یادگیری زبان انگلیسی
در این وبلاگ میتوانید زبان انگلیسی را بیاموزید
یادگیری زبان انگلیسی
در این وبلاگ میتوانید زبان انگلیسی را بیاموزیدداستان بشکه آمونتیلادو (The Cask of Amontillado) نوشته ی ادگار آلن پو با ترجمه فارسی
The Cask of Amontillado
Edgar Allan Poe
THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. AT LENGTH I would be avenged; this was a point definitively settled -- but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile NOW was at the thought of his immolation.
He had a weak point -- this Fortunato -- although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian MILLIONAIRES. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen , was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.
Edgar Allan Poe
THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. AT LENGTH I would be avenged; this was a point definitively settled -- but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile NOW was at the thought of his immolation.
He had a weak point -- this Fortunato -- although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian MILLIONAIRES. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen , was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.
اصطلاحات زبان انگلیسی با کلمات (آب - باد - خاک - آتش)
1- خودم را به آب و آتش زدم تا این کار را انجام بدم.
I went through fire and water to do it.
2- او و مادر زنش آبشون تو یک جوی نمیرود.
He does not hit it off with his mother-in-law.
3- آدم آب زیرکاهی است.
He is as slippery as an ell.
4- هیچ وقت آب خوش از گلوم پایین نرفت.
I never had a carefree moment.
5- دهانم را آب انداخت.
It made my mouth water.
ادامه مطلب ...داستان The Tell-Tale Heart (قلب رازگو) نوشته ادگار آلن پو با ترجمه فارسی
The Tell-Tale Heart
by
Edgar Allan Poe
TRUE! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily --how calmly I can tell you the whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees --very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded --with what caution --with what foresight --with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it --oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly --very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously --cautiously (for the hinges creaked) --I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights --every night just at midnight --but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.
by
Edgar Allan Poe
TRUE! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily --how calmly I can tell you the whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees --very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded --with what caution --with what foresight --with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it --oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly --very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously --cautiously (for the hinges creaked) --I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights --every night just at midnight --but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.
داستان هیس اثر آنتون چخوف با ترجمه فارسی
HUSH!
Anton Chekhov
IVAN YEGORITCH KRASNYHIN, a fourth-rate journalist, returns home late at night, grave and careworn, with a peculiar air of concentration. He looks like a man expecting a police-raid or contemplating suicide. Pacing about his rooms he halts abruptly, ruffles up his hair, and says in the tone in which Laertes announces his intention of avenging his sister:
"Shattered, soul-weary, a sick load of misery on the heart . . . and then to sit down and write. And this is called life! How is it nobody has described the agonizing discord in the soul of a writer who has to amuse the crowd when his heart is heavy or to shed tears at the word of command when his heart is light? I must be playful, coldly unconcerned, witty, but what if I am weighed down with misery, what if I am ill, or my child is dying or my wife in anguish!"
He says this, brandishing his fists and rolling his eyes. . . . Then he goes into the bedroom and wakes his wife.
"Nadya," he says, "I am sitting down to write. . . . Please don't let anyone interrupt me. I can't write with children crying or cooks snoring. . . . See, too, that there's tea and . . . steak or something. . . . You know that I can't write without tea. . . . Tea is the one thing that gives me the energy for my work."
ادامه مطلب ...
Anton Chekhov
IVAN YEGORITCH KRASNYHIN, a fourth-rate journalist, returns home late at night, grave and careworn, with a peculiar air of concentration. He looks like a man expecting a police-raid or contemplating suicide. Pacing about his rooms he halts abruptly, ruffles up his hair, and says in the tone in which Laertes announces his intention of avenging his sister:
"Shattered, soul-weary, a sick load of misery on the heart . . . and then to sit down and write. And this is called life! How is it nobody has described the agonizing discord in the soul of a writer who has to amuse the crowd when his heart is heavy or to shed tears at the word of command when his heart is light? I must be playful, coldly unconcerned, witty, but what if I am weighed down with misery, what if I am ill, or my child is dying or my wife in anguish!"
He says this, brandishing his fists and rolling his eyes. . . . Then he goes into the bedroom and wakes his wife.
"Nadya," he says, "I am sitting down to write. . . . Please don't let anyone interrupt me. I can't write with children crying or cooks snoring. . . . See, too, that there's tea and . . . steak or something. . . . You know that I can't write without tea. . . . Tea is the one thing that gives me the energy for my work."
داستان سایه اثر ادگار آلن پو با ترجمه فارسی
SHADOW–A PARABLE
by Edgar Allan Poe
1850
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the Shadow:
Psalm of David.
YE who read are still among the living; but I who write shall have long since gone my way into the region of shadows. For indeed strange things shall happen, and secret things be known, and many centuries shall pass away, ere these memorials be seen of men. And, when seen, there will be some to disbelieve, and some to doubt, and yet a few who will find much to ponder upon in the characters here graven with a stylus of iron.
The year had been a year of terror, and of feelings more intense than terror for which there is no name upon the earth. For many prodigies and signs had taken place, and far and wide, over sea and land, the black wings of the Pestilence were spread abroad. To those, nevertheless, cunning in the stars, it was not unknown that the heavens wore an aspect of ill; and to me, the Greek Oinos, among others, it was evident that now had arrived the alternation of that seven hundred and ninety-fourth year when, at the entrance of Aries, the planet Jupiter is conjoined with the red ring of the terrible Saturnus. The peculiar spirit of the skies, if I mistake not greatly, made itself manifest, not only in the physical orb of the earth, but in the souls, imaginations, and meditations of mankind.
ادامه مطلب ...
by Edgar Allan Poe
1850
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the Shadow:
Psalm of David.
YE who read are still among the living; but I who write shall have long since gone my way into the region of shadows. For indeed strange things shall happen, and secret things be known, and many centuries shall pass away, ere these memorials be seen of men. And, when seen, there will be some to disbelieve, and some to doubt, and yet a few who will find much to ponder upon in the characters here graven with a stylus of iron.
The year had been a year of terror, and of feelings more intense than terror for which there is no name upon the earth. For many prodigies and signs had taken place, and far and wide, over sea and land, the black wings of the Pestilence were spread abroad. To those, nevertheless, cunning in the stars, it was not unknown that the heavens wore an aspect of ill; and to me, the Greek Oinos, among others, it was evident that now had arrived the alternation of that seven hundred and ninety-fourth year when, at the entrance of Aries, the planet Jupiter is conjoined with the red ring of the terrible Saturnus. The peculiar spirit of the skies, if I mistake not greatly, made itself manifest, not only in the physical orb of the earth, but in the souls, imaginations, and meditations of mankind.
داستان A Rose for Emily با ترجمه فارسی
A Rose for Emily
William Faulkner
I
WHEN Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant--a combined gardener and cook--had seen in at least ten years.
It was a big, squarish frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the seventies, set on what had once been our most select street. But garages and cotton gins had encroached and obliterated even the august names of that neighborhood; only Miss Emily's house was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps-an eyesore among eyesores. And now Miss Emily had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.
Alive, Miss Emily had been a tradition, a duty, and a care; a sort of hereditary obligation upon the town, dating from that day in 1894 when Colonel Sartoris, the mayor--he who fathered the edict that no Negro woman should appear on the streets without an apron-remitted her taxes, the dispensation dating from the death of her father on into perpetuity. Not that Miss Emily would have accepted charity. Colonel Sartoris invented an involved tale to the effect that Miss Emily's father had loaned money to the town, which the town, as a matter of business, preferred this way of repaying. Only a man of Colonel Sartoris' generation and thought could have invented it, and only a woman could have believed it.
When the next generation, with its more modern ideas, became mayors and aldermen, this arrangement created some little dissatisfaction. On the first of the year they mailed her a tax notice. February came, and there was no reply. They wrote her a formal letter, asking her to call at the sheriff's office at her convenience. A week later the mayor wrote her himself, offering to call or to send his car for her, and received in reply a note on paper of an archaic shape, in a thin, flowing calligraphy in faded ink, to the effect that she no longer went out at all. The tax notice was also enclosed, without comment.
ادامه مطلب ...
William Faulkner
I
WHEN Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant--a combined gardener and cook--had seen in at least ten years.
It was a big, squarish frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the seventies, set on what had once been our most select street. But garages and cotton gins had encroached and obliterated even the august names of that neighborhood; only Miss Emily's house was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps-an eyesore among eyesores. And now Miss Emily had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.
Alive, Miss Emily had been a tradition, a duty, and a care; a sort of hereditary obligation upon the town, dating from that day in 1894 when Colonel Sartoris, the mayor--he who fathered the edict that no Negro woman should appear on the streets without an apron-remitted her taxes, the dispensation dating from the death of her father on into perpetuity. Not that Miss Emily would have accepted charity. Colonel Sartoris invented an involved tale to the effect that Miss Emily's father had loaned money to the town, which the town, as a matter of business, preferred this way of repaying. Only a man of Colonel Sartoris' generation and thought could have invented it, and only a woman could have believed it.
When the next generation, with its more modern ideas, became mayors and aldermen, this arrangement created some little dissatisfaction. On the first of the year they mailed her a tax notice. February came, and there was no reply. They wrote her a formal letter, asking her to call at the sheriff's office at her convenience. A week later the mayor wrote her himself, offering to call or to send his car for her, and received in reply a note on paper of an archaic shape, in a thin, flowing calligraphy in faded ink, to the effect that she no longer went out at all. The tax notice was also enclosed, without comment.
داستان صدای چکمه /Hobnail نوشته ی Crystal Arbogast + ترجمه فارسی
فانی پوتیت عروسک پارچهای محبوبش را زیر بغلش گرفت و چهار زانو جلوی ایوان خانه دایی جونز نشست.خورشید دیرهنگام بعدازظهری از میان برگهای درخت بزرگ بلوط میتابید و نور لرزانش را به روی اتاق میانداخت. تمام حواس بچه را نور طلایی خورشید به خود معطوف کرده بود و به گونهای نگاهش به بالا دوخته شده بود که انگار هیپنوتیزم شده است. صدای صحبت یکنواختی از اتاق میآمد.
«الن خوشحالم که امروز با ما به کلیسا اومدی. چرا شب نمیمونی؟ دیگه خیلی دیر شده، قبل از اینکه به خونه برسی هوا تاریک میشه.»
مادر فانی جواب داد: مهم نیست سالی. میدونی که لیج به شام چقدر حساسه! برای اون و پسرا غذا روی اجاق گذاشتم ولی دوست داره فانی و من خونه باشیم. از این گذشته دوست داره دربارة اینکه زن سام بورث تونسته اون رو به کلیسا بکشونه یا نه، خبری بشنوه.»
صدای خنده مادرش، افکار بچه را که غرق فکر بود پاره کرد، بلند شد و ایستاد. لباسش را روی زیرپیراهنی بیرون آمدهاش کشید و توی اتاق رفت.
«فانی شال گردنت رو بردار. وقتی خورشید غروب کنه، هوا سرد میشه.»
همانطور که دختر کوچولو داشت به طرف صندلی کنار بخاری میرفت تا شال گردنش را بردارد، دایی با یک فانوس از در پشتی توی اتاق آمد.
«الن، لازمت میشه. فتیلهاش تازهست و برات پرش کردم.»
دانلود رایگان نمونه سوالات نیمسال اول ۹۲-۹۱ رشته مترجمی – زبان و ادبیات انگلیسی پیام نور
این مجموعه کاملترین آرشیـــــــــــــــــو رایگـــــــــــان نمونه سوالات نیمسال اول ۹۲-۹۱ رشته مترجمی – زبان و ادبیات انگلیسی پیام نور موجود در اینترنت می باشد
تمام نمونه سوالات به صورت لینک مستقیم می باشد.
تمام
نمونه سوالات به صورت فایل پی دی اف می باشد که برای استفاده از آنها باید
برنامه ای را جهت باز کردن فایلهای پی دی اف – PDF – داشته باشید که با
برنامه کم حجم زیر می توانید نمونه سوالات را مشاهده نمایید.
ادامه مطلب ...
دانلود رایگان نمونه سوالات نیمسال اول ۹۰-۸۹ رشته مترجمی – زبان و ادبیات انگلیسی پیام نور
این مجموعه کاملترین آرشیو رایگان نمونه سوالات نیمسال اول ۹۰-۸۹ رشته مترجمی – زبان و ادبیات انگلیسی موجود در اینترنت می باشد
تمام نمونه سوالات به صورت فایل پی دی اف می باشد که برای استفاده از آنها باید برنامه ای را جهت باز کردن فایلهای پی دی اف – PDF – داشته باشید که با برنامه کم حجم زیر می توانید نمونه سوالات را مشاهده نمایید.
یادگیری زبان به وسیله ی کامپیوتر
پیشرفت های اخیر در آموزش زبان توسط نرم افزارهای کامپیوتری، به سرعت به یکی از منابع آموزشی برای کلاس های زبان تبدیل شده است.مزایای استفاده از برنامه های کامپیوتری در یادگیری زبان که توسط warschauer و healey ارائه شده است :
۱. تمرینات چند وجهی به همراه بازخورد
۲. شخصی سازی در یک کلاس بزرگ
۳. جفتی و با تشکیل گروه های کوچک بر روی پروژه کار می کنند که می تواند حالت همکاری و یا رقابتی داشته باشد.
۴. وجود جنبه ی سرگرمی و تفریح
۵. تنوع منابع و شیوه های یادگیری ادامه مطلب ...