Questões de Concurso
Sobre verbos | verbs em inglês
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Indicate the best alternative that completes the context above:
Consider the phrasal verb turn up. Read the sentences below and mark the one that has the same meaning as in the song.
Leia os quadrinhos e responda à questão.
(www.uninorte.edu.co)
Pete is talking to his English teacher about the strategies he has been using to study at home. He seems to have forgotten the phrasal verbs he was studying and trying to use during this conversation in order to impress the teacher. Read an extract of their dialogue:
(…)
(Pete) – Phrasal verbs are so difficult! Well, I have been studying really, really hard. I have to learn so many things before the tests. There are some things I have been doing… For example, I try to… to…
memorize the expressions by reading them out loud several times a day.
(Teacher) – What else have you been doing that you consider effective?
(Pete) – I try to use the expressions and new words in stories… but often times they don’t… they don’t… make sense.
(Teacher) – There’s a phrasal verb for that.
(Pete) – I can’t remember it! I have to understand how I learn better…
(Teacher) – Maybe you are exaggerating a bit.
(Pete) – I am not. I have problems… reaching the same level of my classmates.
(Teacher) – I don’t agree with you, but if you feel you need to improve, we can talk about this later.
(Pete) – That would be great! Thank you!
“If an embarrassing image escaped onto the web, it would be there forever”.
I. It is in the first conditional. II. It refers to a time that is in the past and a situation that is contrary to reality. III. The if-clause uses simple past; while the main clause uses the present perfect.
Which ones are INCORRECT?
Instruction: Answer question based on the following text.
Source: https://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/the-eurohug-is-it-a-thing-a-global-guide-toembrace
Instruction: Answer question based on the following text.
Source: https://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/the-eurohug-is-it-a-thing-a-global-guide-toembrace
I. It has a main verb and an adverb particle. II. It has a grammatical mistake because a phrasal verb cannot be separated. III. It means ‘to become extremely emotional’.
Which ones are correct?
Instruction: answer the question based one the following text.
Consider the following sentences about the use of ‘must’ along the text (lines 3, 5, 11, e.g):
I. It is used to indicate possibility.
II. It is used for emphasis.
III. It shows that something is necessary, as a requirement.
Which ones are correct?
While at home in Ireland my poor mother wept bitter tears at the thought of her daughter with the university education serving hamburgers to pop stars.
I had been working there about six months the night I met James. It was a Friday night, which was traditionally the night the OJs frequented our restaurant. “OJ” standing, of course, for Office Jerks.
At five o’clock every Friday, like graves disgorging their dead, offices all over the center of London liberated their staffs for the weekend so that hordes of pale, cheapsuited clerks descended on us.
It was de rigueur for us waitresses to stand around sneering disdainfully at the besuited clientele, shaking our heads in disbelieving pity at the attire, hairstyles, etc., of the poor customers.
On the night in question, James and three of his colleagues sat in my section and I attended to their needs in my normal irresponsible and slapdash fashion. I paid them almost no attention whatsoever, barely listened to them as I took their order and certainly made no eye contact with them. If I had I might have noticed that one of them (yes, James, of course) was very handsome, in a black-haired, green-eyed, five-foottenish kind of way. I should have looked beyond the suit and seen the soul of the man.
Oh, shallowness, thy name is Clare.
But I wanted to be out back with the other waitresses, drinking beer and smoking and talking about sex. Customers were an unwelcome interference.
“Can I have my stake very rare?” asked one of the men.
“Um,” I said vaguely. I was even more uninterested than usual because I had noticed a book on the table. It was a really good book, one that I had read myself.
I loved books. And I loved reading. And I loved men who read. I loved a man who knew his existentialism from his magi-realism.And I had spent the last six months working with people who could just about manage to read Stage magazine (laboriously mouthing the words silently as they did so). I suddenly realized, with a pang, how much I missed the odd bit of intelligent conversation.
Suddenly the people at this table stopped being mere irritants and took on some sort of identity for me.
“Who owns this book?” I asked abruptly, interrupting the order placing.
The table of four men were startled. I had spoken to them! I had treated them almost as if they were human!
“I do,” said James, and as my blue eyes met his green eyes across his mango daiquiri, that was it, the silvery magic dust was sprinkled on us. In that instant something wonderful happened. From the moment we really looked at each other, we both knew we had met someone special.
I maintained that we fell in love immediately.
He maintained nothing of the sort, and said that I was a romantic fool. He claimed it took at least thirty seconds longer for him to fall in love with me.
First of all he had to establish that I had read the book in question also. Because he thought that I must be some kind of not-so-bright model or singer if I was working there. You know, the same way that I had written him off as some kind of subhuman clerk. Served me right.
KEYES, Marian. Watermelon. New York: Perennial,
HarperCollins, 2002 (Edited).
While at home in Ireland my poor mother wept bitter tears at the thought of her daughter with the university education serving hamburgers to pop stars.
I had been working there about six months the night I met James. It was a Friday night, which was traditionally the night the OJs frequented our restaurant. “OJ” standing, of course, for Office Jerks.
At five o’clock every Friday, like graves disgorging their dead, offices all over the center of London liberated their staffs for the weekend so that hordes of pale, cheapsuited clerks descended on us.
It was de rigueur for us waitresses to stand around sneering disdainfully at the besuited clientele, shaking our heads in disbelieving pity at the attire, hairstyles, etc., of the poor customers.
On the night in question, James and three of his colleagues sat in my section and I attended to their needs in my normal irresponsible and slapdash fashion. I paid them almost no attention whatsoever, barely listened to them as I took their order and certainly made no eye contact with them. If I had I might have noticed that one of them (yes, James, of course) was very handsome, in a black-haired, green-eyed, five-foottenish kind of way. I should have looked beyond the suit and seen the soul of the man.
Oh, shallowness, thy name is Clare.
But I wanted to be out back with the other waitresses, drinking beer and smoking and talking about sex. Customers were an unwelcome interference.
“Can I have my stake very rare?” asked one of the men.
“Um,” I said vaguely. I was even more uninterested than usual because I had noticed a book on the table. It was a really good book, one that I had read myself.
I loved books. And I loved reading. And I loved men who read. I loved a man who knew his existentialism from his magi-realism.And I had spent the last six months working with people who could just about manage to read Stage magazine (laboriously mouthing the words silently as they did so). I suddenly realized, with a pang, how much I missed the odd bit of intelligent conversation.
Suddenly the people at this table stopped being mere irritants and took on some sort of identity for me.
“Who owns this book?” I asked abruptly, interrupting the order placing.
The table of four men were startled. I had spoken to them! I had treated them almost as if they were human!
“I do,” said James, and as my blue eyes met his green eyes across his mango daiquiri, that was it, the silvery magic dust was sprinkled on us. In that instant something wonderful happened. From the moment we really looked at each other, we both knew we had met someone special.
I maintained that we fell in love immediately.
He maintained nothing of the sort, and said that I was a romantic fool. He claimed it took at least thirty seconds longer for him to fall in love with me.
First of all he had to establish that I had read the book in question also. Because he thought that I must be some kind of not-so-bright model or singer if I was working there. You know, the same way that I had written him off as some kind of subhuman clerk. Served me right.
KEYES, Marian. Watermelon. New York: Perennial,
HarperCollins, 2002 (Edited).
While at home in Ireland my poor mother wept bitter tears at the thought of her daughter with the university education serving hamburgers to pop stars.
I had been working there about six months the night I met James. It was a Friday night, which was traditionally the night the OJs frequented our restaurant. “OJ” standing, of course, for Office Jerks.
At five o’clock every Friday, like graves disgorging their dead, offices all over the center of London liberated their staffs for the weekend so that hordes of pale, cheapsuited clerks descended on us.
It was de rigueur for us waitresses to stand around sneering disdainfully at the besuited clientele, shaking our heads in disbelieving pity at the attire, hairstyles, etc., of the poor customers.
On the night in question, James and three of his colleagues sat in my section and I attended to their needs in my normal irresponsible and slapdash fashion. I paid them almost no attention whatsoever, barely listened to them as I took their order and certainly made no eye contact with them. If I had I might have noticed that one of them (yes, James, of course) was very handsome, in a black-haired, green-eyed, five-foottenish kind of way. I should have looked beyond the suit and seen the soul of the man.
Oh, shallowness, thy name is Clare.
But I wanted to be out back with the other waitresses, drinking beer and smoking and talking about sex. Customers were an unwelcome interference.
“Can I have my stake very rare?” asked one of the men.
“Um,” I said vaguely. I was even more uninterested than usual because I had noticed a book on the table. It was a really good book, one that I had read myself.
I loved books. And I loved reading. And I loved men who read. I loved a man who knew his existentialism from his magi-realism.And I had spent the last six months working with people who could just about manage to read Stage magazine (laboriously mouthing the words silently as they did so). I suddenly realized, with a pang, how much I missed the odd bit of intelligent conversation.
Suddenly the people at this table stopped being mere irritants and took on some sort of identity for me.
“Who owns this book?” I asked abruptly, interrupting the order placing.
The table of four men were startled. I had spoken to them! I had treated them almost as if they were human!
“I do,” said James, and as my blue eyes met his green eyes across his mango daiquiri, that was it, the silvery magic dust was sprinkled on us. In that instant something wonderful happened. From the moment we really looked at each other, we both knew we had met someone special.
I maintained that we fell in love immediately.
He maintained nothing of the sort, and said that I was a romantic fool. He claimed it took at least thirty seconds longer for him to fall in love with me.
First of all he had to establish that I had read the book in question also. Because he thought that I must be some kind of not-so-bright model or singer if I was working there. You know, the same way that I had written him off as some kind of subhuman clerk. Served me right.
KEYES, Marian. Watermelon. New York: Perennial,
HarperCollins, 2002 (Edited).
Observe the following dialogue.
I knew if I ___ to Mr. Dayi, he would have surely helped me; but I ___ ashamed to speak with him.
Identify the best option that complete the context.
The German, who is being _____ home in Switzerland, turns 50 on Thursday.
Identify the best option that completes the context.
The way we portrayed our women _____ a secondary-type role.
Indicate the best option that completes the context.
Why did you left your former job?
There is a mistake in the context above related to a/an:
• Jonathan (be) ______ a regular contributor to San Francisco magazine until last year. Now he (write) _______ articles once a month.
- Look! I (find) ______ this book in the library yesterday. - Oh, I (hear) ______ very good things about it.
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