How Is the Verb Concentrer Conjugated in French

Its pretty obvious that the French verb  concentrer  means to concentrate. While the English and French look very similar and that makes it an easy word for your French vocabulary list, it still needs to be conjugated. A quick lesson will show you how its done. Conjugating the French Verb  Concentrer Verb conjugations help us express the action in the past, present, or future tense. We do this in English with endings like -ed and -ing. In French, its more complex because the verbs change not only with the tense  but also according to the subject pronoun. That means you have more words to remember. Concentrer  is a  regular -ER verb  and that can make learning its conjugations a little easier. This is particularly true if you have already studied similar verbs like  chauffer  (to heat)  and  briller  (to shine). The endings for all of these verbs are the same and its just a matter of adding them to the verb stem. The stem of  concentrer  is  concentr-  and it forms the base for all of the verb forms. Using the chart, you will quickly be able to recognize the verb pattern and attach the appropriate ending. For instance, I concentrate is  je concetre and we concentrate is nous concentrerons. Subject Present Future Imperfect je concentre concentrerai concentrais tu concentres concentreras concentrais il concentre concentrera concentrait nous concentrons concentrerons concentrions vous concentrez concentrerez concentriez ils concentrent concentreront concentraient The Present Participle of  Concentrer Adding an -ant  to the stem of  concentrer  gives you the  present participle  concentrant. Its very versatile and can be an adjective, gerund, or noun as well as a verb. The Past Participle and Passà © Composà © A  common way to express the past tense concentrated in French is with the  passà © composà ©. To form this, begin by conjugating the  auxiliary, or helping,  verb  avoir  according to the subject pronoun. Then, attach the  past participle  concentrà ©. As an example, I concentrated is jai concentrà © and we concentrated is nous avons concentrà ©. More Simple  Concentrer  Conjugations to Know There may be times when you want to insinuate that the verb  concentrer  has some degree of uncertainty. This is when the subjunctive or the conditional verb form will be useful. In rare cases and primarily in literature, you will come across the passà © simple or the imperfect subjunctive forms of  concentrer. Even if you do not use them yourself, its a good idea to be able to recognize them as you read French. Subject Subjunctive Conditional Pass Simple Imperfect Subjunctive je concentre concentrerais concentrai concentrasse tu concentres concentrerais concentras concentrasses il concentre concentrerait concentra concentrt nous concentrions concentrerions concentrmes concentrassions vous concentriez concentreriez concentrtes concentrassiez ils concentrent concentreraient concentrrent concentrassent Used primarily for exclamations, demands, and requests, the imperative form is an easy one. Rather than include the subject pronoun --  tu concentre  -- its acceptable to simplify it to  concentre  alone. Imperative (tu) concentre (nous) concentrons (vous) concentrez

Change Of Vegetation Stress On The Canterbury Plains

CHANGE OF VEGETATION STRESS ON THE CANTERBURY PLAINS DUE TO CHANGES IN FARMING PRACTICES Hamish Kingsbury, GEOG313, University of Canterbury CONTENTS 1 Introduction 2 2 Methods 3 2.1 Data 3 2.2 Processing 4 2.3 Analysis 4 2.4 Validating 5 3 Results 6 4 Conclusion 8 4.1 Limitations 8 Appendix A 10 Appendix B 11 Appendix B Cont. 12 Appendix C 13 1 INTRODUCTION The Canterbury region is the second largest dairy producer in the country (Statistics New Zealand, n.d.). Over the period of 2007 to 2012, the region has seen an increase of 60,000 hectares of irrigated farm land (Hills, 2013) due to the conversion of beef, sheep and crop farms to water intensive dairy farming. There has also been an increase of 58% in the number of dairy farms and a 31% increase in the average herd size of dairy farms (Burns, 2013). For maximum production, sufficient irrigation is required for dairy farms (Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations, 2000). Therefore dairying requires at least ten times more water than other farming practices (Ward McKague, 2007). Over the summer months of December, January and February, this irrigation increase would represent a decrease in the amount of stressed vegetation in the study area. The study area is a 30km2 section of the Canterbury Plains, situated between the Waimakariri and Rakaia Rivers (Figure 2), to the west of Christchurch City. It falls within Path 74, Row 90 of Landsat’s reference system. The area encompasses a variety of land use

Stefan’s Diaries The Craving Chapter 6 Free Essays

After returning from the walk, I found myself being sewn into a brand-new suit while Mrs. Sutherland instructed the tailor on where to pin and prod me. I knew I had to leave, but I also couldn’t tear myself away from Mrs. We will write a custom essay sample on Stefan’s Diaries: The Craving Chapter 6 or any similar topic only for you Order Now Sutherland quite yet. We spent the entire afternoon chatting about my mother and her French relatives, along with my wish to one day travel to Italy to see the Sistine Chapel. Before I knew it, the tailor had made his final stitch, and night had arrived. Even I had to admit that my suit was fantastic. I looked like an urbane prince of industry in my pleated white shirtfront, silk top hat, and cravat. Winfield loaned me one of his pocket watches on a fob covered with a tasteful number of gold charms and gems, and I wore matching gold studs. I looked the very picture of humanity and was ashamed to be enjoying the part so thoroughly. Bridget simpered when I offered her a hand getting up into the carriage. Her skirts were full and cumbersome, an apricot version of the white gown she wore just the night before. Cream-colored silk netting floated over everything, giving her a look somewhere between a dancer in a European painting and a giant pastry. She giggled and tripped and pretended to fall, throwing an arm around my neck. â€Å"Save me again, kind sir,† she laughed, and I reminded myself that I had only to entertain her for another couple hours. Then, no matter the affection I felt for Mrs. Sutherland, I vowed I would make good on my promise to leave the family to their lives, disappearing into the crowd of the dance and returning to my home in the park. After a short ride, we approached another mansion of considerable size. It was solid stone, like a castle, but filled with windows. I helped Bridget from the coach and we took our places in the receiving line. In my human life I had been to many dances, yet I was not prepared for a New York City ball. There was someone to take my coat and hat – and because this wasn’t Mystic Falls, where everyone of renown knew one another, I was given a ticket with a number on it to retrieve my things at the end of the evening. We approached the ballroom through a seemingly endless hallway of silver mirrors lit with candles and chandeliers, sparkling as I imagined it must have been like in Versailles. A thousand silvered reflections of Bridget and myself filled the space behind the glass. A full orchestra of violins, cellos, horns, and flutes played in the corner, the musicians dressed in black suits. The room was filled, wall-to-wall, with dancers in the most amazing array of dress I had ever seen. The young women lifted delicate gloved hands with sparkling diamond bracelets, then twirled in gowns that ranged in color from bloodred to dusty gold. Gauzy skirts swished in time with the high-paced mazurka the orchestra played, netting, tulle, lace, and the finest silk petticoats floating like petals strewn across a lake. If my eyes were dazzled by the sight of the dancers, the scents of the room almost overpowered the rest of my senses: expensive perfumes, huge vases of exotic flowers, sweat, and punch, and somewhere someone was bleeding from a pin left in her dress by a careless maid. â€Å"You’re supposed to fetch your lady a dance card,† Lydia murmured into my ear as I stood there, stunned by the opulent and overwhelming scene before me. â€Å"Is that . . . is that Adelina Patti?† I stuttered, pointing at a demure-looking woman standing in the corner and surrounded by admirers. â€Å"The opera singer?† I had seen photographs of her. My father had wanted his sons to have working knowledge of their Italian culture and heritage. â€Å"Yes,† Bridget said, rolling her eyes and stamping a pretty, satin-covered foot. â€Å"And over there is Mayor Gunther, and over there is John D. Rockefeller, and . . . can you take me to my seat now? I want to see who asks me to dance.† Lydia let out a polite cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. â€Å"In the South,† I whispered to her out of the corner of my mouth, â€Å"it’s considered impolite to dance with your escort overmuch.† Lydia put a gloved hand to her own mouth, covering her smile. â€Å"I’ve heard that they still actually dance the quadrille in the South and have no parlor games at their functions. Good luck, Mr. Salvatore.† And she glided off into the crowd. Margaret gave me a tiny smirk. She was on the arm of her husband, Wally, a short fellow with a pince-nez and a serious bent. But when she whispered to him, a smile broke out and he was radiant. I felt an odd jab of jealousy. I would never know what that was like, the simple rituals of a close-knit couple. The orchestra struck up a waltz. Bridget stuck out her lower lip. â€Å"And me without a dance card yet.† â€Å"My lady,† I said, inwardly sighing. I gave her a slight bow and offered her my hand. Bridget was a fine dancer and it was almost pleasurable twirling her across the floor. I could forget where and who I was for the few minutes of the waltz: just a man in a tailcoat, feet flying, in a room full of beautiful people. She turned her leaf-green eyes up to me, and for one beautiful moment I could pretend she was Callie, alive and well and getting the happy ending she so desperately deserved. The illusion came to an end the moment the music stopped. â€Å"Lead me by the edge of the dancers,† Bridget begged. â€Å"I want everyone to see us!† She dragged me past the refreshment room, where all manner of exotic food was laid out. Delicate ices made from foreign fruit, real Vienna coffee, blancmange, tiny chocolate cakes, and glass upon crystal glass of champagne to wash it down. For the hungrier set there seemed to be every kind of fowl, from quail to goose, neatly carved into small pieces so a dancer could eat quickly and return to the floor. Once again I wished I was hungry for normal human food. But instead I indulged in a glass of champagne. â€Å"Hilda, Hilda,† Bridget called out in a voice that carried well considering how crowded the space was. A beautiful girl in a rose-pink gown turned from her gentleman friend, face lighting up when she saw Bridget. Her eyes traveled up and down me with a quick flick of her eyelashes. â€Å"This is Stefan Salvatore,† Bridget said. â€Å"He is the one who rescued me!† â€Å"Mademoiselle,† I said with a slight bow, taking her fingertips and bringing them to my lips. Bridget gave me a look that was somewhere between jealousy and pleasure that I was so polite. â€Å"Brooklyn Bridgey! Who’s your friend?† A dapper young man with a twinkle in his eye and giant grin sidled up to us. He had a sharp nose and curly black hair; rosy dots appeared on his cheeks that made him look vaguely tubercular. â€Å"This is Stefan Salvatore,† Bridget told him, exactly as proudly and carefully as she had with Hilda. â€Å"He rescued me when I was overcome in the park!† â€Å"Pleasure to meet you! Abraham Smith. You can call me Bram.† He grabbed my hand and shook it hard. â€Å"That was terribly naughty of you, leaving the party unescorted like that, Bridgey.† Bram shook a finger at her and she pouted. â€Å"Brooklyn Bridgey?† I asked, my head spinning a little. â€Å"Why, the Brooklyn Bridge is only going to be the biggest, most fantastic suspension bridge ever built!† Bram said, eyes lighting up. â€Å"No more ferries, no sir. We’ll drive ourselves back and forth across the mighty East River!† â€Å"Oh look!† Bridget squealed, pointing in a very unladylike manner. â€Å"There’s Lydia and her beau! Let’s go talk to them!† I gave Hilda and Bram a helpless salute good-bye as Bridget directed me toward her sister with an iron grip. The Italian count was surrounded by admirers, including Lydia. I caught glimpses of him as we walked closer. His raven hair gleamed, and his black formal suit fit him perfectly. He moved with a careless grace waving his arms as he told his story. The glint of a ring shimmered on his hand. The truth hit me only moments before he turned, as if he’d been expecting my arrival. I did my best to hide my shock when I looked into my brother’s ice-blue eyes. How to cite Stefan’s Diaries: The Craving Chapter 6, Essay examples

Tell Tale Heart Essay Example For Students

Tell Tale Heart Essay TRUE!- nervousvery, 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 heaven and on earth. I heard many things below the earth. How, then am I mad? Harken! 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 thinkit washis eye. Yes! it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture.a pale blue eyewith a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold. And so, by degreesvery graduallyI made up my min to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of that eye-forever. It is simply one of the old man?s eyes, which is either blind or not up to one hundred percent visibility. The narrator?s description of the eye is that it resembled that of a vulture?s eye, pale blue with a film over it. He described his emotion toward the eye by saying, ?Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold.?(303) This emotion eventually drove him to madness and caused him to kill the old man. The narrator begins to believe that he hears the old man?s heart beating while he was killing him, and after he was dead. The pounding became louder and louder and drove him crazy. The sounding of the heart forces him to tell the police officers, which are searching his house, that he killed the old man and where exactly the body was buried. This is the most ironic and unanticipated event that could have happened. The irony comes into play when his heightened sense of hearing and sober madness is the cause of his downfall. The same craze that led him to kill the old man is the same craze that led him to his demise. We have no idea of the relationship between the old man and the narrator. Could they have been related in some way or was the narrator simply a servant that spent his days caring for the elderly man? The narrator has left a lot up to our imagination on the relationship of the characters. The narrators? insanity has made him an extremely paranoid man, believing that everyone is out to make a mockery out of him, even though he was carrying out a flawless murder. He bragged about his preparation, and knew that the old man suspected nothing of his plan of terror and mayhem. The narrator believes that since he is able to recollect and present every detail of the events that took place, he is not insane. Because the manner in which the murder was carried out, he tries to justify his madness. His reasoning for wanting the old man dead is without motive. He tells us, ?I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire.?(303) The narrator was coming to the realization that he had logical reason for the murder of the old man. The truth of the matter is that he knows that he cannot Bibliography: .