of parenting my son was the hardest week of my life, and the only time I ever felt called upon to be HEROIC. However much my body wanted to rest, a force pulled me onto my feet with the clear and simple directive --- KEEP HIM ALIVE!

  

  When the hospital finally released our son it still took both of me and my husband holding him down to get him to nurse. In the last moments at the hospital, as I waited for my husband to get the car, alone with my son and feeling COMPETENT, I relaxed and started to speak to him: "Child, it's mother," in Vietnamese. I could hear echoes of my mother's voice speaking to me in my own childhood...but I could feel the voice coming from my own throat.

  As a child, I thought my mother's voice was beautiful. She hated it, but I loved its raspiness. "We are about to go home. We ARE going home." When my mother spoke to me, she spoke softly, the tone of Vietnamese giving it music --- not high and reedy, but scratchy and bluesy. I always wished I had her voice.

  I'm no longer a kid...am I? Having a child taught me, certainly, that I am not the center of the universe. But being a child, even a grown-up one, seems to me to be a lifetime pass for selfishness. We hang resentment onto the things our parents did to us, or the things they DIDN'T do for us ...

  To accidentally call myself Me was to slip myself into her shoes, just for a moment. To let her be not what I ant her to be, but someone independent, self-determining, and free, means letting go of that picture of her in my head. You can't always get what you want. When I was a child to have spending money. There was one year I saved up so many coins that, with my new-year money, I had one hundred dollars --- which I was going to proudly present to my mother for Mother's Day. To help her out. It was going to be amazing. But when Ii counted the coins, I found that my match had been all wrong and that I was quite a bit short. Instead of a triumphant gift, Mama got a wet shoulder from my tears; she said "It's okay. You keep it. It's enough that you thought of me." What if all my mother remembered was that I came up short? How do I let go of all the anger I have put away?

  

  I wasn't ready to lose my mother when I was thirteen. But now, at forty (and she's in her seventies), I know that our time on earth is finite. What becomes of us after we die? Do we live on in what we leave to our children? How much of ME is my own, and how much is stamped into my blood and bone, predestined?

  

  I used to imagine that history had infused my parent's lives with the dust of a cataclysmic explosion. That it had seeped through their skin and become part of their blood.

  

  That being father's child, I, too, was a product of war... and being my mother's child, could never measure up to her. But maybe being their child simply means that I will always feel that weight of their past. Nothing that happened makes me special. But my life is a gift that is too great --- a debt I can never repay.

  

  At least I no longer feel the need to reclaim a HOMELAND. I understand enough of VietNam's history now to know that the ground beneath my parents' feet had always been shifting...so that by the time I was born, VietNnam was not my country at all. I was only a small part of it.

  What has worried me since having my own child was whether I would pass along some gene for sorrow or unintentionally inflict damage I could never undo. But when I look at my son, now ten years old, I don't see war and loss or even my husband and me.

  I see a new life, bound with mine quite by coincidence, and I think maybe he can be free."