我的心灵藏书馆：茶花女全英文原版名著软精装珍藏版 [The Lady of the Camelias] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书下载 2025

简体网页||繁体网页

☆☆☆☆☆

[法] A·小仲马（Dumas Fils A.）著，彭萍编，胡婷婷注

图书标签:

经典文学
法国文学
浪漫主义
爱情小说
悲剧
名著
外文原版
茶花女
亚历山大· Dumas (fils)
软精装

下载链接在页面底部

facebook linkedin mastodon messenger pinterest reddit telegram twitter viber vkontakte whatsapp 复制链接

想要找书就要到新城书站

book.cndgn.com

立刻按 ctrl+D收藏本页

你会得到大惊喜!!

出版社：中国宇航出版社

ISBN：9787515901152

版次：1

商品编码：10914375

包装：软精装

丛书名：我的心灵藏书馆

外文名称：The Lady of the Camelias

开本：32开

出版时间：2012-01-01

用纸：胶版纸

页数：302

正文语种：英文

具体描述

产品特色

编辑推荐

　　国际摄影大师迈克尔·弗里曼又一力作，作为首部讲解摄影“想法”与“创意”的图书，荣获“色影无忌2012年度编辑推荐奖”
　　《摄影师的思想：迈克尔·弗里曼摄影构思与创作》是《摄影师的视界》等多部超级畅销摄影书的作者的首部讲解摄影“想法”与“创意”的图书
　　作者在中国市场已积累较高人气与知名度，深受广大摄影爱好者追捧
　　综合拍摄技法、摄影美学风格及摄影创作潮流讲解，旨在提高读者摄影创作水准

海报：

内容简介

　　任何影像均源自摄影师对被摄对象的认知、思考与再表达。摄影师的思想主导了影像最终呈现在观者面前的状态。没有思想，影像就失去力量。《摄影师的思想——迈克尔·弗里曼摄影构思与创作》是知名摄影师迈克尔·弗里曼继超级畅销书《摄影师的视界》之后的又一力作。承继前书对摄影构图与设计的讨论，《摄影师的思想——迈克尔·弗里曼摄影构思与创作》对摄影的构思、审美与创作思路作出更深层次的探究，为读者从根本上揭开优秀摄影作品的秘密。
　　《摄影师的思想：迈克尔·弗里曼摄影构思与创作》共分为三章，第一章阐述了摄影的视觉属性，论述了关于拍摄对象、摄影题材、摄影角度、摄影审美以及影像意义等方面的话题。第二章针对摄影风格、摄影构图以及视觉元素展开讨论。第三章旨在引导读者进行有意义的摄影创作与实践，通过独特的创作思路和切入角度获得理想的摄影作品。
　　《摄影师的思想：迈克尔·弗里曼摄影构思与创作》适合摄影爱好者、摄影师、影像艺术家、媒体人员等阅读，亦适合艺术专业学生和教师作为研究于教学之用。
　　

作者简介

　　小仲马的全名为亚历山大·仲马（Alexandre Dumas，1824-1895），是19世纪法国著名小说家、戏剧家，是作家大仲马与一名穷苦女工的私生子。小仲马7岁时大仲马才认其为子，但仍拒不认其母为妻。私生子的身世使小仲马在童年和少年时代受尽世人的讥诮。这种痛苦境遇对他的一生产生了深刻影响，使他后来的文学创作大多以探讨社会道德问题为主题，在作品中大力宣扬家庭及婚姻的神圣。

精彩书摘

　　Illness like the one to which Armand had succumbed have at least this much to be said for them：they either kill you at once or let them selves be conquered very quickly.　　A fortnight after the events which I have just recounted，Armand was convalescing very satisfactorily， and we were bound by a firm friend ship.I had scarcely left his sick room throughout the whole time of his illness.　　Spring had dispensed its flowers ，leaves，birds，and harmomes mabundance，and my friend's window cheerfully overlooked his garden which wafted its healthy draughts up to him.　　The doctor had allowed him to get up，and we often sat talking by the open window at that hour of the day when the sun is at it swarmest，between noon and two o'clock.I studiously avoided speaking to him of Marguerite，for I was still a fraid that the name would reawaken some sad memory which slumbered beneath the sick man's apparent calm. But Armand，on the contrary，seemed to take pleasure in speaking of her-not as he had done previously，with tears in his eyes，but with a gentle smile whichallayed my fears for his state of mind.I had noticed that， since his last visit to the cemetery and thespectacle which had been responsible for causing his seriousbreakdown，the measure of his mental anguish seemed to have been taken by his physical illness， and Marguerite's death had ceased to present itself through the eyes of the past.A kind of solace had come with the certainty he had acquired and，to drive off the somber image which often thrust itself into his mind，he plunged into the happier memories of his affair with Marguerite and appeared willing to recall no others.His body was too exhausted by his attack of fever，and even by it streat ment，to allow his mind to acknowledge any violent emotions，and despite himself the universal joy of spring by which Armand was surrounded directed his thoughts to happier images.All this time，he had stubbornly refused to inform his family of the peril he was in，and when the danger was past，his father still knew nothing of his illness.One evening，we had remained longer by the window than usual.The weather had been superb and the sun was setting in a brilliant twilight of blue and gold. Although we were in Paris， the greenery around us seemed to cut us off from the world，and only the rare sound of a passing carriage from time to time disturbed our conversation.　　"It was about this time of year，and during the evening of a day like today，that I first met Marguerite，" said Armand， heedingo his own thoughts rather than what I was saying.　　I made no reply.　　Then he turned to me and said：　　"But I must tell you the story， you shall turn it into a book which no one will believe，though it may be interesting to write. "　　" You shall tell it to me some other time，my friend，" I told him， "you are still not well enough. "　　"The evening is warm，I have eaten my breast of chicken，" he said with a snule; "I am not the least feverish~，we have nothing else to do，I shall tell you everything. "　　" Since you are so set on it，I'll listen. "　　"It's a very simple tale，" he then added，" and I shall tell it in the　　order in which it happened. If at some stage you do make something of it，you are perfectly free to tell it another way. "　　Here is what he told me，and I have scarcely changed a word of his moving story.　　Yes（Armand went on，letting his head fall against the back of his armchair），yes，it was on an evening like this ！ I had spent the day in the country with one of my friends，Gaston R. We had returned toParis in the evening and，for want of anything better to do，had gone to the Theatre des Varietes.　　During one of the intervals，we left our seats and，in the comdor，we saw a tall woman whom my friend greeted with a bow.　　"Who was that you just bowed to？" I asked him.　　"Marguerite Gautier，" he replied.　　"It strikes me she is very much changed，for I didn't recognizeher，" I said with a tremor which you will understand in a moment.　　" She's been ill. The poor girl's not long for this world. "　　I recall these words as though they had been said to me yesterday.　　Now，my friend，l must tell you that for two years past，when ever I met her，the sight of that girl had always made a strange impressionon me.　　Without knowing why，l paled and my heart beat violently. Ihave a friend who dabbles in the occult，and he would call what I felt an aff inity of fluids; I myself believe quite simply that I wasdestined to fall in love with Marguerite， and that this was apresentiment.　　The fact remains that she made a strong impression on me. Several of my friends had seen how I reacted， and they had hooted with laughter when they realized from what quarter~ that impression came.　　……