爱英语作文

时间：2022-02-03 11:57:47 英语作文我要投稿

精选爱英语作文九篇

　　在日复一日的学习、工作或生活中，大家一定都接触过作文吧，作文是从内部言语向外部言语的过渡，即从经过压缩的简要的、自己能明白的语言，向开展的、具有规范语法结构的、能为他人所理解的外部语言形式的转化。那么问题来了，到底应如何写一篇优秀的作文呢？下面是小编为大家整理的爱英语作文9篇，欢迎阅读与收藏。

精选爱英语作文九篇

爱英语作文篇1

　　Motherly love by its very nature is unconditional. Mother loves the newborn infant because it is her child, not because the child has fulfilled any specific condition, or lived up to any specific expectation.Unconditional love corresponds in one of 'the deepest longings, not only of the child, but of every human being; on the other hand, to be loved because of one's merit, because one deserves it, always leaves doubt: maybe I did not please the person whom I want to love me, maybe this or that--there is always a fear that love could disappear. Furthermore, "deserved" love easily leaves a bitter feeling that one is not loved for oneself, that one is loved only because one pleases, that one is, in the last analysis, not loved at all but used. No wonder that we all cling to the longing for motherly love, as children and also as adults. The relationship to father is quite different. Mother is thehome we come from, she is nature, soil, the ocean; father does not represent any such natural home. He has little connection with the child in the first years of his life, and his importance for the child in this early period cannot be compared with that of mother. But while father does not represent thenatural world, he represents the other pole of human existence; the world of thought, of man-made things, of law and order, of discipline, of travel and adventure. Father is the one who teaches the child, who shows him the road into the world. Fatherly love is conditional love. Its principle is "1 love you because you fulfill my expectations, because you do your duty, because you are like me." In conditional fatherly love we find, as with unconditional motherly love, a negative and a positive aspect. The negative aspect is the very fact that fatherly love has to be deserved, that it can be lost if one does not do what is expected. The positive side is equally important.

爱英语作文篇2

　　Love is of the utmost importance to us humans. Everybody not only needs love, but also should give others love. As can be seen in the picture, "love is a lamp which is brighter in darker places." This is indeed true. People in darker places need more light than other people. Maybe even a dim light can give them much hope for a better life. Maybe just a thread of light will call forth their strength and courage to help them step out of their difficulties. I can think of no better illustration of this idea than the following examples. (Numerous examples can be given easily, but these will suffice For instance when someone is starving to death, just a little food and water from you may save his(her) life. Again, when a little girl in a poor rural area drops out of school because of poverty, just a small sum of money from you may support her t o finish school and change her life. In these circumstances you have given love which is like a lamp in a dark place where light is most needed. To sum up, we should offer our help to all the needed. We expect to get love from others and we also give love to others. So when you see someone in difficulty or in distress and in need of help, don't hesitate to give your love to him (her). I believe that the relationship between people will be harmonious and our society will be a better place for us to live in.

爱英语作文篇3

　　Love,

　　When you come with the burning lamp of pain in your hands,

　　I can see your face,

　　And know you as bliss.

　　The first time when I heard these verses, I was 17 years old, in full blossom as everyone assumed. Not knowing much about love, I instinctively regarded love as something seemingly beautiful but hard to chew in essence.

　　I＇m correct, to some extent. All the years I spent alone prove both disheartening and fruitless, disheartening because the ideal one never came down to the earth to cease my endless waiting; fruitless because I ended up in dating with a wrong person,leaving all the verses nonsense. To make matters worse, as they criticized me, I broke up with the guy in only 15 days, which conversely seemed to me a nice thing. Thank God I am free again.

　　I wrote poems myself as a way to approach love and the unknown world. No tiny little dust in the air will escape my eyes,no voice of the blooming will slip away from my ears, and love is all pervading, all pervading except in my world.

　　I can＇t resist the temptations of enjoy my life alone in reading, mind wandering, walking on the fallen leaves deep in thought, listening to music by some unknown artists, and of course, writing. I can＇t help trembling at the thought of being deprived of the freedom by someone outside my world. I hate to find myself wearing the coat from some strange guys with the angel wings still in the gesture to fly. I want to fly, not with the borrowed wings, but mine.

　　He will arrive at last, with his wings above my sky.

　　In 8 days I will have my 20th birthday, smiling shiningly in my autumn, murmuring the verses I changed myself,

　　Love,

　　When you come with the burning lamp of pain in your hands,

　　I can see your face

爱英语作文篇4

　　Mother’s love wins people’s praises for its selflessness. In fact, father’s love is as great as that. They bury their love in the deep bottom of their hearts and will never show it. My father is of this kind. I remembered once I felt ill. Mother wasn’t at home at that moment. Father acted as a father and as a mother as well. When he came home from work, he would cook dinner for me first. The way he fed me made me think of my kind and tender mother. His eyes were full of love and expectation. I did feel a father’s love at that time.

　　参考翻译

　　父爱

　　母亲的爱因无私而赢得人们的赞扬。事实上，父亲的`爱是如此的伟大。他们把自己的爱埋在心底，永远不会显露出来。我的父亲是这样的。我记得有一次我感到不舒服。那时母亲不在家。父亲是父亲，母亲也是母亲。当他下班回家时，他会先为我做晚饭。他喂我的方式使我想起了我那温柔体贴的母亲。他的眼睛充满了爱和期待。那时我确实感到了父亲的爱。

爱英语作文篇5

　　My father is quiet, when we are at home, he always reads newspaper and less talk to me. Unlike my mother, she takes care of me all the time, my father never shows his love to me. One day, I fall off the bike and get hurt, when my father comes home, he buys me a lot of medicine. I feel his love now.

　　我的爸爸很安静，当我们在家的时候，他总是看报纸，很少和我交谈。不像我的妈妈，她一直照顾着我，我的爸爸从来不向我展示他的爱。一天，我从自行车上跌下来，受伤了，当爸爸回到家的时候，他给我买了很多药。我感受到了他的'爱。

　　I have a beautiful room. Although my room is very small, I love it very much. Look, there is a bed near the window. I like sunshine so my bed is set near the window. In front of the bed, there is a desk on which is several series of books. Whats more, I have plastered my bedroom wall with photos of my family. The light in my bedroom is light pink because I like this color.

　　我有一间很漂亮的房间。虽然我的房间很小，但是我很喜欢它。看，靠近那里有一张床。我喜欢阳光所以我的床是安在窗户边的。床前有一张桌子，桌子上摆了几套书。我还把卧室的墙都用我们家人的照片挂满了。我卧室的灯是粉红色的，因为我喜欢这个颜色。

　　Do you like my bedroom? If you like, come here and have a look!

　　你喜欢我的卧室吗?如果你喜欢，来看看吧!

　　I like sports, because doing sports is really a good thing. Firstly, it helps me keep healthy. Exercise is one of the most active and effective means to enhance the physical health. Secondly, doing sports is a good way to relax. When you are upset, sport may pull you out from depression. Finally, its easier to make friends while take part in sport activities, because you have the same interest. It’s important for making friends. All in all, I get a lot from sports.

　　我喜欢体育运动，因为参加体育运动是一件很好的事情。首先，它能帮助我保持健康。体育锻炼是增强体质的最积极、有效的手段之一。其次，锻炼是一种很好的发送方式。当你烦恼的时候，运动能把你从失落里拯救出来。最后，在体育运动中更容易交到朋友，因为你们有共同的兴趣爱好，这对交友来说是很重要的。总的来说，通过体育运动，我得到了许多。

　　I am a primary school student. And I am the only child in my family. My families take too good care of me. They often work too much for me. Therefore, I hope they can help me to be independent. I want to do the things by myself. I know they love me, but I think it’s not so good to me. After all, I have to grow up by myself.

　　我是一名小学生。我是家里唯一的孩子，所以我的家人都过度地关心我了。他们常常替我做很多事情。因此，我希望他们能帮助我学会独立。我想自己去做一些事情。我知道他们这是爱我，但是我认为这对我不太好。毕竟，我是要自己成长的。

爱英语作文篇6

　　Occasionally, without warning, the drunken wreckage of my father would wash up on our doorstep, late at night, stammering, laughing, reeking of booze. Bang! Bang! Bang! Beating on the door, pleading to my mother to open it.

　　有时候，在毫无预兆的情况下，父亲会半夜醉醺醺地出现在我们家门口，结结巴巴地讲着酒话，时而大笑几声，满嘴酒气。砰！砰！砰！大力敲着门，恳求母亲为他开门。

　　He was on his way home from drinking, gambling, or some combination thereof, squandering money that we could have used and wasting time that we desperately needed.

　　他要么刚刚喝完酒回来，或赌了几把，要么两者皆有。他挥霍着我们本可以用于日常开销的血汗钱，还浪费了我们迫切需要的时间——和父亲在一起的时间。

　　It was the late-1970s. My parents were separated. My mother was now raising a gaggle of boys on her own. She was a newly minted schoolteacher. He was a juke-joint musician-turned-construction worker.

　　那是20世纪70年代末。我的父母离婚了。那时，母亲独自一人抚养着我们几个儿子。她是一位新上任的老师。父亲原本是一名乡间酒馆的驻场乐师，后来成了建筑工人。

　　He spouted off about what he planned to do for us, buy for us. In fact, he had no intention of doing anything. The one man who was supposed to be genetically programmed to love us, in fact, lacked the understanding of what it truly meant to love a child—or to hurt one.

　　他喋喋不休地说自己计划为我们做什么、买什么。事实上，他根本不打算做任何事情。一个在血缘关系上本应该爱我们的人，实际上并不懂得对孩子而言什么才是真正的爱，也不知道什么是伤害。

　　To him, this was a harmless game that kept us excited and begging. In fact, it was a cruel, corrosive deception that subtly and unfairly shifted the onus of his lack of emotional and financial investment from him to us. I lost faith in his words and in him. I wanted to stop caring, but I couldn’t.

　　对他来说，这是一种并无恶意的游戏，它让我们时而兴奋，时而觉得像在乞讨。但这实际上是一种侵蚀性的残酷欺骗，它巧妙却又不公平地将他对我们缺乏感情和物质投入这一责任转移到我们身上。我不相信他的话，对他完全不信任。我想不去在乎他，但我做不到。

　　Maybe it was his own complicated relationship to his father and his father’s family that rendered him cold. Maybe it was the pain and guilt associated with a life of misfortune. Who knows. Whatever it was, it stole him from us, and particularly from me.

　　也许是他与自己的父亲及其复杂的家庭关系，使他变得冷酷。也许是他生活的不幸所造成的痛苦和内疚使然。谁知道呢。不管是什么，反正它把他从我们这里偷走了，特别是从我这里。

　　While my brothers talked ad nauseam about breaking and fixing things, I spent many of my evenings reading and wondering. My favorite books were a set of encyclopedias given by my uncle. They allowed me to explore the world beyond my world, to travel without leaving, to dream dreams greater than my life would otherwise have supported.

　　当我的兄弟们没完没了地谈论怎样拆解破坏再重修东西时，我却在许许多多个晚上潜心阅读和思考。我最喜欢的书是我叔叔给的一套百科全书。这些书让我探索超越我成长天地以外的大世界，足不出户随心旅行，做那些远非我生活所能承载的美梦。

　　But losing myself in my own mind also meant that I was completely lost to my father.

　　但沉醉在自我意识里，也意味着在父亲眼中我变得完全陌生了。

　　He could relate to my brothers’ tactile approaches to the world but not to my cerebral one. Not understanding me, he simply ignored me—not just emotionally, but physically as well. Never once did he hug me, never once a pat on the back or a hand on the shoulder or a tousling of the hair.

　　他能明白我兄弟们那种打打闹闹闯世界的方式，却从不懂我心田开智慧的那一套。他不理解我，就干脆无视我——不仅情感关怀欠奉，对我根本视若无睹。他从来没有拥抱过我，从没拍过我的后背，也不会搭我的肩膀或拨弄一下我的头发。

　　My best memories of him were from his episodic attempts at engagement.

　　他留给我的最美好回忆是他时不时地尝试和我们接触。

　　During the longest of these episodes, once every month or two, he would come pick us up and drive us down the interstate to Trucker’s Paradise, a seedy, smoke-filled, truck stop with gas pumps, a convenience store, a small dining area and a game room through a door in the back.

　　这些插曲中持续时间最长的是，每隔一两个月，他会来接我们，沿着州际公路驱车把我们带到卡车司机乐园。这是一个破烂、烟雾缭绕的载货汽车停车场，有加油站、一家便利店、一个小小的用餐区，还有穿过背后一扇门即可到达的一间游戏室。

　　My dad gave each of us a handful of quarters, and we played until they were gone. He sat up front in the dining area, drinking coffee and being particular about the restaurant’s measly offerings.

　　父亲给我们每个人一把硬币，我们一直玩到输光硬币才停下来。他就坐在用餐区前面，一边喝咖啡，一边挑剔着餐厅里食物的份量太少。

　　I loved these days. To me, Trucker’s Paradise was paradise. The quarters and the games were fun but easily forgotten. It was the presence of my father that was most treasured. But, of course, these trips were short-lived. And so it was. Every so often he would make some sort of effort, but every time it wouldn’t last.

　　我喜欢那些日子。对我来说，卡车司机乐园的确是一个天堂。硬币和游戏充满了乐趣，只是容易被遗忘。最宝贵的是父亲能来。但是，当然了，好景不长。事实的'确如此。时而，他会努力挤出时间，但每次都不会持续很长时间。

　　It wasn’t until I was much older that I would find something that I would be able to cling to as evidence of my father’s love.

　　直到年龄渐长，我才找到一些可以体现其父爱的证据。

　　When the Commodore 64 personal computer debuted, I convinced myself that I had to have it even though its price was out of my mother’s range. So I decided to earn the money myself. I mowed every yard I could find that summer for a few dollars each, yet it still wasn’t enough. So my dad agreed to help me raise the rest of the money by driving me to one of the watermelon farms south of town, loading up his truck with wholesale melons and driving me around to sell them.

　　当Commodore 64型个人电脑上市时，我下定决心要买一台，即使它的价格超出了我母亲的支付能力。于是我决定自己赚钱。那年夏天，我给能找到的每一个庭院割草，每家赚几美元，但钱还是不够。于是父亲答应帮我去筹集剩下的钱。他驱车带我去镇上南面的一家西瓜农场，把批发买来的西瓜装上卡车，带着我去附近的地方把西瓜卖出去。

　　He came for me before daybreak. We made small talk, but it didn’t matter. The fact that he was talking to me was all that mattered. I was a teenager by then, but this was the first time that I had ever spent time alone with him. He laughed and repeatedly introduced me as “my boy,” a phrase he relayed with a palpable sense of pride. It was one of the best days of my life.

　　天亮前，他来接我。我们闲聊了一会儿，但这不是重点。重要的是他和我聊天。那时我已是一个青少年，但那却是我第一次与他独处。他笑着，并多次在向别人介绍 “这是我的儿子，”这样四个字，被他用一种明显的自豪语气传达着。那是我生命中最美好的时光。

　　Although he had never told me that he loved me, I would cling to that day as the greatest evidence of that fact. He had never intended me any wrong. He just didn’t know how to love me right. He wasn’t a mean man.

　　虽然他从未说过他爱我，但我会认定，那天是他爱我这一事实成立的最大证据。他从没想过对我造成任何伤害。他只是不知道用什么方式来爱我。他并不是一个坏心肠的人。

　　So I took these random episodes and clung to them like a thing most precious, squirreling them away for the long stretches of coldness when a warm memory would prove most useful.

　　所以我拾起这些偶然出现的片段，并坚持认为它们是最珍贵的东西。我将它们珍藏着，在冷漠的记忆长河中，这些温暖的片段最为窝心。

　　It just goes to show that no matter how estranged the father, no matter how deep the damage, no matter how shattered the bond, there is still time, still space, still a need for even the smallest bit of evidence of a father’s love.

　　我的经历只是表明：不管父亲曾经与你如何疏远，无论他对你造成了多深的伤害，无论你们之间的纽带是如何破裂的，你仍有时间、有空间，并且有必要去找寻哪怕是能证明父爱的最小的证据。

　　“My boy.”

　　（正如）“我的儿子。”

　　A Parable of a Child

　　一个孩子的寓言

　　by Steve Goodier

　　父母说：“我有一个孩子，他/她将来会成为一名……”

　　孩子说：“我是你们的孩子，我将来会成为一名……”

　　省略号的内容由你决定！教育与经验之间是有区别的。教育就是从阅读文字所得到的，而经验是从不阅读而得到的。看一个故事，你就会明白“伟大的学习来自于教育和经验的结合”。

　　一名青年教师梦见天使出现在他面前，对他说：“你将会有一个孩子，他/她将来会成为一名世界领袖。你得让她意识到自己的智慧，增长自信心，开发她果断不失细腻，虚心而又坚韧的性格特质，你会如何为她做准备呢？”

　　梦醒时，青年教师一身冷汗。他从没经历过这种事情。照梦中所说的，他现在或将来的学生之中的任何一个人都有可能有成为他梦中听到的那个人物。他准备好了要去帮助他们实现每一个志向吗？他默默想：“既然知道了某一个学生会成为那个人物，那么我的教学方式该怎么改变一下呢？”一步一步地，他已经开始暗自筹划了。

　　这名学生不仅需要有经历，而且需要有人指导。他的教学方式改变了。对他而言，每一个走过他教室的年轻人都有可能成为未来的世界领袖。他看这些学生时，不是看他们曾经是什么样子，而是看他们将来可能成为什么样子。他以一种平和的心态期盼学生发挥最大的潜力。他在教育学生时，仿佛世界的未来完全掌握在他的教导中。

　　多年以后，他所认识的一名女子成为举世瞩目的人物。这时他才悟出，她就是那晚梦中天使所说的那个女孩。只是，她不是他的学生，而是他的女儿。在女儿一生所遇到的老师之中，他是最棒的。

　　我听过这样一句话：“孩子是我们给自己无法预见的某个时间、某个地点所发送出去的活信息。”可这并不仅仅是一则有关一个无名教师的寓言，而是有关你我的寓言——不论我们是为人父母，还是为人师表。而这个故事——我们的故事，其实是这样开始的：

　　“你将有一个孩子，他/她将来会成为一名……”你来填完这个句子吧，如果不填“世界领袖”，那么“绝世好爸”也行；再要不“优秀教师”？“妙手神医”？“不按常理出牌的问题克星”？“鼓舞人心的艺术家”？或是“慷慨无私的慈善家”？

　　你会在何地、如何遇见这个孩子，那是一个谜。可是，你要相信，一个孩子的将来很有可能就取决于你给他/她所造成的影响；也要相信，孩子会出人头地的。对你来说，任何孩子都是不平凡的，你也因此脱胎换骨。

　　A young school teacher had a dream that an angel appeared to him and said, “You will be given a child who will grow up to become a world leader. How will you prepare her so that she will realize her intelligence, grow in confidence, develop both her assertiveness and sensitivity, be open-minded, yet strong in character？”

　　The young teacher awoke in a cold sweat. It had never occurred to him before——any ONE of his present or future students could be the person described in his dream. Was he preparing them to rise to ANY POSITION to which they may aspire？ He thought, “How might my teaching change if I KNEW that one of my students were this person？” He gradually began to formulate a plan in his mind.

　　This student would need experience as well as instruction. His teaching changed. Every young person who walked through his classroom became, for him, a future world leader. He saw each one, not as they were, but as they could be. He expected the best from his students, yet tempered it with compassion. He taught each one as if the future of the world depended on his instruction.

　　After many years, a woman he knew rose to a position of world prominence. He realized that she must surely have been the girl described in his dream. Only she was not one of his students, but rather his daughter. For of all the various teachers in her life, her father was the best.

　　I’ve heard it said that “Children are living messages we send to a time and place we will never see.” But this isn’t simply a parable about an unnamed school teacher. It is a parable about you and me——whether or not we are parents or even teachers. And the story, OUR story, actually begins like this:

　　“You will be given a child who will grow up to become…” You finish the sentence. If not a world leader, then a superb father？ An excellent teacher？ A gifted healer？ An innovative problem solver？ An inspiring artist？ A generous philanthropist？

　　Where and how you will encounter this child is a mystery. But believe that one child’s future may depend upon influence only you can provide, and something remarkable will happen. For no young person will ever be ordinary to you again. And you will never be the same.

爱英语作文篇7

：Thanks to my parents

　　Our parents gave us lives,they gave us love.they talked with me to taught me language.they played with me,took care of me,gave me delicious meals,they gave me many classes to live.when I smiled,they were happier than me.when I cried,they were sadder than me.when I made mistakes,they were angery with me.They gave me much love,they gave me a warm family.Thanks to my parents.

爱英语作文篇8

　　Father's love

　　All say that love is great and selfless, in fact, fatherly love is express volumes.

　　My father is a carpenter, a black and a white hair, a pair of one's eyes brimming with radiating vigour eyes, big nose is a lovely catfish mouth. This is my ordinary father.

　　My father is a real redneck, usually not much words, silent as a mountain. But the simple, honest, can not cover up the elegant temperament, he always pay attention to their words, in their own words and deeds to tell me the truth in life.

　　Once, my father took a wooden work, nor let the father on the door to do color pretty, red. My father came home for dinner, thinking of this, watch TV and thinking about it. I couldn't help, complained: " Dad, you still think which! You play nice, people do not give you money, play is not pretty, and they will not give you the money, but also so much, why old miss! "

　　Father says: " no no, play beautiful even though he does not give me money, but I the performance obtained his approval, he will be looking for me to do the work, n

爱英语作文篇9

　　It is cold, so bitter cold, on this dark, winter day in 1942. But it is no different from any other day in this Nazi concentration camp. I stand shivering in my thin rags, still in disbelief that this nightmare is happening. I am just a young boy. I should be playing with friends; I should be going to school; I should be looking forward to a future, to growing up and marrying, and having a family of my own. But those dreams are for the living, and I am no longer one of them. Instead, I am almost dead, surviving from day to day, from hour to hour, ever since I was taken from my home and brought here with tens of thousands other Jews. Will I still be alive tomorrow? Will I be taken to the gas chamber tonight?

　　Back and forth I walk next to the barbed wire fence, trying to keep my emaciated body warm. I am hungry, but I have been hungry for longer than I want to remember. I am always hungry. Edible food seems like a dream. Each day as more of us disappear, the happy past seems like a mere dream, and I sink deeper and deeper into despair. Suddenly, I notice a young girl walking past on the other side of the barbed wire. She stops and looks at me with sad eyes, eyes that seem to say that she understands, that she, too, cannot fathom why I am here. I want to look away, oddly ashamed for this stranger to see me like this, but I cannot tear my eyes from hers.

　　Then she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a red apple. A beautiful, shiny red apple. Oh, how long has it been since I have seen one! She looks cautiously to the left and to the right, and then with a smile of triumph, quickly throws the apple over the fence. I run to pick it up, holding it in my trembling, frozen fingers. In my world of death, this apple is an expression of life, of love. I glance up in time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.

　　The next day, I cannot help myself-I am drawn at the same time to that spot near the fence. Am I crazy for hoping she will come again? Of course. But in here, I cling to any tiny scrap of hope. She has given me hope and I must hold tightly to it.

　　And again, she comes. And again, she brings me an apple, flinging it over the fence with that same sweet smile.

　　This time I catch it, and hold it up for her to see. Her eyes twinkle. Does she pity me? Perhaps. I do not care, though. I am just so happy to gaze at her. And for the first time in so long, I feel my heart move with emotion.

　　For seven months, we meet like this. Sometimes we exchange a few words. Sometimes, just an apple. But she is feeding more than my belly, this angel from heaven. She is feeding my soul. And somehow, I know I am feeding hers as well.

　　One day, I hear frightening news: we are being shipped to another camp. This could mean the end for me. And it definitely means the end for me and my friend. The next day when I greet her, my heart is breaking, and I can barely speak as I say what must be said: "Do not bring me an apple tomorrow," I tell her. "I am being sent to another camp. We will never see each other again." Turning before I lose all control, I run away from the fence. I cannot bear to look back. If I did, I know she would see me standing there, with tears streaming down my face.

　　Months pass and the nightmare continues. But the memory of this girl sustains me through the terror, the pain, the hopelessness. Over and over in my mind, I see her face, her kind eyes, I hear her gentle words, I taste those apples.

　　And then one day, just like that, the nightmare is over. The war has ended. Those of us who are still alive are freed. I have lost everything that was precious to me, including my family. But I still have the memory of this girl, a memory I carry in my heart and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to start a new life. Years pass. It is 1957. I am living in New York City. A friend convinces me to go on a blind date with a lady friend of his. Reluctantly, I agree. But she is nice, this woman named Roma. And like me, she is an immigrant, so we have at least that in common.

　　"Where were you during the war?" Roma asks me gently, in that delicate way immigrants ask one another questions about those years.

　　"I was in a concentration camp in Germany," I reply.

　　Roma gets a far away look in her eyes, as if she is remembering something painful yet sweet.

　　"What is it?" I ask.

　　"I am just thinking about something from my past, Herman," Roma explains in a voice suddenly very soft. "You see, when I was a young girl, I lived near a concentration camp. There was a boy there, a prisoner, and for a long while, I used to visit him every day. I remember I used to bring him apples. I would throw the apple over the fence, and he would be so happy."

　　Roma sighs heavily and continues. "It is hard to describe how we felt about each other-after all, we were young, and we only exchanged a few words when we could-but I can tell you, there was much love there. I assume he was killed like so many others. But I cannot bear to think that, and so I try to remember him as he was for those months we were given together."

　　With my heart pounding so loudly I think it wil1 explode, I look directly at Roma and ask, "And did that boy say to you one day, 'Do not bring me an apple tomorrow. I am being sent to another camp'?"

　　"Why, yes," Roma responds, her voice trembling.

　　"But, Herman, how on earth could you possibly know that?"

　　I take her hands in mine and answer, "Because I was that young boy, Roma."

　　For many moments, there is only silence. We cannot take our eyes from each other, and as the veils of time lift, we recognize the soul behind the eyes, the dear friend we once loved so much, whom we have never stopped loving, whom we have never stopped remembering.

　　Finally, I speak: "Look, Roma, I was separated from you once, and I don't ever want to be separated from you again. Now, I am free, and I want to be together with you forever. Dear, will you marry me?"

　　I see that same twinkle in her eye that I used to see as Roma says, "Yes, I will marry you," and we embrace, the embrace we longed to share for so many months, but barbed wire came between us. Now, nothing ever will again.

　　Almost forty years have passed since that day when I found my Roma again. Destiny brought us together the first time during the war to show me a promise of hope and now it had reunited us to fulfill that promise.

　　Valentine's Day, 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah Winfrey Show to honor her on national television. I want to tell her in front of millions of people what I feel in my heart every day:

　　"Darling, you fed me in the concentration camp when I was hungry. And I am still hungry, for something I will never get enough of: I am only hungry for your love."

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