一In1959,I wrote my autobiography for an assignment in Mrs.King’s sixth grade.In twenty-nine pages,most half-filled with earnest scrawl,I described my parents,brothers, pets,house,hobbies,school,sports and plans for the future.Forty-two years later,I began writing another memoir,this one about the eight years I spent in the White House living history with Bill Clinton.I quickly realized that I could not explain my life as First Lady without going back to the beginning—how I became the woman I was that first day I walked into the White House on January20,1993,to take on a new role and experiences that would test and transform me in unexpected ways.Although I’ve had to be selective,I hope that I’ve conveyed the push and pull of events and relationships that affected me and continue to shape and enrich my world today.Since leaving the White House,representing New York in United Senator has been a humbling and daunting responsibility,and one I hope to write about more fully at a later time.The horrific events of Sep.11th2001made that clear by bringing home to New Yorkers and Americans.The role we must all play to protect and strengthen the Democratic ideals that have inspired and guided our nation for more than200years.These are the same ideas that as far back as I can remember or nurtured in me growing up.A political life
I've often said is a continuing education in human nature including one's own.My8 years in the White House tested my faith and political believes,my marriage and our nation's constitution and system of government.I became a lightning rod for political and ideological battles waged over America’s future and a magnet for feelings,good and bad,about women’s choices and roles.This is the story of how I experienced those 8years as First Lady and as the wife of the president and how I made the decision to run for the United States Senator from New York and develop my political voice.Some may ask how I could give an accurate account of events,people and places that are so recent and of which I am still a part.I have done my best to convey my observations, thoughts and feelings as I experienced them.This is not meant to be a comprehensive history,but a personal memoir that offers an inside look at an extraordinary time in my life and in the life of America.
二
I wasn’t born a first lady or a senator.I wasn’t born a Democrat.I wasn’t born a lawyer or an advocate for women’s rights and human rights.I wasn’t born a wife or mother.I was born an American in the middle of the twentieth century,a fortunate time and place.
I was free to make choices unavailable to past generations of women in my own country and inconceivable to many women in the world today.I came of age on the crest of tumultuous social change and took part in the political battles fought over the meaning
of America and its role in the world.My mother and my grandmothers could never have lived my life;my father and my grandfathers couldn’t have imagined it.But they bestowed on me the promise of America,which made my life and my choices possible.
My story began in the years following World War II,when men like my father who had served their country returned home to settle down,make a living and raise a family.It was the beginning of the Baby Boom,an optimistic time.The United States had saved the world from fascism,and now our nation was working to unite former adversaries in the aftermath of war,reaching out to allies and to former enemies,securing the peace and helping to rebuild a devastated Europe and Japan.Although the Cold War was beginning with the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe,my parents and their generation felt secure and hopeful.American supremacy was the result not just of military might, but of our values and of the abundant opportunities available to people like my parents who worked hard and took responsibility.Middle-class America was flush with emerging prosperity and all that comes with it―new houses,fine schools, neighborhood parks and safe communities.Yet our nation also had unfinished business in the post-war era,particularly regarding race.And it was the World War II generation and their children who woke up to the challenges of social injustice and in equality and to the ideal of America’s promise to all of its citizens.My parents were typical of a generation who believed in the endless possibilities of America and whose values were rooted in the experience of living through the Great Depression.They believed in hard work,not entitlement;self-reliance not self-indulgence.
That is the world and the family I was born into on October26,1947.We were
middle-class,Midwestern and very much a product of our place and time.My mother, Dorothy Howell Rodham,was a homemaker whose days revolved around me and my two younger brothers.My father,Hugh E.Rodham,owned a small business.The challenges of their lives made me appreciate the opportunities of my own life even more. I’m still amazed at how my mother emerged from her lonely early life as such an affectionate and levelheaded woman.She was born in Chicago in1919.In1927,my mother’s young parents Edwin John Howell Jr and Della Murray got a divorce.Della essentially had abandoned my mother when she was only three or four,living her alone with meal tickets to use to use at a restaurant.
三Neither was willing to care for their children,so they sent their daughters alone on a 3-day train trip from Chicago to Alhambra in California to live with their paternal grandparents.My mother's grandfather,Edwin Sr.,a former British sailor,left the girls to his wife,Emma,a severe woman who wore black Victorian dresses and resented and ignored my mother except when enforcing her rigid house rules.My mother found some relief from the oppressive conditions of Emma’s house in the outdoors.She ran through the orange groves that stretched for miles in the San Gabriel Valley,losing herself in the
scent of fruit ripening in the sun.At night,she would escaped into her books.She left home during her first year in the high school to work as a mother's helper,caring for two young children in return for room,board and three dollars a week.For the first time, she lived in a household where the father and mother gave their children the love, attention and guidance she had never received.When she graduated from high school, my mother made plans to go to college in California.But her mother Della contacted her—for the first time in ten years—and asked her to come live with her in Chicago. When my mother arrived in Chicago,she found that Della wanted her only as a housekeeper.Once I asked my mother why she went back to Chicago,she told me,“I’d hoped so hard that my mother would love me that I had to take the chance and find out.”My father was born in Scranton,Pennsylvania,the middle son of Hugh Rodham,Sr., and Hannah Jones.He got his looks from a line of black-haired Welsh coal miners on his mother’s side.The Scranton of my father’s youth was a rough industrial city of brick factories,textile mills,coal mines,rail yards and wooden duplex houses.The Rodhams and Joneses were hard workers and strict Methodists.My father was always in trouble for joyriding in a neighbor’s brand-new car or roller-skating up the aisle of the Court Street Methodist Church during an evening prayer service.After graduating from Penn State in1935and at the height of the Depression,he returned to Scranton with a degree in physical education.Without alerting his parents,he hopped a freight train to Chicago to look for work and found a job selling drapery fabrics around the Midwest.Dorothy Howell was applying for a job as a clerk typist at a textile company when she caught the eye of a traveling salesman,Hugh Rodham.She was attracted to his energy and self-assurance and gruff sense of humor.After a lengthy courtship,my parents were married in early1942,shortly after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.They moved into a small apartment in the Lincoln Park section of Chicago near Lake Michigan.My dad enlisted in a special Navy program and was assigned to the Great Lakes Naval Station,where he became a chief petty officer responsible for training thousands of young sailors before they were shipped out to sea.
四Each summer,as children,my brother and I spent most of August at the cottage Grandpa Rodham had built in1921about twenty miles northwest of Scranton in the Pocono Mountains overlooking Lake Winola.The rustic cabin had no heat except for the cast-iron cook stove in the kitchen,and no indoor bath or shower.To stay clean,we swam in the lake or stood below the back porch while someone poured a tub of water onto our heads.The big front porch was our favorite place to play and where our grandfather shared hands of cards with my brothers and me.He taught us pinochle,the greatest card game in the world,in his opinion.He read us stories and told us the legend of the lake,which he claimed was named after an Indian princess,Winola,who drowned herself when her father would not let her marry a handsome warrior from a
neighboring tribe.When I was as young as ten or eleven,I played pinochle with the men—my grandfather,my father,and assorted others,including such memorable characters as“Old Pete”and Hank,who were notorious sore losers.Pete lived at the end of a dirt road and showed up to play every day,invariably cursing and stomping off if he started losing.Hank came only when my father was there.He would totter up to the front porch with his cane and climb the steep stairs yelling,“Is that black-haired bastard home?I want to play cards.”He’d known my dad since he was born and had taught him to fish.He didn’t like losing any better than Pete,occasionally upended the table after a particularly irksome defeat.
After the war,my dad started a small drapery fabric business,Roderick Fabrics,in the Merchandise Mart in Chicago’s Loop.He employed day laborers,as well as enlisting my mother,my brothers and me when we were old enough to help with the printing.We carefully poured the paint onto the edge of the silk screen and pulled the squeegee across to print the pattern on the fabric underneath.Then we lifted up the screen and moved down the table,over and over again,creating beautiful patterns,some of which my father designed.My favorite was“Staircase to the Stars.”
In1950,when I was three years old and my brother Hugh was still an infant,my father had done well enough to move the family to suburban Park Ridge.The post-war population explosion was booming,and there were swarms of children everywhere.My mother once counted forty-seven kids living on our square block.
My mother was a classic homemaker.When I think of her in those days,I see a woman in perpetual motion,making the beds,washing the dishes and putting dinner on the table precisely at six o’clock.One summer,she helped me create a fantasy world in a large cardboard box.We used mirrors for lakes and twigs for trees,and I made up fairy-tale stories for my dolls to act out.Another summer,she encouraged my younger brother Tony to pursue his dream of digging a hole all the way to China.She started reading to him about China and every day he spent time digging his hole next to our house.Occasionally,he found a chopstick or fortune cookie my mother had hidden there.
My brother Hugh was even more adventurous.As a toddler he pushed open the door to our sundeck and happily tunneled through three feet of snow until my mother rescued him.My mother loved her home and her family,but she felt limited by the narrow choices of her life.She started taking college courses when we were older.She never graduated,but she amassed mountains of credits in subjects ranging from logic to child development.My mother was offended by the mistreatment of any human being, especially children.She understood from personal experience that many
children—through no fault of their own—were disadvantaged and discriminated against from birth.As a child in California,she had watched Japanese Americans in her school endure blatant discrimination and daily taunts from the Anglo students.
I grew up between the push and tug of my parents’values,and my own political beliefs reflect both.My mother was basically a Democrat,although she kept it quiet in Republican Park Ridge.My dad was a rock-ribbed,up-by-your-bootstraps,conservative Republican and highly opinionated to put it mildly.
五Like so many who grew up in the Depression,his fear of poverty colored his life.He could not stand personal waste.If one of my brothers or I forgot to screw the cap back on the toothpaste tube,my father threw it out the bathroom window.We would have to go outside,even in the snow,to search for it in the evergreen bushes in front of the house.That was his way of reminding us not to waste anything.To this day,I put uneaten olives back in the jar,wrap up the tiniest pieces of cheese and feel guilty when I throw anything away.
But in our family’s spirited,sometimes heated,discussions around the kitchen table, usually about politics or sports,I learned that more than one opinion could live under the same roof.
Sometimes I had talked about how the spread of communism was threatening our way of life.But the Cold War was an abstraction to me,and my immediate world seemed safe and stable.
I grew up in a cautious,conformist era in American history.I had enough adolescent vanity that I sometimes refused to wear the thick glasses I had needed since I was nine to correct my terrible eyesight.My friend starting in sixth grade,Betsy Johnson,led me around town like a Seeing Eye dog.
I was considered a tomboy all through elementary school.My fifth-grade class had the school’s most incorrigible boys,and when Mrs.Krause left the room,she would ask me or one of the other girls to“be in charge.”As soon as the door closed behind her,the boys would start acting up and causing trouble,mostly because they wanted to aggravate the girls.I got a reputation for being able to stand up to them.
My sixth-grade teacher,Elisabeth King,drilled us in grammar,but she also encouraged us to think and write creatively,and challenged us to try new forms of expression.It was an assignment from Mrs.King that led me to write my first autobiography.I rediscovered it in a box of old papers after I left the White House,and reading it pulled me back to those tentative years on the brink of adolescence.I was still very much a child at that age,and mostly concerned with family,school and sports.But grade school was ending,and it was time to enter a more complicated world than the one I had known.
六“What you don’t learn from your mother,you learn from the world”is a saying I once heard from the Masai tribe in Kenya.By the fall of1960,my world was expanding and so were my political sensibilities.John E Kennedy won the presidential election,to my father’s consternation.He supported Vice President Richard M.Nixon,and my eighthgrade social studies teacher,Mr.Kenvin,did too.Mr.Kenvin came to school the day after the election and showed us bruises he claimed he had gotten when he tried to question the activities of the Democratic machine’s poll watchers at his voting precinct in Chicago on Election Day.Betsy Johnson and I were outraged by his stories,which reinforced my father’s belief that Mayor Richard J.Daley’s creative vote counting had won the election
for President-Elect Kennedy.A few days later,Betsy heard about a group of Republicans asking for volunteers to check voter lists against addresses to uncover vote fraud.Betsy and I decided to participate.We knew our parents would never give us permission,so we didn’t ask.The turnout must have been less than expected.We were each handed a stack of voter registration lists and assigned to different teams who,we were told,would drive us to our destinations,drop us off and pick us up a few hours later.Betsy and I separated and went off with total strangers.I ended up with a couple who drove me to the South Side,dropped me off in a poor neighborhood and told me to knock
on doors and ask people their names so I could compare them with registration lists to find evidence to overturn the election.Off I went,fearless and stupid.I did find a vacant lot that was listed as the address for about a dozen alleged voters.I woke up a lot of people who stumbled to the door or yelled at me to go away.When I finished,I stood on the corner waiting to be picked up,happy that I’d ferreted out proof of my father’s contention that“Daley stole the election for Kennedy.”
Of course,when I returned home and told my father where I had been,he went nuts.It was bad enough to go downtown without an adult,but to go to the South Side alone sent him into a yelling fit.And besides,he said,Kennedy was going to be President whether we liked it or not.It’s a clichénow,but my high school in the early1960s resembled the movie Grease
or the television show Happy Days.I became President of the local fan club for Fabian, a teen idol,which consisted of me and two other girls.Paul McCartney was my favorite Beatle.Years later,when I met icons from my youth,like Paul McCartney,George Harrison and Mick Jagger,I didn’t know whether to shake
hands or jump up and down squealing.All,however,was not okay during my high school years.I was sitting in geometry
class on November22,1963,puzzling over one of Mr.Craddock’s problems,when another teacher came to tell us President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas.The halls were silent as thousands of students walked in disbelief and denial to
the school auditorium.Finally,our principal came in and said we would be dismissed early.When I got home,I found my mother in front of the television set watching Walter Cronkite.Cronkite announced that President Kennedy had died at1P.M.CST.She confessed that she had voted for Kennedy and felt so sorry for his wife and children.So did I.I also felt sorry for our country and I wanted to help in some way,although I had no idea how.
七I clearly expected to work for a living,and I was lucky to have parents who never tried to mold me into any category or career.In fact,I don’t remember a friend’s parent or a teacher ever telling me or my friends that“girls can’t do this”or“girls shouldn’t do that.”Sometimes,though,the message got through in other ways.
I had always been fascinated by exploration and space travel,maybe in part because my dad was so concerned about America lagging behind Russia.President Kennedy’s vow to put men on the moon excited me,and I wrote to NASA to volunteer for astronaut training.I received a letter back informing me that they were not accepting girls in the program.It was the first time I had hit an obstacle I couldn’t overcome with hard work and determination,and I was outraged.
I was interested in politics from an early age.I successfully ran for student council and junior class Vice President.I was also an active Young Republican and,later,a Goldwater girl,right down to my cow girl outfit and straw cowboy hat emblazoned with the slogan“AuH,O.”
My active involvement in the First United Methodist Church of Park Ridge opened my eyes and heart to the needs of others and helped instill a sense of social responsibility rooted in my faith.
My quest to reconcile my father’s insistence on self-reliance and my mother’s concerns about social justice was helped along by the arrival in1961of a Methodist youth minister named Donald Jones.
I had never met anyone like him.Don called his Sunday and Thursday night Methodist Youth Fellow ship sessions“the University of Life.”
Because of Don’s“University,”I first read e.e.cummings and T S.Eliot;experienced Picasso’s paintings,especially Guernica,and debated the meaning of the“Grand Inquisitor”in Dostoyevsky’s Brothers Karamazov.But the University of Life was not just about art and literature.We visited black and Hispanic churches in Chicago’s inner city for exchanges with their youth groups.These kids were more like me than I ever could have imagined.They also knew more about what was happening in the civil rights
movement in the South.I had only vaguely heard of Rosa Parks and Dr.Martin Luther King,but these discussions sparked my interest.
So,when Don announced one week that he would take us to hear Dr.King speak at Orchestra Hall,I was excited.My parents gave me permission,but some of my friends’parents refused to let them go hear such a“rabble-rouser.”
Dr.King’s speech was entitled,“Remaining Awake Through a Revolution.”Dr.King’s words illuminated the social revolution occurring in our country as well as challenged our indifference.
Being a high school senior also meant thinking about college.I wanta be applying to Smith and Wellesley.My mother thought I should go everywhere I wanted.My father said I was free to do that,but he wouldn’t pay if I went west of the Mississippi or to Radcliffe,which he heard was full of beatniks.Smith and Wellesley,which he had never heard of,were acceptable.I never visited either campus,so when I was accepted,I decided on Wellesley based on the photographs of the campus,especially its small Lake Waban,which reminded me of Lake Winola.
八I arrived at Wellesley carrying my father’s political beliefs and my mother’s dreams and left with the beginnings of my own.
I didn’t hit my stride as a Wellesley student right away.My struggles with math and geology convinced me once and for all to give up on any idea of be coming a doctor or a scientist.My French professor gently told me,“Mademoiselle,your talents lie elsewhere.”
One snowy night during my freshman year,Margaret Clapp,then President of the college,arrived unexpectedly at my dorm,Stone-Davis,which perched on the shores above Lake Waban.She came into the dining room and asked for volunteers to help her gently shake the snow off the branches of the surrounding trees so they wouldn’t break under the weight.We walked from tree to tree through knee-high snow under a clear sky filled with stars,led by a strong,intelligent woman alert to the surprises and vulnerabilities of nature.She guided and challenged both her students and her faculty with the same care.I decided that night that I had found the place where I belonged.
Madeleine Albright,who served as Ambassador to the United Nations and Secretary of State in the Clinton Administration,started Wellesley ten years before me.I have talked with her often about the differences between her time and mine.She and her friends in the late fifties were more overtly committed to finding a husband and less buffeted by changes in the outside world.
In Madeleine’s day and in mine,Wellesley emphasized service.Its Latin motto is Non Ministrarised Ministrare―“Not to be ministered unto,but to minister”―a phrase in
line with my own Methodist upbringing.By the time I arrived,in the midst of an activist student era,many students viewed the motto as a call for women to become more engaged in shaping our lives and influencing the world around us.
Our all-female college guaranteed a focus on academic achievement and extracurricular leadership we might have missed at a coed college.It was a given that the president of the class,the editor of the paper and top student in every field would be a woman.And it could be any of us.
The absence of male students cleared out a lot of psychic space and created a safe zone for us to eschew appearances Monday through Friday afternoon.We focused on our studies without distraction
My friends and I studied hard and dated boys our own age,mostly from Harvard and other Ivy League schools,whom we met through friends or at mixers.
Walking into my daughter’s coed dorm at Stanford,seeing boys and girls lying and sitting in the hallways,I wondered how anyone nowadays gets any studying done.
By the mid-1960s,the sedate and sheltered Wellesley campus had begun to absorb the shock from events in the outside
The debate over Vietnam articulated attitudes not only about the war,but about duty and love of country.For many thoughtful,self-aware young men and women there were no easy answers,and there were different ways to express one’s patriotism.
In hindsight,1968was a watershed year for the country,and for my own personal and political evolution.National and international events unfolded in quick succession:the Tet Offensive,the withdrawal of Lyndon Johnson from the presidential race,the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.,the assassination of Robert Kennedy and the relentless escalation of the Vietnam War.
By the time I was a college junior,I had resigned my position as a president of the collage republicans,and gone from being a Goldwater Girl to supporting the anti-war campaign of Eugene McCarthy,a Democratic Senator from Minnesota,who was challenging President Johnson in the presidential primary.Along with some of my friends,I would drive up from Wellesley to Manchester,New Hampshire,on Friday or Saturday to stuff envelopes and walk precincts.
Dr.King’s assassination on April4,1968,filled me with grief and rage.Riots broke out in some cities.The next day I joined in a massive march of protest and mourning at Post
Office Square in Boston.I returned to campus wearing a black armband and agonizing about the kind of future America faced.
Senator Robert E Kennedy’s assassination two months later on June5,1968,deepened my despair about events in America.
九I had applied for the Wellesley Internship Program in Washington,D.C.,and though dismayed and unnerved by the assassinations,I was still committed to going to Washington.The nine-week summer program placed students in agencies and congressional offices for a firsthand look at“how government works.”I was assigned to intern at the House Republican Conference.
Toward the end of my internship,Congressman Charls Goodell in New York,asked me and a few other interns to go with him to the Republican Convention in Miami to work on behalf of Governor Rockefeller’s last-ditch effort to wrest his party’s nomination away from Richard Nixon.I jumped at the chance and headed for Florida.
Although I enjoyed all my new experiences,from room service to celebrities,I knew Rockefeller would not be nominated.The nomination of Richard Nixon cemented the ascendance of a conservative over a moderate ideology within the Republican Party,a dominance that has only grown more pronounced over the years as the party has continued its move to the right and moderates have dwindled in numbers and influence.
I came home to Park Ridge with no plans for the remaining weeks of summer except to visit with family and friends and get ready for my senior year.
My close friend Betsy Johnson had just returned from a year of study in Franco’s Spain. Neither Betsy nor I had planned to go into Chicago while the Democratic Convention was in town.But when massive protests broke out downtown,we knew it was an opportunity to witness history.
Just when we’d gone downtown to check voting lists in junior high school,we knew there was no way our parents would let us go if they knew what we were planning.So Betsy told her mother,“Hillary and I are going to the movies.”
She picked me up in the family station wagon,and off we went to Grant Park,the epicenter of the demonstrations.It was the last night of the convention,and all hell broke loose in Grant Park.You could smell the tear gas before you saw the lines of police.In the crowd behind us,someone screamed profanities and threw a rock,which just missed us.Betsy and I scrambled to get away as the police charged the crowd with nightsticks.
Betsy and I were shocked by the police brutality we saw in Grant Park,images also captured on national television.As Betsy later told The Washington Post,“We had had a wonderful childhood in Park Ridge,but we obviously hadn’t gotten the whole story”That summer,I knew that despite my disillusionment with politics,it was the only route
in a democracy for peaceful and lasting change.I did not imagine then that I would ever run for office,but I knew I wanted to participate as both a citizen and an activist.In my mind,Dr.King and Mahatma Gandhi had done more to bring about real change through civil disobedience and nonviolence than a million demonstrators throwing rocks ever could.
After graduated from Wellesley next year,I took off for a summer of working my way across Alaska,washing dishes in Mt.McKinley National Park(now known as Denali National Park and Preserve)and sliming fish in Valdez in a temporary salmon factory on a pier.During a visit to Alaska when I was First Lady,I joked to an audience that of all the jobs I’ve had,sliming fish was pretty good preparation for life in Washington.
十My decision to go the Yale law school was an expression of my belief that the system could be changed from within.When I entered Yale in the fall of1969,I was one of twenty-seven women out of235students to matriculate.This seems like a paltry number now,but it was a break through at the time and meant that women would no longer be token students at Yale.While women’s rights appeared to be gaining some traction as the1960s skittered to an end,everything else seemed out of kilter and uncertain.
White,middle-class anti-war activists were found plotting to build bombs in their basements.The non-violent,largely black civil rights movement splintered into factions, and new voices emerged among urban blacks belonging to the Black Muslims and Black Panther Party.As domestic spying and counterintelligence operations expanded under the Nixon Administration,it seemed,at times,that our government was at war with its own people.
On April30,President Nixon announced that he was sending U.S.troops into Cambodia, expanding the Vietnam War.
Then,on May4,National Guard troops opened fire on students protesting at Kent State University in Ohio.Four students were killed.I remember rushing out the door of the law school in tears and running into Professor Fritz Kessler,a refugee who fled Hitler’s Germany.He asked me what the matter was and I told him I couldn’t believe what was happening;he chilled me by saying that,for him,it was all too familiar.
True to my upbringing,I advocated engagement,not disruption or“revolution.”On May7,I kept a previously planned obligation to speak at the convention banquet of the fiftieth anniversary of the League of Women Voters in Washington,D.C.I wore a black armband in memory of the students who had been killed.
The keynote speaker at the League convention was Marian Wright Edelman,whose example helped direct me into my lifelong advocacy for children.
A few months later,Marian spoke at Yale.I introduced myself to her after wards.The summer of1970,the Law Student Civil Rights Research Council gave me a grant, which I used to support my working at the Washington Research Project Marian had started in Washington,D.C.
Marian assigned me to do research on the education and health of migrant children.I had some limited experience with migrant children who had attended my elementary school for a few months each year and with others my church had arranged for me to baby-sit when I was about fourteen years old.Every Saturday morning during harvest season,I went with several of my Sunday school friends to the migrant camp,where we took care of the children under ten while their older brothers and sisters worked in the fields with their parents.
I got to know one seven-year-old girl,Maria,who was preparing to receive her First Communion when her family returned to Mexico at the end of the harvest.But she wouldn’t be able to mark that passage unless her family saved enough money to buy her a proper white dress.I told my mother about Maria,and she took me to buy a beautiful dress.When we presented it to Maria’s mother,she started crying and dropped to her knees to kiss my mother’s hands.My embarrassed mother kept saying she knew how important it was for a little girl to feel special on such an occasion.Years later,I realized that my mother must have identified with Maria.
Although these children lived harsh lives,they were bright,hopeful and loved by their parents.
But as I conducted my research,I learned how often farm workers and their children were―and still too often are―deprived of basics like decent housing and sanitation. When I returned to Yale for my second year in the fall of1970,I decided to concentrate on how the law affected children.I realized that what I wanted to do with the law was to give voice to children who were not being heard.
My first scholarly article,titled“Children Under the Law,”was published in1974in the Harvard Educational Review.It explores the difficult decisions the judiciary and society face when children are abused or neglected by their families or when parental decisions have potentially irreparable consequences,such as denying a child medical care or the right to continue school.I come from a strong family and believe in a parent’s natural presumptive right to raise his or her child as he or she sees fit.
But in New Haven,I saw children whose parents beat and burned them;who left them
alone for days in squalid apartments;who failed and refused to seek necessary medical care.The sad-truth,I learned,was that certain parents abdicated their rights as parents, and someone―preferably another family member,but ultimately the state―had to step in to give a child the chance for a permanent and loving home.
I thought often of my own mother’s neglect and mistreatment at the hands of her parents and grandparents,and how other caring adults filled the emotional void to help her.
Who would have predicted that during the1992presidential campaign,nearly two decades after I wrote the article,conservative Republicans like Marilyn Quayle and Pat Buchanan would twist my words to portray me as“anti-family”?Some commentators actually claimed that I wanted children to be able to sue their parents if they were told to take out the garbage.I couldn’t foresee the later misinterpretation of my paper;nor could I have predicted the circumstances that would motivate the Republicans to denounce me.And I certainly didn’t know that I was about to meet the person who would cause my life to spin in directions that I could never have imagined.
十一Bill Clinton was hard to miss in the autumn of1970.He arrived at Yale Law School looking more like a Viking than a Rhodes Scholar returning from two years at Oxford.He was tall and handsome somewhere beneath that reddish brown beard and curly mane of hair.He also had a vitality that seemed to shoot out of his pores.When I first saw him in the law school’s student lounge,he was holding forth before a rapt audience of fellow students.As I walked by,I heard him say:“...and not only that,we grow the biggest watermelons in the world!”I asked a friend,“Who is that?”
“Oh,that’s Bill Clinton,”he said.“He’s from Arkansas,and that’s all he ever talks about.”
We didn’t talk to each other again until the last day of classes in the spring of1971.We happened to walk out of Professor Thomas Emerson’s Political and Civil Rights course at the same time.Bill asked me where I was going.I was on the way to the registrar’s office to sign up for the next semester’s classes.He told me he was heading there too. As we walked,he complimented my long flower-patterned skirt.When I told him that my mother had made it,he asked about my family and where I had grown up.We waited in line until we got to the registrar.She looked up and said,“Bill,what are you doing here?You’ve already registered.”I laughed when he confessed that he just wanted to spend time with me,and we went for a long walk that turned into our first date.
We both had wanted to see a Mark Rothko exhibit at the Yale Art Gallery,but because of a labor dispute,some of the university’s buildings,including the museum,were closed.As Bill and I walked by,he decided he could get us in if we offered to pick up
the litter that had accumulated in the gallery’s courtyard.Watching him talk our way in was the first time I saw his persuasiveness in action.We had the entire museum to ourselves.We wandered through the galleries talking about Rothko and twentieth-century art.I admit to being surprised at his interest in and knowledge of subjects that seemed,at first,unusual for a Viking from Arkansas.We ended up in the museum’s courtyard,where I sat in the large lap of Henry Moore’s sculpture Draped Seated Woman while we talked until dark.
I was starting to realize that this young man from Arkansas was much more complex than first impressions might suggest.To this day,he can astonish me with the connections he weaves between ideas and words and how he makes it all sound like music.I still love the way he thinks and the way he looks.One of the first things I noticed about Bill was the shape of his hands.His wrists are narrow and his fingers tapered and deft,like those of a pianist or a surgeon.When we first met as students,I loved watching him turn the pages of a book.Now his hands are showing signs of age after thousands of handshakes and golf swings and miles of signatures.They are,like their owner,weathered but still expressive,attractive and resilient
十二In between cramming for finals and finishing up my first year of concentration on children,we spent long hours driving around in his1970burnt-orange Opel station wagon―truly one of the ugliest cars ever manufactured―or hanging out at the beach house on Long Island Sound near Milford,Connecticut,where he lived with his roommates.At aparty there one night,Bill and I ended up in the kitchen talking about what each of us wanted to do after graduation.I still didn't know where I would live and what I would do because my interests in child advocacy and civil rights didn't dictate a particular path.Bill was absolutely certain:He would go home to Arkansas and run for public office.
I told Bill about my summer plans to clerk at Treuhaft,Walker and Burnstein,a small law firm in Oakland,California,and he announced that he would like to go to California with me.I was astonished.I didn't know what to say.
"Why,"I asked,"do you want to give up the opportunity to do something you love to follow me to California?"
"For someone I love,that's why,"he said.He had decided,he told me,that we were destined for each other,and he didn't want to let me go just after he'd found me.
Bill and I shared a small apartment near a big park not far from the University of California at Berkeley campus where the Free Speech Movement started in1964. People have said that I knew Bill would be President one day and went around telling anyone who would listen.I don't remember thinking that until years later,but I had one strange encounter at a small restaurant in Berkeley.I was supposed to meet Bill,but I was held up at work and arrived late.There was no sign of him,and I asked the waiter if
he had seen a man of his description.A customer sitting nearby spoke up,saying,"He was here for a long time reading,and I started talking to him about books.I don't know his name,but he's going to be President someday.""Oh,Yeah,right,"I said,"but do you know where he went?"
At the end of the summer,we returned to New Haven and rented the ground floor of21 Edgewood Avenue for seventy-five dollars a month.We shopped for furniture at the Goodwill and Salvation Army stores and were quite proud of our student decor.
We both had to work to pay our way through law school,on top of the student loans we had taken out.But we still found time for politics.Bill decided to open a McGovern for President headquarters in New Haven,using his own money to rent a storefront.New Haven was one of the few places in America that voted for McGovern over Nixon.
After Christmas,Bill drove up from Hot Springs to Park Ridge to spend a few days with my family.My mother appreciated his good manners and willingness to help with the dishes.But Bill really won her over when he found her reading a philosophy book from one of her college courses and spent the next hour or so discussing it with her.It was slow going at first with my father,I wondered what he'd say to a southern Democrate with ever sideburns,he warmed up over games of cards,and in front of the television watching football bowl games.After I introduced Bill to Betsy Johnson,her mother, Roslyn,cornered me on the way out of their house and said,"I don't care what you do,but don't let this one go.He's the only one I've ever seen make you laugh!"
十三After school ended in the spring of1972,I returned to Washington to work again for Marian Wright Edelman.Bill took a full-time job with the McGovern campaign.
My primary assignment in the summer of1972was to gather information about the Nixon Administration’s failure to enforce the legal ban on granting tax-exempt status to the private segregated academies that had sprung up in the South to avoid integrated public schools.
As part of my investigation,I drove to Dothan,Alabama,for the purpose of posing as a young mother moving to the area,interested in enrolling my child in the local all-white academy.At a local private school,I went through my role-playing,asking questions about the curriculum and makeup of the student body.I was assured that no black students would be enrolled.
It was obvious to all of us that Nixon was going to trounce McGovern in the November election.But,as we soon would learn,this didn’t deter Nixon and his operatives from illegally using campaign funds(not to mention official government agencies)to spy on the opposition and finance dirty tricks to help ensure a Republican victory.A botched
break-in at Democratic Committee offices at the Watergate complex on June17,1972, would lead to the downfall of Richard Nixon.It would also figure in my future plans. That1972race was our first rite of political passage.
After completing law school in the spring of1973,Bill took me on my first trip to Europe to revisit his haunts as a Rhodes Scholar.We set out to visit as many cathedrals as we could,We meandered from Salisbury to Lincoln to Durham to York,pausing to explore the ruins of a monastery laid waste by Cromwell’s troops or wandering through the gardens of a great country estate.
Then at twilight in the beautiful Lake District of England,we found ourselves on the shores of Lake Ennerdale,where Bill asked me to marry him.
I was desperately in love with him but utterly confused about my life and future.So I said,“No,not now.”What I meant was,“Give me time.”
My mother had suffered from her parents’divorce,and her sad and lonely childhood was imprinted on my heart.I knew that when I decided to marry,I wanted it to be for life.Looking back to that time and to the person I was,I realize how scared I was of commitment in general and of Bill’s intensity in particular.I thought of him as a force of nature and wondered whether I’d be up to the task of living through his seasons.
Bill Clinton is nothing if not persistent.He sets goals,and I was one of them.He asked me to marry him again,and again,and I always said no.Eventually he said,“Well,I’m not going to ask you to marry me any more,and if you ever decide you want to marry me then you have to tell me.”He would wait me out.
十四
Soon after we returned from Europe,Bill offered to take me on another journey―this time to the place he called home.
Bill picked me up at the airport in Little Rock on a bright summer morning in late June. We made our way through the Arkansas River Valley with its low-slung magnolia trees, and into the Ouachita Mountains,stopping at overlooks and dropping by country stores so Bill could introduce me to the people and places he loved.As dusk fell,we arrived, at last,in Hot Springs,Arkansas.
Hot Springs was Virginia Cassidy Blythe Clinton Dwire Kelley’s natural element.Bill’s mother was raised in nearby Hope,eighty miles to the southwest.During World War II she attended nursing school in Louisiana,and that’s where she met her first husband, William Jefferson Blythe.
After the war,they moved to Chicago and lived on the North Side,not far from where my parents were living.When Virginia became pregnant with Bill,she went home to Hope to wait for the baby.Her husband was driving down to see her when he had a fatal
accident in Missouri in May of1946.Virginia was a twenty-three-year-old widow when Bill was born on August19,1946.She decided to go to New Orleans to train to become a nurse anesthetist because she knew she could make more money that way to support herself and her new son.She left Bill in the care of her mother and father,and when she got her degree,she returned to Hope to practice.
In1950,she married Roger Clinton,a hard-drinking car dealer,and moved with him to Hot Springs in1953.At the age of fifteen,Bill was finally big enough to make his stepfather stop beating his mother,at least when he was around.He also tried to look out for his little brother,Roger,ten years younger.Virginia was widowed again in1967 when Roger Clinton died after a long battle with cancer.
I was no Miss Arkansas and certainly not the kind of girl Virginia expected her son to fall in love with.No matter what else was going on in her life,Virginia got up early, glued on her false eyelashes and put on bright red lipstick,and sashayed out the door. My style baffled her,and she didn’t like my strange Yankee ideas either.
Eventually Virginia and I figured out that what we shared was more significant than what we didn’t:We both loved the same man.
Bill was coming home to Arkansas and taking a teaching job in Fayetteville,at the University of Arkansas School of Law.I was moving to Cambridge,Massachusetts,to work for Marian Wright Edelman at the newly created Children’s Defense Fund(CDF). Despite the satisfaction of my work,I was lonely and missed Bill more than I could stand.We agreed that I would come down to Arkansas after Christmas1973so we could try to figure out where we were heading.By the time I arrived for New Year’s, Bill had decided to run for Congress.He believed that the Republican Party would be hurt by the Watergate scandal and that even well-entrenched incumbents could be vulnerable.
I was aware of the announcement from Washington that John Doar had been selected by the House Judiciary Committee to head up the impeachment inquiry to investigate President Nixon.We had met Doar at Yale.
One day early in January,while I was having coffee with Bill in his kitchen,the phone rang.It was Doar asking him to join the impeachment staff he was organizing.Bill told Doar he had decided to run for Congress,Doar then said he would call me next.He offered me a staff position,explaining that the job would pay very little,the hours would be long and most of the work would be painstaking and monotonous.With Marian Wright Edelman’s blessing,I packed my bags and moved from Cambridge into a spare room in Washington apartment of Sara Ehrman.Who might had come to know well campaign for a government in Texas.I was on my way to one of the most intense
and significant experiences of my life.
十五
The forty-four attorneys involved in the impeachment inquiry worked seven days a week,I was twenty-six years old,awed by the company I was keeping and the historic responsibility we had assumed.
Doar was committed to running a process that the public and history would judge as nonpartisan and fair,no matter what the outcome.I assisted in drafting procedural rules to present to the House Judiciary Committee.
After working on procedures,I moved on to research the legal grounds for a presidential impeachment and wrote a long memo summarizing my conclusions about what did―and did not―constitute an impeachable offense.Years later,I reread the memo.I still agreed with its assessment of the kinds of“High Crimes and Misdemeanors”,the framers of the Constitution intended to be impeachable.
Slowly and surely,Doar’s team of lawyers put together evidence that made a compelling case for the impeachment of Richard Nixon.
On July19,1974,Doar presented proposed articles of impeachment that specified the charges against the President.The House Judiciary Committee approved three articles of impeachment citing abuse of power,obstruction of justice and contempt of Congress. The votes were bipartisan,earning the confidence of both the Congress and the American public.
Nixon resigned the Presidency on August9,1974,sparing the nation an agonizing and divisive vote in the House and trial in the Senate.The Nixon impeachment process of 1974forced a corrupt President from office and was a victory for the Constitution and our system of laws.Even so,some of us on the committee staff came away from the experience sobered by the gravity of the process.The tremendous powers of congressional committees and special prosecutors were only as fair and just and constitutional as the men and women who wielded them.
Suddenly I was out of work.Yet early in the spring of that year,I had asked Doar for permission to visit Bill in Fayetteville.While there I went with Bill to a dinner party where I met some of his law school colleagues,including Wylie Davis,then the Dean. As I was leaving,Dean Davis told me to let him know if I ever wanted to teach.Now I decided to take him up on the idea.
My decision to move did not come out of the blue.Bill and I had been pondering our predicament since we started dating.If we were to be together,one of us had to give ground.With the unexpected end of my work in Washington,I had the time and space to give our relationship―and Arkansas―a chance.Despite her misgivings,Sara
Ehrman offered to drive me down.Every few miles,she asked me if I knew what I was doing,and I gave her the same answer every time:“No,but I’m going anyway.”
I’ve sometimes had to listen hard to my own feelings to decide what was right for me.I had fallen in love with Bill in law school and wanted to be with him.I knew I was always happier with Bill than without him,and I’d always assumed that I could live a fulfilling life anywhere.If I was going to grow as a person,I knew it was time for me―to paraphrase Elean or Roosevelt―to do what I was most afraid to do.So I was driving toward a place where I’d never lived and had no friends or family.But my heart told me I was going in the right direction.
On a hot August evening,the day I arrived,I saw Bill give a campaign speech before a good-size crowd in the town square in Bentonville,and I was impressed.Maybe, despite the tough odds,he had a chance.
十六
Just as I was beginning the semester,Bill’s mother’s husband,Jeff Dwire,died suddenly from heart failure.It was devastating for Virginia.Bill returned to the campaign trail after Jeff’s funeral,and I explored life in a small college town.
I had never before lived in a place so small,friendly and Southern,and I loved it.I went to Arkansas Razorbacks football games and learned to“call the hogs.”
Bill had won the primary for Congress and the Democratic runoff in June,with a little help from my father and my brother Tony,who spent a few weeks in May doing campaign grunt work,putting up posters and answering phones.It still amazes me that my diehard Republican father worked for Bill’s election,a testament to how much he had come to love and respect him.By Labor Day,Bill’s campaign was picking up momentum,and the Republicans began a barrage of personal attacks and dirty tricks. When President Nixon was in Fayetteville for the1969Texas vs.Arkansas football game,a young man climbed into a tree to protest the Vietnam War―and Nixon’s presence on campus.Five years later,Bill’s political opponents claimed that Bill was the guy in the tree.It didn’t matter that Bill was studying in Oxford,England,at the time,four thousand miles away.For years after,I ran into people who believed the charge.
One of Bill’s mailings to voters was not delivered,and the bales of postcards were later found stashed behind a post office.Other incidents of sabotage were reported,but no foul play could be proved.When election night came that November,Bill lost by 6,000votes―52to48percent.
At the end of the school year I decided to take a long trip back to Chicago and the East Coast to visit friends and people who had offered me jobs.I still wasn’t sure what to do with my life.On the way to the air port,Bill and I passed a red brick house near the university with a“For Sale”sign out front.I casually mentioned that it was a sweet looking little house and never gave it a second thought.After a few weeks of traveling and thinking,I decided I wanted to return to my life in Arkansas and to Bill.When Bill
picked me up,he asked,“Do you remember that house you liked?Well,I bought it,so now you’d better marry me because I can’t live in it by myself.”
Bill proudly drove up the driveway and ushered me inside.The house had a screened in porch,a living room with a beamed cathedral ceiling,a fireplace,a big bay window,a good-sized bedroom and bath room and a kitchen that needed a lot of work.Bill had already bought an old wrought-iron bed at a local antiques store and had been to Wal-mart for sheets and towels.
This time I said“yes.”
We were married in the living room on October11,1975,by the Reverend Vic Nixon,a local Methodist minister.I walked into the room on my father’s arm,and the minister said,“Who will give away this woman?”We all looked at my father expectantly.But he didn’t let go.Finally Rev.Nixon said,“You can step back now,Mr.Rodham.”
After all that has happened,I’m often asked why Bill and I have stayed together.It’s not a question I welcome,but given the public nature of our lives,it’s one I know will be asked over and over again.What can I say to explain a love that has persisted for decades and has grown through our shared experiences of parenting a daughter,burying our parents and tending our extended families,a lifetime’s worth of friends,a common faith and an abiding commitment to our country?All I know is that no one understands me better and no one can make me laugh the way Bill does.Even after all these years, he is still the most interesting,energizing and fully alive person I have ever met.Bill Clinton and I started a conversation in the spring of1971,and more than thirty years later we’re still talking.
十七
Bill Clinton’s first election victory as Attorney General of Arkansas in1976was anticlimactic.He had won the primary in May and had no Republican opponent.The big show that year was the presidential contest between Jimmy Carter and Gerald Ford.
I was thrilled that Carter won the national election.Bill and I had had to move to Little Rock,which meant leaving the house we had been married in.I had to decide what to do next,and I began to seriously consider joining a private firm.
The Rose Law Firm was reputed to be the oldest firm west of the Mississippi.I had gotten to know one of the partners,Vince Foster,while I was running the legal aid clinic at the law school.
After1976,Vince and another Rose Firm partner,came to see me with a job offer.I joined the litigation section,and two lawyers with whom I worked most were Vince and Webster Hubbell.
Vince was one of the best lawyers I’ve ever known and one of the best friends I’ve ever had.If you remember Gregory Peck’s performance as Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird,you can picture Vince:steady,courtly,sharp but understated,the sort of person you would want around in times of trouble.
读《火印》有感 【第1篇】 读《火印》有感 读了火印这本书，我感受很深，也让我改变了对动物的偏见。 故事讲的是一个叫坡娃的小男孩，从狼群口中救下了一匹小 马驹，这是一匹母马，起名为雪儿，不仅漂亮，还精通人性。过 了几年，战争爆发了，日本军官河野看中了雪儿，强行带走它并 烙上了火印。但雪儿不愿意屈服，便沦落成拉大炮的普通马。因 为它身上的火印，中国军队把它当成日本马俘虏，而后被坡娃带 回了家，但又因为它为日本人拉过大炮，被村民们侮辱，直到赢 得了证明自己的机会。 读完以后，我愤怒到了极点，日本人泯灭了人性，曾经对我 们中国人进行了长时间的掠夺，烧杀，妻子要失去丈夫，老人要 失去儿子，孩子要失去父亲。日本人为了做实验，把中国人抓去，看着中国人被病痛折磨致死，不但无动于衷，甚至还感到自豪， 自豪自己研究出了杀人武器。日本人为了开心，竟然拿中国人的 性命来比赛、玩笑。 以前，我一直认为畜生与人不同，只有人才有感情，而畜生 就是畜生，人就是人，两者之间只是利益关系。可现在我已经彻 底改变了这种不切实际的看法。在主人因自己将要遇难时，雪儿 会毅然离去，尽管自己要饱受侮辱。在村民们打骂、侮辱自己时，
他也会为主人着想，默默忍受着。雪儿告诉我，动物也是有尊严的，它们生存的目的不单只是为了填饱肚子，讨好主人，更是要像人一样活的精彩。 我喜欢这本书的原因不止有这些，还是因为我敬佩坡娃的勇敢。他虽然只有十几岁，却敢闯那人人避之的日本军营，敢推日本人下水。这本书让我认识了战争的可怕，也提醒了我要好好对生物，谁都有尊严。 我很清楚日本为什么那么胆大，就是因为中国太没落，还保留着封建社会思想，资产虽丰富，但设备不先进，社会太黑暗，中国人虽多，但民族的团结意识不够强大，这些使我们中国成为一块诱人的肥肉。 物竞天泽，适者生存。我一定要好好读书，报效祖国。只要我们一起努力，我相信，我们将会是一个无比强大的民族。 【第2篇】 雪儿，一匹有人格的马 ——读《火印》有感 暑假，我静静地打开曹文轩的《火印》，等我合上这本书，不禁潸然泪下。 文中的主角雪儿，是坡娃从狼群中救回来的一匹小马驹，她和坡娃一家在野狐峪过着宁静的田园生活。在坡娃一家人眼里，雪儿她不是一匹马，她就像是一个人，是他们家的家庭成员。雪儿外出还没回来，只要呼喊她一声，她立马出现。坡娃的黑狗死
心灵深处的烦恼作文_初一作文 心灵深处烦恼作文（一） 心灵原本像是一片天空：白天，没有云朵装饰；晚上，又没有星星、月亮点缀。 随着我成长，越来越多事在我天空上留下足迹。随意吹散一朵白云或抚摸一颗星星，里面就储存着我美好记忆，无尽秘密、回忆，还有不知该如何表达爱。 可是，在那“海天相接”地方，隐藏起来是什么呢？是，那是我最不想让人知道——我烦恼。 我是一个不想让别人为我担心人。面临一件事，我都很努力、认真去做、去完成它。而我朋友还说我是一个乐于助人、几乎没有什么缺点人，都是一直很开心快乐。我想：可能吧，我愿意把我快乐与他人分享，但不愿意把我真实烦恼向别人倾诉，即使是父母、知友。我不想让别人为我而担忧，只会把烦恼摆放在我心灵深处，不见曦月。每次烦恼一想出来，就会被狂风吹了回去。 其实，我有很多烦恼：为什么要出生在这样不是很富裕家庭？我每每知道一个新地方，我就会痴心妄想地想什么时候去那里游玩，漫游我国大好风光。 自从上了初中，我当上了班长，由于责任心过重，在管理时过于严格，有些凶，便会遭到很多男生背后大骂，而我只能假装不知道来逃避。心早已流泪：我明明不是那么凶人，为什么要有那么强责任感，真是希望和他们一起友善交往，一起学习。 太多太多烦恼沉淀我心中，叠成一座冰山，也不知何时，那座冰山会融化，寻找到一个真正知心朋友，向她倾诉。 心灵深处烦恼作文（二） 在我们内心深处，有一座古朴心灵城堡，城堡里盛满了我们内心难以忘怀人与事记忆。在城堡中央，有一块美丽碑石，铭刻着我们心灵深处记忆。这些美丽记忆如一泓清泉，时时荡涤着我们心灵，激励着我们不断前进。 周涛执着，是刻在我心灵深处记忆。我总是无法忘怀她那迷人眼睛，自信笑容和温和声音。当初她在广播学院毕业后，来到一家电视台应聘，可却名落孙山。在这样打击之下，她没有放弃自己梦想，请求留下来，就算是一名勤杂工。她每天忙忙碌碌地打水，泡茶，扫地，但一有空闲时间她就偷偷地练播音。她执着就像破茧成蝶力量，带着她让梦想插着羽翼，飞翔。终于有一天，台领导让她上台试播。她清脆声音，她迷人眼睛，她自信笑容，就这样，她成了一名主持人，后来她努力又调到了中央电视台，成为其”金牌主持人。”每当我在成长路上遭受打击，就会想到周涛她那执着奋斗身影，让我跨越过了困难坎。她执着，是我成长路上不竭力量之泉。 希拉里宽容，是刻在我内心深处记忆。她宽容，使她更具人格魅力。“她书不可能卖得好，如果超过一百万，我把鞋子吃掉。”这是一名脱口秀主持人对希拉里自传辛辣讥讽评价。但是，一周内，这本书就销售了一百万册。这位主持人只好把鞋子吃掉。但这味道一定棒极了，这是希拉里特意为他订做鞋子蛋糕，其中加入了美味调味品——宽容。每当我与同学，父母在意见上发生争执时候，就会想起希拉里宽容待人。她宽容，是我成长路上加油站。 我们为梦想拼搏过程，是刻在我内心深处记忆。面对初三，我们学会了不言放弃；面对初三，我们学会了直面困难；面对初三，我们学会了勇敢与坚毅。为了梦想，书架上珍爱小说已落上厚厚灰尘，电脑里充满活力游戏已被无情地扼杀，偶像歌曲已不在耳际萦绕。我们为梦想而拼搏过程，是心灵夜空上最绚烂、最夺目天空。
我的一生读后感范文 我的一生读后感范文一 在这个暑假里，我阅读了许多的书，但是其中给我印象最深的一本书名叫《我的一生》。因为我被主人公海伦坚定的毅力所感动，被她的乐观精神所熏陶。 海伦小的时候由于发高烧，使得两耳失聪，双眼失明，结果再也不会讲话了，后来在苏丽文老师的教导和帮助下，海伦利用仅有的触觉、味觉和嗅觉来认识四周的环境，努力学习，最后毕业于哈佛德克利夫学院，这靠的全是她那不屈不饶的精神。 她还十分乐观。对自己的残疾没有，而是勇敢的与命运去抗争，对什么事都想的开，放的开，从不怨天尤人，听天由命，最终取得伟大的成就。当她的第一本着作《我的一生》出版时立即轰动了全美国，人们纷纷被她残而不废的精神所感动，所激励。 她通过自己的努力学习，成为了一名优秀的作家，是我们每一个人学习的榜样！在以后的学习中，我要学习她有毅力以及乐观的精神，不因为困难而放弃，从哪里跌倒就从哪爬起，争取取得更优秀的成绩。 《我的一生》读后感范文二 你曾读过前美国总统比尔·克林顿所写的《我的一生》吗？从发行至今，这本书仍然占据畅销书目的首位。这是一本多么吸引人的自传！阅读中，一个模糊的概念在我的脑海中逐渐变得清晰：克林顿的
一生就好像小孩般追逐着快乐。这，就是他简单的人生信条。 克林顿乐观的心态不单单是寻求自我生活的满足感，更难能可贵的是，这种珍贵的基因伴随他走过人生每一步并散发着迷人的光芒和致命的感染力。他灿烂的笑容，亲切的举止，都是他大受欢迎的原因。在美国，不管白人还是黑人，老人还是年轻人，男人或是女人，都拥戴着他。 他在自传中陈述自己贫穷的童年生活，尽管充满不幸，但是面对失意和挫折，他都乐观以待，总能从不幸的泥沼中发现生命中的美丽。他的亲生父亲早在他出生之前便已过世，克林顿自小与爷爷奶奶居住在乡村。在美国经济大萧条的时期，一家人连吃饭都有困难。为了维持生活，年迈70的爷爷不得不在寒风凛冽的冬天挑着冰砖去换取仅25美分的报酬。尽管生活艰苦，但坚强和善良的爷爷并没有因此而厌倦生活，反而笑对困境，甚至在工作中不忘记给同伙们讲讲笑话逗乐大家。在克林顿的眼中，乡村的生活淳朴而充满诗意，善良的邻居们都勤劳的工作着，在这片土地里，他逐渐成长为一个乐观向上的人，并相信用信心可以克服一切困难。在克林顿5岁那年，母亲转嫁，继父并没有很好地照顾他们母子，反而在外酗酒，玩弄女人，回到家中便恶言相向，对家人。一次在父母的争吵中，克林顿险些死在继父的枪下，面对继父的恶行，克林顿十分愤怒，但他仍然坚持用自己的爱意去劝说父亲戒酒。尽管父亲无情，但他总能发觉父亲身上的优点并忘记过去生活中的种种不快。因为他坚信，只要父亲能够戒酒回家，全家人便能重新过上美好的生活。
读后感300字左右范文 下面是为大家的读后感300字左右范文，欢迎阅读参考! 《窃读记》读后感 新学期开始了，翻开语文书，第一页就是窃读记这篇课文，这篇课文是我深深受益。 文中讲林海音小时候的故事，林海英的做法使我感慨。林海音小时候家里很穷，买不起书。她没放学回家，就急匆匆的跑向书店去读书，我想，大概我们会家是去吃饭吧! 他用急切的脚步走向书柜，用她的双眼去找她的书，却迟迟找不到，她告诉我们她是多么爱看书，并且告诉我们窃读时的那种复杂心理，告诉我们她喜欢下雨天，因为她可以在书店看书，她非常地高兴。 我们应该学习林海音那种爱读书的样子，不应该不读书。就像是文章中最后一句话，记住，你们是吃饭长大的，也是读书长大的，也是在爱里长大的。 《桥》读后感 今天，我们学习了一篇感人肺腑的课文——《桥》。 这篇课文讲的是洪水来临时一位党支部书记，一个全村人都拥戴的老汉用自己的生命来挽救全村人生命的故事。 老汉宁愿用自己的生命来拯救村民，也不愿让村民的生命来拯救自己。因为他清楚的知道，自己是党员、是领导，有义务保护村民
们的安全。老汉用自己的威信、沉稳、高风亮节和舍己为人的精神保护了村民。 以老汉为代表的优秀领导、党员就是密切联系群众的“桥”。他们在人民心目中的地位很高很高，是人民的“靠山”。 巴金先生曾说过：“生命的意义在于付出、在于给予，而不是在于接受，也不是在于争取。”老汉的行动不是正应了这句话么? “奉献”是一种自我牺牲，是一种崇高的境界。 难道老汉这种舍己为人、先人后己的精神不值得我们学习吗? 《生命生命》读后感 生命，对我们来说意味着什么?一粒貌不惊人的种子，往往隐藏着一个花季的灿烂;一条丑陋的毛毛虫，可能蜕变成一只五彩斑斓的蝴蝶。因为，生命本来就是一桩奇迹。让我们走近生命，用心来聆听生命的真谛吧! 一只被捉住的飞蛾，极力鼓动着双翅，我感到了一股生命的力量，是那样强烈，是那样鲜明!飞蛾那种求生的欲望，令我震惊!一粒香瓜子掉进了墙角的砖缝中，过了几天竟然冒出了一节小瓜苗，那小小的种子里蕴藏着一种多么强的生命力呀!竟然可以使它冲破坚硬的外壳，在没有阳光、没有泥土的砖缝中，不屈向上、茁壮生长。即使它仅仅只活了几天!我想，生命都是自我珍视的小小的昆虫、植物的是如此，何况我们人类呢? 一个人的生命只属于自己，我们必须对自己负责，好好地使用生命，让人生的有意义!
曹文轩《火印》读后感 《火印》这本书讲的是个叫坡娃的小男孩和雪儿的故事。雪儿是坡娃从一群狼群中救回来的一匹小马。有一天，战争爆发，雪儿被日本兵抢走，并在它身上烙下一枚日本军营的火印，一个日本军官看中了雪儿，要把训练成自己的战马，可雪儿不接受训练，由于雪儿的不屈和对抗，它沦为了拉炮的废马。经历了战火和苦难之后，坡娃终于将雪儿带回了自己身边。可雪儿身上的火印却成为它终身的耻辱，它在村民面前低下了头，直到他获得了赢回尊严的机会。 其中我最喜欢坡娃。坡娃是个非常勇敢善良的小男孩，并且非常懂马的心思。他把雪儿当成了自己的朋友，当雪儿被日本军官抢走的时候，他晚上睡觉的时候都常常梦见雪儿，担心它吃得好不好。为此还去救过雪儿好几回，虽然每次都失败了，但他还是不泄气，一直想方设法要救出雪儿。 我的感受是：人也能和动物们和谐相处，那些想把动物占为己有的人是不值得尊重的。坡娃的勇气以及坚持不懈让我敬佩，雪儿对坡娃的忠诚让我想到了一个臣民对国王的忠诚，坡娃和雪儿好像是天生的一对儿，虽然坡娃不懂马语，但他却知道雪儿的心思，同时我也很羡慕他俩对彼此的关心和爱护，很嫉妒他们能有这样的“好朋友”。人与动物如此，人与人不是也该这样相处吗？ 读《火印》有感 这个暑假，我读了曹文轩的《火印》这本书。 这本书是以一匹叫雪儿的马贯穿全文，文中通过许多感人的故事体现了雪儿有灵性、有尊严、有智慧。 当我合上书的那一刻，我的思绪开始翻滚着。 大年初一的清晨，本以为雪儿被日本人抓去后就再也回不来了，但当坡娃打开门的那一瞬间，惊呆了，雪儿竟静静地站在家门口，它是从日本马场偷跑出来的，竟然认识回家的路。看，它是一匹多有智慧的马。 雪儿曾一度对自己身上被烙上的火印而抬不起头来，它深深地知道，那将是多么屈辱的事，它不愿意做日本人的战马，在战争的最后那一刻，雪儿懂得报仇的时刻到了，它载着小哥不顾自己身上的伤痛，对日本军官河野穷追不舍，以它超凡的智慧、惊人的速度和顽强的意志力将河野逼入悬崖，最终为自己赢回了尊严，取得了胜利，从此它在村民面前抬起了头。在文中，雪儿虽然只是一匹马，但它却有着跟人一样的灵性和尊严。 在生活中，其实动物跟人类之间，相处久了，也会有感情，也会心灵相通。 警犬就是很好的例子。它靠着自己的嗅觉、听觉，来帮助警察。在电视上，曾多次报道过警犬在地震中救出被困的人；在毒犯身上找出藏匿的毒品。 我也曾看到过因主人突发疾病，躺在地上动弹不得，是狗跑出家门，发出求救的信号，挽回了主人的生命。 种种的事例说明，只要人们像对待亲人一样悉心地照顾、爱护身边的动物，那它们也一样会成为人类的好朋友和好帮手。 读了这本书，让我受益匪浅。 火印读后感：耻辱与尊严 曹文轩所著的儿童长篇小说《火印》，为我们描述了一匹马。它智慧、勇敢，它遭受耻
一In1959,I wrote my autobiography for an assignment in Mrs.King’s sixth grade.In twenty-nine pages,most half-filled with earnest scrawl,I described my parents,brothers, pets,house,hobbies,school,sports and plans for the future.Forty-two years later,I began writing another memoir,this one about the eight years I spent in the White House living history with Bill Clinton.I quickly realized that I could not explain my life as First Lady without going back to the beginning—how I became the woman I was that first day I walked into the White House on January20,1993,to take on a new role and experiences that would test and transform me in unexpected ways.Although I’ve had to be selective,I hope that I’ve conveyed the push and pull of events and relationships that affected me and continue to shape and enrich my world today.Since leaving the White House,representing New York in United Senator has been a humbling and daunting responsibility,and one I hope to write about more fully at a later time.The horrific events of Sep.11th2001made that clear by bringing home to New Yorkers and Americans.The role we must all play to protect and strengthen the Democratic ideals that have inspired and guided our nation for more than200years.These are the same ideas that as far back as I can remember or nurtured in me growing up.A political life I've often said is a continuing education in human nature including one's own.My8 years in the White House tested my faith and political believes,my marriage and our nation's constitution and system of government.I became a lightning rod for political and ideological battles waged over America’s future and a magnet for feelings,good and bad,about women’s choices and roles.This is the story of how I experienced those 8years as First Lady and as the wife of the president and how I made the decision to run for the United States Senator from New York and develop my political voice.Some may ask how I could give an accurate account of events,people and places that are so recent and of which I am still a part.I have done my best to convey my observations, thoughts and feelings as I experienced them.This is not meant to be a comprehensive history,but a personal memoir that offers an inside look at an extraordinary time in my life and in the life of America. 二 I wasn’t born a first lady or a senator.I wasn’t born a Democrat.I wasn’t born a lawyer or an advocate for women’s rights and human rights.I wasn’t born a wife or mother.I was born an American in the middle of the twentieth century,a fortunate time and place. I was free to make choices unavailable to past generations of women in my own country and inconceivable to many women in the world today.I came of age on the crest of tumultuous social change and took part in the political battles fought over the meaning of America and its role in the world.My mother and my grandmothers could never have lived my life;my father and my grandfathers couldn’t have imagined it.But they bestowed on me the promise of America,which made my life and my choices possible.
10篇名著读后感300字 一、西游记读后感篇一： 文学是一种比小鸟非得还要远的梦想，是比花朵开的还要美的情感，名著读后感300字。比星星闪的还要亮的智慧，是我们永远都不会忘怀的一种信念。《西游记》这本书是中国文学史上一颗璀璨的明珠。这是一本神话故事，讲了唐僧师徒四人西天取经的事情经过。《西游记》中人物性格各不相同，如孙悟空是神通广大，好吃懒做的八戒和勤快的沙僧。这本书极具想象力，从而它便成为了中国人民那个最喜爱的古典名著之一。书中的故事脍炙人口、曲折动人。其中真假美猴王这个故事给我留下了深刻的印象。这一章讲述了是师徒四人在去取经的路上遇到了强盗，孙悟空只好杀了他们，不料师父大怒再次赶走了孙悟空。孙悟空他只好求助观音。观音他让孙悟空在此等候。就在孙悟空等候的时候有个小猴子冒充孙悟空打伤了师父。后来，两个孙悟空在花果山见上了，最后真的孙悟空打败了假的孙悟空，假的变回了原型，原来只是一个小猴子。真相大白后孙悟空又继续和师父一起去西天取经了。这本书不仅可以让我们陶冶情操、加强修养，使我们成长的路上充满阳光与滋润我们心灵的雨 二、西游记读后感篇二： 读了《西游记》这本书很受感动.《西游记》这本书主
要写了孙悟空不平凡的出生,以及他在花果山逍遥的生活. 后来,孙悟空大闹天宫,结果被佛祖压在五行山下.最终孙悟 空跟随唐僧到达西天,取得了真经. 在这本书中,我最喜欢的是孙悟空.他天不怕地不怕, 具有不屈的反抗精神.他不但敢与至高无上的玉皇大帝争斗,并为自己争来了“齐天大圣”的称号,还不惧怕任何妖魔鬼怪,绝不放过一个妖魔,面对困难绝不低头. 我还喜欢唐僧,他接受大唐皇帝的命令,前往遥远的西 天取经.一路上风餐露宿,困难重重.唐僧面对困难决不放弃. 其实,无论是在生活中,还是在学习中,我们都会遇到 困难,这时我们应该像孙悟空和唐僧一样,迎难而上,才能成功. 三、西游记读后感篇三： 读了《西游记》我深有感触,文中曲折的情节和唐僧师 徒的离奇经历给我留下了深刻的印象. 唐僧-诚心向佛、顽固执着,孙悟空-正义大胆、本领高超,猪八戒-贪财好色,但不缺乏善心,沙僧-心地善良、安于 天命. 孙悟空是《西游记》中第一主人公,是个非常了不起的 英雄;猪八戒,他的本事比孙悟空可差远了,更谈不上什么光 辉高大,但这个形象嘴很甜;师傅唐僧,虽说没有孙悟空的本事、猪八戒的活泼、沙僧的勤快、白龙马的脚力,但他品行
精选作文:心灵深处的记忆(500字)作文总是有那么一个人，一件事，沉在你的记忆海洋的深处，让你一生难忘。天阴沉沉的，似乎在预兆着什么。我像往常一样，拿着零花钱，跑到家附近的小店，买了几块泡泡糖。走着走着，来到了十字路口我熟练地往左边看了看，没车；又往右看了看，一辆面包车却挡住了我的视线，我也没多想，便走了过去。万万料不到的是，一辆疾驰的电动车正好开了过来，惯力顺势把我带倒，我倒在了地上。天地间似乎安静了，只因看过了太多的生死离别，竟害怕起来。奶奶急匆匆地跑了过来，抱起了我，我可以管感受到她那急促的呼吸，我知道奶奶是不可以剧烈运动的。接着，奶奶把我带到了一家小诊所，不停地问：这里疼吗？这里疼吗？平时让我觉得唠叨的话语，竟也动听起来。那开车的人也走了过来，奶奶有种想跟他拼命的冲动，不让他走。我知道奶奶是对我好。在检查没什么问题之后，奶奶才让那个人走，把我扶回了家，烧给我吃。奶奶是害怕的，她一边烧饭，一边跟我讲话时，听得出她已经哽咽了，只是她强忍着罢了。那一刻，我懂得了爱的含义，也懂得了家人之间的亲情，只是不知，以前家人对我的爱，已经忘记多少了，又有多少是我根本不懂的。从此，我走过那个十字路口，总是小心翼翼的，不仅因为我舍不得这个世界，更因为我舍不得家人，舍不得家人之间的亲情与爱。所以，就让这件事深深地埋在我心灵的深处吧，让我永远不会忘却。初一:陈连刚 篇一：心灵深处的记忆 心灵深处的记忆 心灵深处有着令人抹不去的记忆，在记忆的海洋里，激荡着无数的浪花，它们柔情而又轻飘，令我回味。 那天上午没有学好习。在 心灵深处的记忆 在我们的内心深处，有一座古朴的心灵城堡，城堡里盛满了我们内心难以忘怀的人与事的记忆。在城堡中央，有一块美丽的碑石，铭刻着我们心灵深处的记忆。这些美丽的记忆如一泓清泉，时时荡涤着我们的心灵，激励着我们不断前进。 周涛的执着，是刻在我心灵深处的记忆。我总是无法忘怀她那迷人的眼睛，自信的笑容和温和的声音。当初她在广播学院毕业后，来到一家电视台应聘，可却名落孙山。在这样的打击之下，她没有放弃自己的梦想，请求留下来，就算是一名勤杂工。她每天忙忙碌碌地打水，泡茶，扫地，但一有空闲时间她就偷偷地练播音。她的执着就像破茧成蝶的力量，带着她让梦想插着羽翼，飞翔。终于有一天，台领导让她上台试播。她的清脆声音，她的迷人眼睛，她的自信笑容，就这样，她成了一名主持人，后来她的努力又调到了中央电视台，成为其“金牌主持人。”每当我在成长的路上遭受打击，就会想到周涛她那执着奋斗的身影，让我跨越过了困难的坎。她的执着，是我成长路上的不竭力量之泉。 希拉里的宽容，是刻在我内心深处的记忆。她的宽容，使她更具人格魅力。“她的书不可能卖得好，如果超过一百万，我把鞋子吃掉。” 这是一名脱口秀主持人对希拉里自传的辛辣讥讽的评价。但是，一周内，这本书就销售了一百万册。这位主持人只好把鞋子吃掉。但这味道一定棒极了，这是希拉里特意为他订做的鞋子蛋糕，其中
《人生》读后感2000字范文多篇《人生》读后感2000字 一个多月前我从市图书馆借阅了路遥的《人生》一书。因为期末工作忙碌的原因一直搁置着，现在学校放了假，我也得了空闲阅读书本。 《人生》一书的作者是路遥，然而路遥最出名的作品不是《人生》，是《平凡的世界》。《平凡的世界》是我上大学的时候顶热门的书，它和陈忠实先生的《白鹿原》一样广受赞誉，大学生群体争相阅读这两本书，我也不例外。近两年这两本书被翻拍成电视剧后传播度就更广了。但大学时期的我没有去关注路遥的其他作品，对路遥的了解仅限制于他是陕西作家，是《平凡的世界》的作者。这回看到《人生》一书也纯粹是个偶然。上图书馆去，我有一个习惯，总先去浏览一下大厅里新到的一批图书，然后再到图书馆里面去。我浏览的时候偶然发现了一本封面上有“路遥——著”字样的书就决定借阅回去看看。 也是我阅读这天，我翻开书的封面，从上面的作者简介才知道原来《人生》是路遥的成名作，改编成电影还曾轰动一时。这个简介中“轰动一时”四个字已经勾起我对这本书强烈的阅读欲望了。整个下午，我都在沉浸在这本书里。当我阅读完这本书上的最后一个字，合上书，再抬眼的时候，外面的天已经换上了黑颜色的皮肤。 书中是有关一个叫高加林的年轻人几起几落的人生故事。高加林高中毕业后分配到县里做民办教师，好景不长，他的位置叫村里的干
部走后门让自己的儿子顶去了，高加林被下岗了。作为农民的儿子，他被迫回到了养育他的村子里。尽管他极度不甘，挣扎反抗无果后，不得不屈从突如其来的生活变化，开始了田间劳作。劳作的过程中，他与一个长时间爱慕他的、没有受过教育的村里姑娘巧珍相爱了。两人在热恋期间，他的命运再次发生了变化。在外当兵多年的叔叔回到县上任劳动局局长，劳动局副局长为了讨好他叔父替他安排了一个吃公家饭的工作——县通讯员。高加林到了县城和巧珍的来往渐渐疏离了，与高中同学黄亚萍之间的联系倒日益密切了，两人为了成为恋人各自断了他们所正在处的恋爱关系。此后，巧珍嫁了村里的一位庄稼汉;高加林这不明不白的公职来历被检举，他又回到了农村。当生活再次回到起点时，他才发现，原来他所最爱的人是巧珍。可他却将这人生至宝弄丢了....... 书名是《人生》，书里的故事也谈的是人生故事，想来作者是希望读者借着书中高加林的故事叫我们思考人生。书扉页上的一段话更加印证了这一点。 这段话是给年轻人的人生警句，人生路有许多岔路口，有些路一旦走错了，人生格局就变化了。高加林就是在人生的岔路口走错了，他想走上“大路”，脱离农民成分，所以恋爱关系上，他选择了城市户口的黄亚萍，而不是目不识丁却对他情深意切的巧珍。高加林是庄稼人供养出来的读书人，也是农村和城市的混血儿，他身体里淌农村人的血液，头脑里却装着城市人的思想。他认为自己是受过教育的知识分子，高于村子里的庄稼汉。他极度渴望城市，城市却猝不及防地
读后感300字大全 而我们这些身在福中不是福的孩子是多么幸福，快乐。我们身体健康，衣来伸手，饭 来张口，父母把我们当作掌上明珠。 篇一 有一本书看了令我印象深刻，让我的视野更加宽广。书里的二十位着名人物，都有自 己的梦想，例如物理科学的女巨人-吴健雄，她在清朝末年那充满歧视的时空下，以行动 与辉煌的成果，立下女性科学家的典范。 书中的人物中，有男性也有女性，有古代也有近代，从这些人当中都有着坚持的特点。其中一位是中国物理史上举足轻重的一位女性科学家的名字-吴健雄。吴健雄高中毕业时，父亲给了一本大学物理教科书，她在暑假里念完，就喜欢上了物理。她钟情实验工作，经 常废寝忘食，甚至星期天也不休息，做得既准确又用心，但是因为是一个女性，难免有一 些性别的压力。不过她的坚持与努力之下，最后不影响在哥伦比亚大学物理系的教师升迁，还得到了诺贝尔奖，在中国也有了“中国居里夫人”的称号。 另外一位值得一提的是马拉松选手林义杰，他挑战过险恶的环境，也走过人类最危险 的地带，就算在比赛前一天生了大病，还是不放弃，并且尽力的完成它，参加下一场的比赛，勇于尝试人类的极限运动。他曾说过：“如果放弃了，就只能在旁边看。”由于坚持 自己的理想、兴趣，造就了他的不平凡。 由于他们的努力和坚持到底的决心，使得他们最后终于实现自己的梦想，迈向成功之路。所以我也要见贤思齐，学习他们的态度与特质，好好规划自己的未来，让自己的生活 更加有意义。 篇二 雷锋自幼就丧了父母、爷爷、哥哥与弟弟，共产党收留了他，从此他开始了帮助别人 的生活。 记得有一次运动会我报名参加800米跑，我可从来没跑过，不知自己行不行?报完名 的这天开始，每天晚上我就和爸爸一起去跑，第一天，跑了200多米，我就累的气喘吁吁，爸爸说：“再坚持一下，我们今天跑到300米。”于是，我咬紧牙关继续向前跑。第二天，我就跑到了400米，第三天500米……到了比赛那天，我虽然没有拿到第一名，可是我能 跑完全程了，我为自己感到骄傲。 这本书让我感悟很大，更觉得雷锋是一名英雄，在他入伍之后写了一句话，特别令我 受益，那就是“革命需要我烧木炭，我就去做张思德;革命需要我去堵枪眼，我就去做黄 继光。”
火印读书笔记600字 这本书写了坡娃从狼群中救出了一匹马，它叫雪儿。它和坡娃是一家，在野狐峪过着安静、祥和的田园生活。后来，战争爆发了，雪儿被日军强行征走，身上烙下了一枚日本军营的火印。日本军官河野看中了雪儿，想把它变成自己的坐骑。这里给大家分享一些关于火印读后感，希望对大家有所帮助。 火印读后感1 暑期里，我静静得打开了曹文轩的《火印》一书，这部书让人陶醉也让人沉迷，合上书本时，我久久地回味着，眼眶已然湿润。 一个名叫坡娃的男孩从狼嘴里救下了一匹良马，取名“雪儿”，然而可耻的日本鬼子看中抢走了它，长官河野企图驯服雪儿，但雪儿没被驯服，好几次差点要了河野的命，最终“雪儿”沦落成拉炮车的马，在那个马的地狱里，雪儿遭受了母子分离，种种欺凌，到最后日本鬼子被消灭，雪儿重新回到了坡娃身边。 就是这样的一只有思想、有人格的马深深地触动了我的神经，雪儿有思想，有喜怒哀乐，在被河野强行夺走孩子的时候，它哀鸣着;在被河野用各种手段制服时，它发怒了; 当黑狗死了的时候，它流泪了，在坡娃和它玩耍时，它快乐的奔跑、欢叫。雪
儿已经不是一匹马了，它通人性、有感情、有智慧、简直和人一样具有灵性，不，它胜过人，在那个兵荒马乱的年代，又有多少人禁不住诱惑、或苦难当了汉奸。可是，雪儿知道，它的主人只有野狐峪的坡娃，无论河野怎么训练，它都不愿意被驯服，我被它这种精神深深折服，可雪儿却因为骨肉分离而性情大变。 雪儿有魄力，河野让它做一连串“悬崖勒马”的高难度动作时，雪儿一直不肯配合，河野不断催促，雪儿竟然向悬崖跑去，看到这儿，我的心都不禁提到了嗓子口，马上就要冲出悬崖了，难道雪儿要和河野同归于尽!河野不得不紧急跳下了马，雪儿也停下了脚步!雪儿宁死也不被河野制服，我深深地佩服着。 一个个跌宕起伏的情节让我沉醉其中，曹文轩老师写的《火印》首先让我明白，我们每一个人都应该善待所有生灵，只有真心对待它们，我们才会收获每一个生灵真心的回报，真心对待动物。同时它让我想起了当年处在水深火热中的中国人民，面对日寇的欺凌、虐待、烧杀抢掠，，“火印”，是烙刻在雪儿身上的耻辱，他们更是承受着巨大的耻辱，但他们最终像雪儿一样高昂着头，赢回了尊严!可是，如今我们有些中国的学生，在国外留学，学习完了就把父母带去国外不肯回来，有的甚至连父母都不要，独自在国外生活，这些人连雪儿都比不上，雪儿爱自己的主人，知道野狐裕才是自己的家，所以无论河野如何威逼利诱都没有屈
Remarks at the Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation Womenand the Economy Summit 在亚太经合组织妇女与经济峰会上的讲话 Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton 国务卿希拉里?克林顿 Westin Saint Francis San Francisco, California 威斯汀法兰西斯酒店， 加利福尼亚州旧金山市 September 16, 2011 2011年9月16日 SECRETARY CLINTON: Good morning. Good morning. (Applause.) 国务卿克林顿：早上好，早上好。（掌声） Good morning everyone. Thank you. Thank you so much. Oh, it is absolutely a plea sure tosee all of you here today and I’ve been getting reports about the conference, and I am so excitedto join you today to talk about what we are focused on here at this Summ it on Women and theEconomy. 诸位早上好。谢谢你们。非常感谢。今天，我十分高兴在这里看到大家，我听到了有关这次大会的一些报告，能来到你们中间对你们谈谈我们在妇女与经济峰会上关注的问题，令我十分振奋。 Before I begin, I want to apologize for the delay but there were so many people wh o showedup, and because this is the largest gathering of distinguished foreign diplomats in San Francisco,since the founding of the United Nations – (applause) – there was a little more of a delay in gettingeveryone in, and there are still people outsi de we hope will be able to get in. Before I begin myremarks, let me recognize a few of o ur special guests here. We have two members of Congress,Zoe Lofgren and Jackie Speie r. Thank you very much for being with us. (Applause.) 我在开始发表讲话前，首先要为会议的延误表示歉意，但有这么多的人出席这次会议，因为这次会议是自联合国成立以来，尊贵的外国外交官在旧金山的最大聚会——（掌声）——所以要让大家都能进入会场耽误了一些时间，而现在有一些人还在会场外，希望他们都能进来。在我发表讲话前，我要提一提在座的几位特别贵宾。这里有两位国会议员，佐伊?洛夫格伦（Zoe Lofgren）和杰基?斯佩耶（Jackie Speier）。非常感谢你们同我们一起出席会议。（掌声） And we have two distinguished mayors. I want to welcome Mayor Edwin Lee and hi s wife Anitafrom right here in San Francisco. Mayor Lee? (Applause.) And Mayor Jean Quan from Oakland.Thank you for being here. (Applause.) And on a personal note I want to acknowledge a wonderfuland former chief of protocol, Charlotte Shultz. Thank you, Charlotte. (Applause.)
人生读后感范文（精选6篇） 人生读后感1 《人生》是路遥的一部中篇小说，是一部影响千万青年的励志名篇。著名导演贾樟柯说：三十年的阅读书中，对他影响最大的就是路遥的《人生》，让他对社会有了新的认识，开始思考自己的人生。 故事的主人公高加林高中毕业后回到村里当上了民办小学教师，当他很满足这个既体面又能施展才华的工作时，却被有权势的大队书记的儿子顶替了。在他痛苦绝望的时候，纯朴的农村姑娘刘巧珍闯进了他的生活，这对于高加林来说，此时巧珍的出现无疑成为了他失意时的精神慰藉。 然尔新的机遇再次降临，重新回到梦寐以求的城市。这时又让他重新遇到了他的老同学黄亚萍，与巧珍相比，黄亚萍无疑是一位现代女性，对高加林的爱大胆而炙热，这也让高加林陷入了一个艰难选择中。一边是善良单纯的乡下妹子巧珍，一边是情投意合的城里姑娘亚萍，在反复考虑后，他还是选择了黄亚萍，善良的巧珍含泪接受了他的选择。 造化弄人，当他认为一切安定，准备施展才华抱负时，高加林通过关系到城里工作的事被告发。一切又回到原点。城里的姑娘离开了，当他回到村里，巧珍也已嫁为人妇。当他褪去骄傲，认清现实后，懊悔的扑倒在地上大哭起来。 这便是路遥《人生》不是结局的结束！至于后来高加林到底怎么样了，这应该让生活回答。 读完这本书，会觉得高加林其实就像我们每一个人，有信念、有理想、会自私、会虚荣，同时又是善良的、勇敢的。人都会走弯路，跌倒了能爬起来，就有希望。人生读后感2
就在下午快要晚上的时候，我读完了路遥的又一本书《人生》。掩卷后久久不能平息。我感觉这部小说没有写完，可《人生》嘛，哪有那么完美。 故事写的是黄土高坡平平常常的生活，普普通通的家庭。路遥啊，你总是能以不同的视角描述生活，也太轻易的决定笔下人物的悲欢离合，只是让读者怎么办？ 读完这本书的时候，夏末四点的太阳在西边的天上挂着，直接照射的地方还是很热，我听着一首张晏铭的《前男友前女友》。满脑子都是“生活啊生活”。对路遥真的佩服得五体投地，这人该有多么的闲暇才能观察到这么多的生活真相，短短一支笔，勾画了很多人生。 故事主要围绕着高加林展开，一个贫苦山沟里的穷人家的孩子。生活和他开了个很大的玩笑。文中有两个字“捉弄”，可真是到位。前几章的时候，对于加林是一种同情，后来就有了点愤怒甚至是憎恨。在文中，生活才是永远的大佬，而在路遥笔下，生活才是永远的主角。包括《平凡的世界》。 如果要让我推荐一本书，我还会选《平凡的世界》，短篇小说似乎不过瘾。路遥的文章恰到好处的环境描写，对于读者理解人物带入人物有着很好的作用，而黄土高原特有的景物描写，不知道其他地方的人能不能准确的感知。 读他的书，有种在村头听故事的感觉，而且不会怀疑。 人生读后感3 简单的故事，明朗的线索，所谓的跌宕，名著《人生》即是如此。剥掉它华丽的外壳，呈现于人前的只有一个裸露的，懦弱的高加林，起码我是这样认为，就是我唯一的收获，不得不承认高加林能干，正直，热血，但这丝毫都无法掩饰他是人生指尖懦弱的颤栗者的事实。
红楼梦读后感300字作文5篇 《红楼梦》是我国18 世纪中期出现的一部古典小说。下面是的小编为你们整理的文章，希望你们能够喜欢 红楼梦读后感 想必大家都知道《红楼梦》这本书吧!《红楼梦》是古代四大名著之一。今天，我就来给大家讲一讲《红楼梦》吧! 读完《红楼梦》这本书，我最喜欢的一篇是：猜灯谜。里面讲了：元春写了一个灯谜，让弟弟妹妹们来猜。随后，宝玉他们也都纷纷自己写了一个灯谜让其他人来猜，宝玉他们除了贾环写的诗不好，其他人写的都很好。我喜欢这一篇的理由是：读了这篇，会看到那些诗，因为那些诗写的不错，所以百看不厌，其中要数探春做的是最妙。 《红楼梦》中的任务有许多，下面我就来评一评这些人物，宝玉心地善良，黛玉爱发一些小脾气，宝杈八面玲珑探春正直，以上就是这些人物的性格。我最喜欢的就是探春了，因为她的性格正直。 《红楼梦》这本书中的贾家太封建了，就是因为贾家封建导致宝玉，黛玉和宝杈三个人到最后谁都没有落到好的下场，黛玉死了，宝玉出家，宝杈一个人。如果当时让黛玉嫁给宝玉，让宝杈与其他人结婚，就不会让他们三个人谁也没有过上好日子，真是有情人终未成眷属。 红楼梦读后感 贾宝玉是《红楼梦》中几个重要的人物之一，他出生时因嘴里衔着一块五彩晶莹的宝玉，于是就名为宝玉。 他的父亲贾政在他周岁时要试他志向，便把人间好东西摆了无数在地上，任他去取，结果他别的一概不拿，只拿些脂粉，于是贾政便说这个孩子长大后必定没出息，将来必定是个色鬼。长大后宝玉说的话也奇怪，说什么：”;女儿是水做的骨肉，男人是泥做的骨肉，我见女儿便清爽，见了男子便觉浊臭逼人。”;他还傻乎乎的，时常说些别人不明不白的疯话。他喜欢和姐妹们一起玩，不爱学习，因为他觉得那
火印读后感 火印>读后感（一）：燃烧 ——读曹文轩长篇小说《火印》随感 山东寿光世纪教育集团九年级林文清 天边的红霞包裹着孤鹰翔飞的翼，刺目的夕阳光给青草镀了层厚重金，羊群洁白的绒毛变幻着深深浅浅的红，茫茫一片，有如流淌在草野上的霞海。夕阳垂下，山头仅剩了残缺的半个圆盘，在那放羊娃高声的吆喝，和羊儿的绵软叫声中，回响着那渐渐远去，而越发分明的马蹄铮铮。 自翻开《火印》第一页，我为其堪称壮烈的景物所震撼，薄暮朦胧中，炽热的光线仿佛化作了箭矢，对着广袤的草野“万箭齐发”。从此我走上了那座山头，亲眼目睹了那场恶战，听到了那“咴咴”的嘶鸣。那晚，牧羊娃抽断了羊鞭，满身伤痕，趴在父亲的肩头回望那匹雪白的马，他幼小稚嫩的眼神里满是骄傲，而他即将成长，在杀伐与刀光中成长，浸浴血且饱览泪光。 那一天云翳阴沉了，炮声响起了，静谧安详的桃源被轰出了一个豁口，拦不住的日军洪流汩汩涌入，淹过了村庄。在字里行间，通过真诚、真切的文字，我仿佛听到雪儿离开后，坡娃的哀哭。丰富的心理描写，也让一个爱马如命、霸道专横的日本军官形象展现在我的眼前，他的征服欲，他军官的威严，燃烧，升腾，飘摇在他战胜、战败、死亡的路上。而在日军粗暴血腥的行为里，在他们肮脏的精神堆里，却有稻叶的天真无暇，这是令我欣赏《火印》的一点。中国人民眼中无恶不作、万恶不赦的日本鬼子中，也有人性的美好，有稻叶对马儿的无微不至，有河野不让稻叶上前线的对于纯真的保留，正是这些，让小说的情感趋于完整，使“人”的样子展现得更为完美。 我忘不了那个瘦腿伤的小哥。我爱他的斗志，我爱他的热情，他流血的伤口也喷薄着上战场的豪情。也许，他决斗的信念来自于他看到那个拄着拐杖、独腿的娃，和他牵着的那匹良驹，他有军人的诚信，军人的执着，说活着回来，就活着回来，说胜利，就没有失败。 “火印”，是烙刻在雪儿身上的耻辱，是耀目的对坡娃精神的折磨，却也是磨砺中成长的见证，是复仇后永存的战利品。在坡娃与雪儿身上，我仿佛看到了中华民族无限的光辉，从苏醒到饱受折磨，到顽强拼搏，至今的伟大复兴。雪儿的抬首，是民族的觉醒；冲破云霄的嘶鸣，是人们不屈的呐喊；坡娃的十七岁，是新中国的成立。 在《火印》中，我读到了抗战民族的英勇无畏，看见了觉醒人民的壮志豪情，那泼洒的鲜血灌满了满地的炮坑，残损的骨架支起了倒塌的房屋，那是无数人类用骨血铺出的平坦大道，四处弥漫的、照耀的，是崇高的灵魂，是人性的光芒。“多一个人读奥威尔，就多了一分自由的保证”，多一个人读曹文轩，就多了一份生命的敬仰！ 夕阳落下，那远方升起的燃着白焰的火球，投射下皎洁的光，覆盖在暗色的草原上，羊群离去，牧羊娃的歌声戛然而止，他立在山头，眺望着，聆听着，那远处至高山峰上燃烧的黑影，仰首抬蹄，以悬崖勒马的绝美姿态，发出了“咴咴”的嘶鸣。 （辅导老师：张冠秀） 火印读后感（二）：耻辱与尊严 青岛桦川路小学邹毓家 曹文轩所著的儿童长篇小说《火印》，为我们描述了一匹马。它智慧、勇敢，它遭受耻辱，它奋勇抗争，最终赢得尊严。 它的名字叫雪儿，是坡娃从狼群中舍命救回的一匹小马驹。它泛蓝光的白毛，蓝黑