A beautiful sentence about childhood dreams: 1. What was your childhood dream, to be a scientist, philosopher or astronaut? Has your childhood dream come true now? 2. Childhood is like a blank sheet of paper. What kind of painting you want to draw, what kind of effort you need to make. Draw childhood dreams on canvas, rainbow in your heart, and ideal in your heart, so that everything in the future will be so beautiful. Childhood is a world full of fantasy, like a bird, flying freely in the sky of childhood. Like a small fish, swimming happily in the sea. My childhood dream is to be a rich man when I grow up. Many years have passed, but I have become rich, not rich. With a warm childhood dream, I started a dialogue between time and space. Through time and space, wake up my long-sealed memory. Have a cup of acacia with some tenderness. Close the distance between childhood and reality. 6. When I was a child, I had a dream that everything would go well in the future. In my childhood, I had a dream that my tomorrow would be better. 7. Childhood dreams, like colorful morning glow, reflect the vast land. Childhood dreams, like sparks of wisdom, are dotted with brilliant starry sky. Childhood dreams, like beautiful flowers, dress up a gorgeous life. 8. Childhood, like a seven-color rainbow and a string of beautiful pearls, has colorful and bright colors and beautiful memories. 9, life, why let me have a childhood, give me youth and laughter, the future makes me so confused! 10, childhood dreams are like the sun of life. When facing it, no matter how bitter the tears are, they will also reflect gorgeous colors. In our childhood dreams, we chase our childhood dreams and look forward to a bigger sunny day in the distance. Childhood dream lark in the noisy sky, but there is no dazzling sunshine. My feet were buried in the water, splashing layers of water. I stared at the lazy head supported by bent hands. The boat floating not far away gave a silly smile. My hand shouted at the old man rowing. * * * * * * * * I am recalling my childhood, and I slowly approached us with June 1st. What is childhood? Does it run like a puppy? Do you roll like a pig or climb like a little monkey? In my early childhood, some front teeth were thrown on the roof and soaked in water like seeds to grow into tiles. Another longan seed slipped into my stomach, ready to take root from my feet and grow a fruity tree from my head. My childhood, rolling in the dirt, grew up slowly. What was my childhood? Staring at a box that can pronounce, I turned round and round. It's strange that I can't find the speaker in the box rubbing his stomach with his little hand. I wonder why I can't touch the candy my mother said was in it. Later, I went to school in my childhood and sat in the classroom. People are inside, and my heart is outside watching birds fly by. After school, I fantasize about flying with a group of partners. When I was a teacher, I talked about it, told a long and smelly story and had a fight with A Ling. Because she said that the fairy in it was not a beautiful childhood, but grew up with her hair and stories. Oh, childhood, beautiful childhood teeth have already grown out, but the white shirt she expected again and again has not been bought back, which has become an unforgettable childhood. Now, without the radio, she is typing and singing on the computer all day, holding a group of dolls and listening to the laughter and dreams of her childhood. Who cried into fog and condensed into frost in the dream of falling flowers? Loving you is the soil facing the branches, and the years are not old. Soil protects your fascinating life cycle. I have looked up for thousands of years without regrets. It's because I'm waiting for you to get tired of the charming spring, to wake up and dazzle, to lower your head and shift the direction of love, and to wait in my heart. Autumn rain and autumn rain stained with frost brushed away your hazy fatigue and held you in my arms. This will be the most beautiful paradise. The dream is to make clothes with wings and chardonnay in heaven. Dancing happily, smiling at the wind on the sleeves, as beautiful as flowers. In the dream, the flapping birds plucked a piece of blue from their chests, chased and frolicked the clouds, and guessed where the hometown of the stars was. Ask the axe bearer in the Moon Palace, can you leave towering trees for birds to nest? Dreaming that there is no birthplace, no stumbling road, no afterlife, it is enough to cry again! Dreams float in the wind, melt in the warmth of the sun, and the green blood of the earth flows into the mountain stream. Childhood dream lark in the noisy sky, but there is no dazzling sunshine. My feet are buried in the water, and the lazy bones supported by my hands are staring at the floating boat not far away, giving a silly smile. My hand shouted at the old man rowing. I am recalling my childhood, and June 1st is slowly approaching us. What is childhood? Does it run like a puppy? Do you roll like a pig or climb like a little monkey? In my early childhood, some front teeth were thrown on the roof and soaked in water like seeds to grow into tiles. Another longan seed slipped into my stomach, ready to take root from my feet and grow a fruit-laden tree from my head. My childhood, rolling in the dirt, grew up slowly. What was my childhood? Staring at a box that can pronounce, I turned round and round. It's strange that I can't find the speaker in the box rubbing his stomach with his little hand. I wonder why I can't touch the candy my mother said was in it. Later, I went to school in my childhood and sat in the classroom. People are inside, and my heart is outside watching birds fly by. After school, I fantasize about flying with a group of partners. When I was a teacher, I talked about it, told a long and smelly story and had a fight with A Ling. Because she said that the fairy in it was not a beautiful childhood, but grew up with her hair and stories. Oh, childhood, beautiful childhood teeth have already grown out, but the white shirt she expected again and again has not been bought back, which has become an unforgettable childhood. Now, without the radio, she is typing and singing on the computer all day, holding a group of dolls and listening to the laughter and dreams of her childhood. Who cried into fog and condensed into frost in the dream of falling flowers? Loving you is the soil facing the branches, and the years are not old. Soil protects your fascinating life cycle. I have looked up for thousands of years without regrets. It's because I'm waiting for you to get tired of the charming spring, to wake up and dazzle, to lower your head and shift the direction of love, and to wait in my heart. Autumn rain and autumn rain stained with frost brushed away your hazy fatigue and held you in my arms. This will be the most beautiful paradise. The dream is to make clothes with wings and chardonnay in heaven. Dancing happily, smiling at the wind on the sleeves, as beautiful as flowers. In the dream, the flapping birds plucked a piece of blue from their chests, chased and frolicked the clouds, and guessed where the hometown of the stars was. Ask the axe bearer in the Moon Palace, can you leave towering trees for birds to nest? Dreaming that there is no birthplace, no stumbling road, no afterlife, it is enough to cry again! Dreams float in the wind, melt in the warmth of sunshine, melt in the earth, and green blood flows into a mountain stream. Childhood dreams: I can't see larks in the noisy sky, but I can't see the dazzling sunshine. My feet are buried in the water, and the lazy bones supported by my hands are staring at the floating boat not far away, giving a silly smile. My hand shouted at the old man rowing. I am recalling my childhood. And June 1 slowly approached us, thinking, what is childhood? Does it run like a puppy? Do you roll like a pig or climb like a little monkey? In the early childhood, some front teeth were thrown on the roof and soaked in water like seeds to grow into tiles. There is also an longan stone sliding into the stomach, ready to take root and sprout from the foot and grow a fruitful tree from the top of the head. My childhood, rolling in the dirt, I grew up slowly. What did you do? Keep your eyes open and stare at a box that can pronounce, round and round. It's strange that you can't find the speaker in the box rubbing his stomach with his little hand. It's strange why you can't touch the candy my mother said was inside. Later, when I was a child, I entered the school and sat in the classroom. People are inside, and my heart is watching birds flying outside. After school, I dream of flying, taking a group of partners and becoming a teacher. I told a long and smelly story and had a fight with A Ling, because she said that the fairy in it was not a beautiful childhood, but grew up with her hair and story. When I was a child, my beautiful childhood teeth had already sprouted, but the white shirts that the fruit trees looked forward to again and again were not bought back, which became an unforgettable childhood. Now I don't need a radio, I type and sing on the computer, and I take a group of dolls all day, listening to the laughter of my childhood, dreaming that the soil loves flowers, the spring mud is wet, and the flowers turn into fog. Loving you is the soil facing the branches, and the years are not old. Soil protects your fascinating life cycle. I have looked up for thousands of years without regrets. It's because I'm waiting for you to get tired of the charming spring, to wake up and dazzle, to lower your head and shift the direction of love, and to wait in my heart. Autumn rain and autumn rain stained with frost brushed away your hazy fatigue and held you in my arms. This will be the most beautiful paradise. The dream is to make clothes with wings and chardonnay in heaven. Dancing happily, smiling at the wind on the sleeves, as beautiful as flowers. In the dream, the flapping birds plucked a piece of blue from their chests, chased and frolicked the clouds, and guessed where the hometown of the stars was. Ask the axe bearer in the Moon Palace, can you leave towering trees for birds to nest? Dreaming that there is no birthplace, no stumbling road, no afterlife, it is enough to cry again! Dreams drift with the wind, melt into the warmth of the sun, melt into the earth, and green blood flows into a mountain stream.