词汇：pot

n. 罐；壶；盆

相关场景

b-p-ph-f-v:
bottle - pot
瓶壶
>> words
PANNING to show a glassed-in studio attached to the house. Outside it is a quiet morning in Ojai, California. In the studio, amid incredible clutter, an ANCIENT WOMAN is throwing a pot on a potter's wheel. The liquid red clay covers her hands... hands that are gnarled and age-spotted, but still surprisingly strong and supple. A woman in her early forties assists her.
>> 泰坦尼克号 Titanic (1997) Movie Script
Sometimes she cooks a pot roast.
>> 闻香识女人Scent of a Woman 1992 Movie Script
Leave you alone for a minute, look what happens. Everything's gone to pot.
>> Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End加勒比海盗：世界的尽头 Movie Script
So whose fault is it, really, that you've ended up a rum-pot deckhand what takes orders from pirates?
>> Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest 加勒比海盗2：聚魂棺Movie Script
COMA:
Ever hear of mai-tai's? Comes in a big...pot. Like...like...
>> Pearl Harbor 珍珠港（2001） Movie Script
INT DAY:
DON'S KITCHEN (WINTER 1945) CLEMENZA is in the kitchen, cooking over an enormous pot.
>> The Godfather教父 1972 Movie Script
It's just pot, okay?
这只是锅，好吗？
>> 成人世界 Adult World (2013) Movie Script
San De puts the tea leaves into the pot, then soaks them with boiling water. He pours the water out, then repeats the process several times. His movements are all very precise and careful – it almost looks like a martial art kata.
>> 花旗小和尚 American Shaolin (1992) Movie Script
You got pots to clean!
>> 美国往事Once Upon a Time in America Movie Script
So she walked into the room. Betsey had just won a hand. She whooped, for she loved to beat her sister. She was a beautiful child, with curls that would drive men mad some day. “I won the pot, Ma,” she said, and then saw by the grave set of Clara’s face that something was wrong.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
But she put it off, and in time got well enough to walk. She didn’t go far, just to the door, to get a chamber pot or put one out of the room—the heat made the smells worse. Even Zwey had finally taken off his buffalo coat—he stood at the window in an old shirt, with holes worn in it so that the thick hairs of his chest poked through.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“We’re about to eat,” he said. “It’s a free country, so my advice to you would be to make camp where you choose. I’ll borrow a pot from our cook and bring you some grub once you get settled.” “I’m much obliged,” Augustus said. “Noticed a tree in these parts?” “No, sir,” Wilbarger said. “If there was a tree in these parts I’d be sitting under it.” They made camp on the plain. Wilbarger was as good as his word. In an hour he returned with a small pack mule. Besides an ample pot of beefsteak and beans he brought a small tent.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Augustus decided to rest while the old man worked. Such camp as there was was rudimentary. Aus had dug a little cave in one of the red bluffs south of the river, and his gear was piled in front of it. There was a buffalo gun and a few pots and pans, and that was it. The main crossing was a mile downriver, and Augustus rode down to inspect it before unsaddling.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
But in the morning they were right where they had gone to sleep, wet as muskrats but ready to drink a pot of coffee.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I don’t know. Thousands,” July said. “I’ve heard south Texas is nothing but cattle.” Though the herd was in progress, the camp crew wasn’t. The cook was packing his pots and skillets into a wagon.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I hope there’s still some coffee in the pot,” he said, when he dismounted. “I’ve usually had ten biscuits by this time of day, not to mention some honey and a few eggs. Got any eggs, Lorie?” “No, but we got bacon,” she said. “I’ll fry you some.” Augustus looked around with amusement at the muddy camp.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
When he sat up, she eased out from under him. He looked around with no recognition. She dressed and helped him dress, then got him propped against a big shade tree. She made a little fire, thinking some coffee might help him. While she was getting the pot out of the pack she heard a splashing and looked up to see a black man ride his horse into the river from the other side. Soon the horse was swimming, but the black man didn’t seem frightened. The horse waded out, dripping, and the black man dismounted and let it shake itself.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“You’ll have to pardon the grub,” Augustus said. “Bol has learned to season but he forgot to learn to cook.” Bolivar was resting comfortably against a wagon wheel and ignored the sally. He was wavering in his mind whether to stay or go. He did not like travel—the thought of it made him unhappy. And yet, when he went home to Mexico he felt unhappy too, for his wife was disappointed in him and let him know it every day. He had never been sure what she wanted—after all, their children were beautiful—but whatever it was, he had not been able to give it to her. His daughters were his delight, but they would soon all marry and be gone, leaving him no protection from his wife. Probably he would shoot his wife if he went home. He had shot an irritating horse, right out from under himself. A man’s patience sometimes simply snapped. He had shot the horse right between the ears and then found it difficult to get the saddle off,once the horse fell. Probably he would shoot his wife in the same way, if he went home. Many times he had been tempted to shoot one or another of the members of the Hat Creek outfit, but of course if he did that he would be immediately shot in return. Every day he thought he might go home, but he didn’t. It was easier to stay and cut up a few snakes into the cook pot than to listen to his wife complain.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
But this time he didn’t seem to notice that dust was sifting out of his clothes onto the floor. When he opened his pants and pulled his shirttail out a little trickle of sand came with it. The night was stifling and Jake so sandy that by the time he got through there was so much dirt in the bed that they might as well have been wallowing around on the ground. There were little lines of mud on her belly where sweat had caked the dust. She didn’t resent it, particularly—it was better than smoke pots and mosquitoes.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“You boys must have been raised on satin pillows,” he said. “If you’d rangered you’d have got a taste for snake long ago.” He then proceeded to give them a lecture on the culinary properties of rattlesnake—a lecture that Jasper, for one, received rather stiffly. It might be superior to chicken, rabbit and possum, as Gus claimed, but that didn’t mean he wanted to eat it. His visits to the stewpot became a source of irritation to everyone; he would fish around in the pot for several minutes, seeking portions of meat that he could feel confident hadn’t come from a snake. Such delicacy exacerbated the rest of the crew, who were usually so hungry by suppertime that they could ill abide waits.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
But Jake was the opposite of nervous. Before he even spoke to her he smiled at her several times in the most relaxed way—not in the bragging way Tinkersley had when he smiled. Tinkersley’s smile had said plainly enough that he felt she ought to be grateful for the chance to do whatever he wanted her to do. Of course she was grateful to him for taking her away from Mosby and the smoke pots, but once she had been away for a while she came to hate Tinkersley’s smile.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“A man that sleeps all night wastes too much of life,” he often said. “As I see it the days was made for looking and the nights for sport.” Since sport was what he had been brooding about when he got home, it was still in his thoughts when he arose, which he did about 4 A.M., to see to the breakfast—in his view too important a meal to entrust to a Mexican bandit. The heart of his breakfast was a plenitude of sourdough biscuits, which he cooked in a Dutch oven out in the backyard. His pot dough had been perking along happily for over ten years, and the first thing he did upon rising was check it out. The rest of the breakfast was secondary, just a matter of whacking off a few slabs of bacon and frying a panful of pullet eggs. Bolivar could generally be trusted to deal with the coffee.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
When she played, she changed, particularly if she won a little—Augustus frequently did his best to help her win a little, just to see the process take place. The child in her was briefly reborn—she didn’t chatter, but she did occasionally laugh out loud, and her cloudy eyes cleared and became animated. Once in a while, when she won a really good pot, she would give Augustus a little punch with her fist. It pleased him when that happened—it was good to see the girl enjoying herself.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“That hat looks about like a buffalo cud,” Augustus said. “A hat ain’t meant to be a chamber pot, you know. If I was you I’d throw it away.” Lippy was so named because his lower lip was about the size of the flap on a saddlebag. He could tuck enough snuff under it to last a normal person at least a month; in general the lip lived a life of its own, there toward the bottom of his face.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇