"Ode to Joy" was composed around the poem "Ode to Joy" written by _______.

_.

A．musicians and novelists share similar artistic taste

B．violent people have a strong desire to be happy

C．serious art is often contradictory with happiness

D．music is enjoyed by good and bad people alike

_.

A．musicians and novelists share similar artistic taste

B．violent people have a strong desire to be happy

C．serious art is often contradictory with happiness

D．music is enjoyed by good and bad people alike

_.

A．musicians and novelists share similar artistic taste

B．violent people have a strong desire to be happy

C．serious art is often contradictory with happiness

D．music is enjoyed by good and bad people alike

Meat, vegetables, milk and fruit ___ a balance diet.

A、constitute

B、consist of

C、are composed of

D、include

e cigarettes. However, the weirdest may be this: artists' only jobs are to explore emotions, and yet they choose to focus on the ones that feel lousy. This wasn't always so. The earliest forms of art, like painting and music, are those best suited for expressing joy. But somewhere in the 19th(上标) century, more artists began seeing happiness as insipid, phony or, worst of all, boring. In the 20th(上标) century, classical music became more atonal, visual art more unsettling.

Sure, there have been exceptions, but it would not be a stretch to say that for the past century or so, serious art has been at war with happiness. In 1824, Beethoven completed his "Ode to Joy". In 1962, novelist Anthoy Burgess used it in A Clockwork Orange as the favorite music of his ultra-violent antihero.

You could argue that art became more skeptical of happiness because modern times have seen such misery. But the reason may actually be just the opposite: there is too much damn happiness in the world today.

In the West, before mass communication and literacy, the most powerful mass medium was the church, which reminded worshippers that their souls were in peril and that they would someday be meat for worms. Today the messages that the average Westerner is bombarded with are not religious but commercial, and relentlessly happy. Since these messages have an agenda—to prey our wallets from our pockets—they make the very idea of happiness seem bogus(假的). "Celebrate!" commanded the ads for the arthritis drug Celebrex, before we found out it could increase the risk of heart attack.

What we forget—what our economy depends on us forgetting—is that happiness is more than pleasure without pain. The things that bring the greatest joy carry the greatest potential for loss and disappointment. Today, surrounded by promises of easy happiness, we need someone to tell us that it is OK not to be happy, that sadness makes happiness deeper. As the wine-connoisseur movie Sideways tells us, it is the kiss of decay and mortality that makes grape juice into Pinot Norway need art to tell us, as religion once did, that you will die, that everything ends, and that happiness comes not in denying this but in living with it. It's a message even more bitter than a clove cigarette, yet, somehow, is a breath of fresh air.

What is most strange about artists？

A．They wear special clothes.

B．They rarely work in the daytime.

C．They mainly depict distressing things.

D．They are liable to take illegal drugs.

How did the professor organize the lecture？

A．She compared different types of musical compositions.

B．She arranged the information in chronological order.

C．She argued the advantages and disadvantages.

D．She responded to questions that the students asked.

What does the author think of Sergey Brin and Larry Page？

A．They are the most crucial component of Google.

B．They are deliberately omitted in the book "Planet Google".

C．They bring Silicon Valley the most advanced science and technology.

D．They are tile persons who never stop pursuing a better world.

r, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar; Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home; Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature s Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day. VI Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a Mother s mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. VII Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years Darling of a pigmy size! See, where mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his, mother s kisses, With light upon him from his father s eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song; Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little Actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his humorous stage With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, That Life brings with her in her equipage; As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. VIII Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy Soul s immensity; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou E ye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read st the eternal deep Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, Might Prophet I Seer blest I On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a Master o er a Slave, A Presence which is not to be put by; To whom the grave Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight Of day or the warm light, A place of thought where we in waiting lie; Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being s height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife？ Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! Question: The above excerpt is taken from " Ode: Intimations of immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood" by Wordsworth. Analyze the excerpt with reference to the entire poem. Write about 200-300 words.