词汇：write

vi. 写，写字；写作，作曲；写信

相关场景

“Dangerous to write to two women at the same time,” he said. “Especially when I’m this lightheaded. I might not be as particular in my sentiments as women expect a fellow to be.” But he wrote on. Then Call saw his hand drop and thought he was dead. He wasn’t, but he was too weak to fold the second note. Call folded it for him.“Woodrow, quite a party,” Augustus said.>>完整场景

“Take the sign back and stick it over my grave.” “Have you wrote them notes for the women yet?” Call asked. “I won’t know what to say to them, you see.” “Dern, I forgot, and my two favorite women, too,” Augustus said. “Get me some paper.” The doctor had brought in a tablet for Augustus to write his will on. Augustus drew himself up and slowly wrote two notes.>>完整场景

“I might write books,” Clara said. “I’ve a hankering to try it. But then it’ll come a pretty morning and I see the horses grazing and think how I’d miss them. So I doubt I’ll get off to Richmond.” Just then the baby began to cry, squirming in his hands. July looked at Clara, but she made no effort to take the baby. July didn’t know what to do. He was afraid he might drop the child, who twisted in his hands like a rabbit and yelled so loud he turned red as a beet.>>完整场景

“Bad men would have a better team,” Clara said. “Find any colts?” Cholo shook his head. His hair was white—Clara had never been able to get his age out of him, but she imagined he was seventy-five at least, perhaps eighty. At night by the fire, with the work done, Cholo wove horsehair lariats. Clara loved to watch the way his fingers worked. When a horse died or had to be killed, Cholo always saved its mane and tail for his ropes. He could weave them of rawhide too, and once had made one for her of buckskin, although she didn’t rope. Bob had been puzzled by the gift—“Clara couldn’t rope a post,” he said—but Clara was not puzzled at all. She had been very pleased. It was a beautiful gift; Cholo had the finest manners. She knew he appreciated her as she appreciated him. That was the year she bought him the coat. Sometimes, reading her magazines, she would look up and see Cholo weaving a rope and imagine that if she ever did try to write a story she would write it about him. It would be very different from any of the stories she read in the English magazines.>>完整场景

She longed, sometimes, to talk to a person who actually wrote stories and had them printed in magazines. It interested her to speculate how it was done: whether they used people they knew, or just made people up. Once she had even ordered some big writing tablets, thinking she might try it anyway, even if she didn’t know how, but that was in the hopeful years before her boys died. With all the work that had to be done she never actually sat down and tried to write anything—and then the boys died and her feeling changed. Once the sight of the writing tablets had made her hopeful, but after those deaths it ceased to matter. The tablets were just another reproach to her, something willful she had wanted. She burned the tablets one day, trembling with anger and pain, as if the paper and not the weather had been somehow responsible for the deaths of her boys. And, for a time, she stopped reading the magazines. The stories in them seemed hateful to her: how could people talk that way and spend their time going to balls and parties, when children died and had to be buried?>>完整场景

Reading stories by all the women, not only George Eliot, but Mrs. Gore and Mrs. Gaskell and Charlotte Yonge, she sometimes had a longing to do what those women did—write stories. But those women lived in cities or towns and had many friends and relatives nearby. It discouraged her to look out the window at the empty plains and reflect that even if she had the eloquence to write, and the time, she had nothing to write about. With Maude Jones dead, she seldom saw another woman, and had no relatives near except her husband and her children. There was an aunt in Cincinnati, but they only exchanged letters once or twice a year. Her characters would have to be the horses and the hens, if she ever wrote, for the menfolk that came by weren’t interesting enough to put in books, it seemed to her. None of them were capable of the kind of talk men managed in English novels.>>完整场景

“I got to go,” she said. “If you ever do find Ellie, tell her I still got that blue dress she gave me. If she ever wants it back she’ll have to write.” July nodded. Jennie gave him a final look, half pitying, half exasperated, and hurried on down the stairs.>>完整场景

“I guess somebody died and you’ve got to write their folks, is that it?” the clerk said.>>完整场景

“You can write it right here at the window,” the clerk said. “We’re not doing much business today.” July started, and then, to his embarrassment, began to cry again. His memories were too sad, his hopes too thin. To have to say things on paper seemed a terrible task, for it stirred the memories.>>完整场景

He bought an envelope, a stamp and a couple of sheets of writing paper, and the clerk, who seemed kindly, loaned him a pencil to write with.>>完整场景

“Why, yes,” July said again. “I’m surprised you know.” “Oh, just guessing,” the man said. “I think I got a letter for you here somewhere.” July remembered they had told Peach and Charlie they might stop in Fort Worth and try to get wind of Jake and, ofcourse, Elmira. He had only mentioned it—it had never occurred to him that anyone might want to write him. At the thought that the letter might be from Elmira, his heart beat faster. If it was, he intended to ask for his own letter back so he could write her a proper answer.>>完整场景

Actually, as much as anything, July wanted to stop in Fort Worth to post her a letter he had written. It seemed to him she might be getting lonesome and would enjoy some mail. Yet the letter he composed, though he had labored over it several nights, was such a poor composition that he had debated sending it. He hesitated, for if it struck her wrong she would make fun of it. But he felt a need to write and lamented the fact that he was such a poor hand at it. The letter was very short.>>完整场景

“Why wouldn’t they?” Call asked. “We ain’t been around.” “That ain’t the reason—the reason is we didn’t die,” Augustus said. “Now Travis lost his fight, and he’ll get in the history books when someone writes up this place. If a thousand Comanches had cornered us in some gully and wiped us out, like the Sioux just done Custer, they’d write songs about us for a hundred years.” It struck Call as a foolish remark. “I doubt there was ever a thousand Comanches in one bunch,” he said. “If there had been they would have taken Washington, D.C.” But the more Augustus thought about the insults they had been offered in the bar—a bar where once they had been hailed as heroes—the more it bothered him.>>完整场景

“You may think it a pity,” Wilbarger said. “I can call it a blessing. I suppose you wrote that sign.” “That’s right,” Augustus said. “Want me to write you one?” “No, I ain’t ready for the sanatorium yet,” Wilbarger said. “I never expected to meet Latin in this part of Texas but I guess education has spread.” “How’d you round up that much stock without horses?” Call asked, hoping to get the conversation back around to business.>>完整场景

Augustus didn’t say a word about the motto, and it was a good two months before anybody even noticed it, which showed how unobservant the citizens of Lonesome Dove really were. It galled Augustus severely that no one appreciated the fact that he had thought to write a Latin motto on a sign that all visitors could see as they rode in, though in fact those riding in took as little note of it as those already in, perhaps because getting to Lonesome Dove was such a hot, exhausting business. The few people who accomplished it were in no mood to stop and study erudite signs.>>完整场景

“Josh,” he said, one night after supper, to the surprise of everyone. “Why, I’m Josh. Can you write that, Mr. Gus?” “Josh is short for Joshua,” Augustus said. “I can write either one of them. Joshua’s the longest.” “Write the longest,” Deets said. “I’m too busy for a short name.” That made no particular sense, nor were they ever able to get Deets to specify how he happened to remember that Josh was his other name. Augustus wrote him on the sign as “Deets, Joshua,” since he had already written the “Deets.” Fortunately Deets’s vanity did not extend to needing a title, although Augustus was tempted to write him in as a prophet—it would have gone with the “Joshua,” but Call had a fit when he mentioned it.>>完整场景

The men stopped on the far side of the lots to read the sign Augustus had put up when the Hat Creek outfit had gone in business. All Call wanted on the sign was the simple words Hat Creek Livery Stable, but Augustus could not be persuaded to stop at a simple statement like that. It struck him that it would be best to put their rates on the sign. Call had been for tacking up one board with the name on it to let people know a livery stable was available, but Augustus thought that hopelessly unsophisticated; he bestirred himself and found an old plank door that had blown off somebody’s root cellar, perhaps by the same wind that had taken their roof. He nailed the door onto one corner of the corrals, facing the road, so that the first thing most travelers saw when entering the town was the sign. In the end he and Call argued so much about what was to go on the sign that Call got disgusted and washed his hands of the whole project.That suited Augustus fine, since he considered that he was the only person in Lonesome Dove with enough literary talent to write a sign. When the weather was fair he would go sit in the shade the sign cast and think of ways to improve it; in the two or three years since they had put it up he had thought of so many additions to the original simple declaration that practically the whole door was covered.>>完整场景

I write books on, uh-- mainly non-fiction books.>>完整场景

Man:

Jim Dawson is my name, and I write books.>>完整场景

And I teach a module on how to write humor.>>完整场景

He's got nothing better to do than write tickets?>>完整场景

I want you to write it for me.>>完整场景

- Write what?>>完整场景

Don't worry, Mr Tatum. They just want me to write something for them.>>完整场景

And I'll write him a letter and tell him I'm doing my duty.>>完整场景