Excerpts from beautiful prose 1: a period of time, singing in the heart.
The fragrance of osmanthus is floating in this corner of the city. I stopped to have a look, and my eyes were full of autumn, so my memory began to flow with the fragrance of the past time period, and time passed slowly.
It just rained in this city. At this moment, the sunshine leaking from the horizon is a little moist, as if it were a pair of bright eyes with tears, silent and sad.
I'm a little silent and sad, too. In those years, there was also osmanthus fragrance. It's just different time and place. I used to be young and passionate, but now I am in a hurry, licking my wounds alone.
Maybe all the stories will gradually become sad in time. Who will remember those dull stories in the season of circulation, and when will those high-spirited stories be dull?
I never show concern for my relatives and friends, nor do I take the initiative to ask questions or deliberately seek news from them. I just learned a little about their recent situation in some gossip or some news on the Internet one day.
Some people unconsciously entered the marriage hall, and I didn't send my blessing. Some people had some accidents, and I didn't go to express my condolences. I have been wandering between individuals, neither intimate nor far away, and always seem to block the transmission of family affection through something.
I think it's mostly my own reason. Maybe life makes me speechless. Perhaps silence has trapped my world. In the dead of night, a person, a song, how long does it take from waking up to obscurity?
I always think too much unconsciously in recent years. Happiness was taken away by time, leaving me with melancholy. I can't keep up with the pace and I don't know where to go.
I torture myself crazily in my heart, and occasionally there are shadows about pain in my heart. Why is the world so beautiful and so painful?
This autumn wind is always chilly, eroding the warmth in my heart. I don't know, if it is at night, will this warmth still be there?
How are your friends doing? How many leaves will fall and spin, be carried away by the wind, and drift with the tide? What's the difference between them?
The vague definition of accident and necessity, the sweet-scented osmanthus fragrance in this corner of the city, is my arrival accidental or inevitable, and it is accidental or inevitable to meet you.
This autumn at this time is thinner, colder and sadder than before. I dare not burst into tears, just silently wet my eyes and look at my heart.
I shook my head, trying to get rid of these complicated things and reached for a cigarette. I didn't know how cold my body was until I touched my hand.
We don't like the sunshine in summer, and we don't like the coolness in winter. We have been lonely for a long time, and we are always eager for company. In fact, not many people in this world pay attention to you. How are you doing? Sometimes it's just a joke.
Just sometimes I always fantasize about something, mostly about love and the future. But in this autumn, the more you think about it, the more beautiful it is, and the colder it becomes in the autumn wind.
I watched time fade away, blurring my memory. I read you silently, but I don't seem to know you anymore. Passing by just feels deja vu.
Every time I close my eyes, my thoughts are scattered like dust, condensed like stars, the melancholy of smoke floats freely, and the emotion of stars surges in my soul. When I think of you, who describes your face, smile or sadness in the distance?
Excerpt 2 from Beautiful Prose: The Feeling of Dripping Water, the Grace of Flowing Spring
What love, thick and deep; What kind of love, slender and far-reaching. What love is like spring water like Mount Tai; What love is like the sky and the sea?
The weather-beaten years have left a mark on my father's generous and warm palm, and the wounds and rough lines on his hand are endless like mountains. Aging, shaking the fragility of my heart, that spiritual pillar, I hope it will never be beautiful.
I am the daughter of Taishan Mountain. I inherited the heavy simplicity, naturally lacked the allure of roses, and still bloomed the profundity of cold plum. I have the blood of the sea, passion, warmth and a life without regrets. Naturally, I have no wings to fly to the sky, and I am still steadfast in the soil.
You are my leash, I am your kite, and you drag me higher and higher, farther and farther. I saw how the river was surging and the mountains were endless. I also saw a bay of water of life flowing through the four seasons, the spring and autumn, and the years. Looking back, I saw the sweat on your face, but I'm not tired. Your cherished eyes bumped into my silent tears and inadvertently fell into the intangible experience. Dad, pull me back. I was your lover in my last life.
When the sun sets and the grass grows and the warblers fly, there is always a coolness on the Moon Bridge in Feiyun, Ran Ran. Be kind to your father, be filial to your daughter, and always let your life be like a dream, not afraid of the distance. Some memories, such as sunshine after rain, are half wet and half brilliant. Even if the breeze blows in different directions, it is still inseparable from your generous square. Write a poem to sing you into your daughter's heart, let my stubbornness be written into your past, and let the majestic green bloom into jasmine fragrance.
Memories are quiet and deep, even the dust of the years can't cover up those real clearness. Dreams are sometimes terrible. No matter how strong a person is, he will be fragile in his dreams. The story comes from life. When it is unforgettable, the story begins.
I once had a dream, in which I went home once, my father died, and my crying woke up my colleagues. My colleagues comforted me that my dream was the opposite, and I tried my best to believe it. A few days later, my father had a car accident. This time it was not a dream, because the blood of my bitten finger gave me the truth. When I arrived at the hospital, my father hung an oxygen bottle, and my face was so swollen that I couldn't recognize it.
Although my father survived in time because of the rescue, the truth outside the dream made me feel like a Sichuan cigarette. I don't want to see the smell of dust at dusk, and I don't want to lament the smallness of the sea. I just want to be safe and warm in my arms, to be a cotton-padded jacket that I don't want to change, or to be a weak and artificial grass lying on my father's chest.
Childhood, like a stream without dust, is always so warm and clean, and dad is like a big stone in the water, firm and kind. When I was a child, my family was very poor, and even eating a full meal would worry my father. Once when I came home as a coolie, my father took out an apple rewarded by my boss and cut it into several squares with a knife, one for each person, which was very enjoyable. Dad is as stupid as a big fool at home, and he doesn't know anything about selfishness. If you are selfish, maybe I will be happier.
The house built with dad's sweat, without the touch of sunshine, still exudes the temperature of happiness. Every brick and tile seems to prove dad's wisdom and strength. In those days when I laid bricks, a dozen was seven years. I changed from a child to a girl and witnessed my father's change from handsome to stumbling. The wrinkles on his face may be a little better than before, because he smiled and became a model in the village. He dressed his children in beautiful clothes and went to school in the city. I know that hard work can never be compared with a daughter's happy growth to her father. Big waves are just a drop in the ocean, and some of them are bitter. Face happiness, that's all.
I have a scar on my face, which is not obvious, but it is true. When I was a child, I fell off the back of a cow and was badly hurt. At that time, there were no hospitals, roads and cars in the village. My father carried me on his back and rode a bicycle for dozens of miles before he came to Nanbei Town Hospital for treatment. I seem to forget whether it was sweat or tears that dripped on my father's face, but I remember that the scar on my face made my father silent for a long time.
Although I feel inferior, it doesn't matter in front of my father. The important thing is that he will blame himself and feel sorry for any small scar. Who says men are my parents' last hope? Whoever marries me will have to be a shadow in the snow, so that I can look up to it like my father.
Dad, my daughter has grown up. I am not the water you spilled, but the home you walked out of. Since then, drizzle and breeze have become my worries. The world is dim, there will be hometown outside the dream, the moon shadow will stay in the morning dew, and the morning glory will eat dew grass. The dew on the jasmine is round and bright, and I know it is your eyes, with silent sadness.
You are a ray of light, and no matter how dark the night is, it will also illuminate my confused direction.
You are a big tree, no matter how big the storm is, you will protect me with your body.
You are an old song, and no matter how much trouble you have, it will also soothe my sadness.
You are a night star, no matter how far you drift, you will guide my life.
As my daughter grows up, your eyes are getting farther and farther, but my concern is getting closer and closer. Zhu Yan will always change herself. Every year I go, I will be white-faced. I am not afraid of getting older, getting colder and hotter, and I am afraid that your life will become more and more lonely. I know that a person's life will always be accepted by time, but I still can't help but think of you so far. It turns out that I have extended your love for me to a thousand years.
Some heartfelt words will always be brewed in my mind for a long time before they can be expressed, which makes people sad, plain as water but sweet as tea. Some words, just a few words, seem endless. Some feelings are as simple as Sang Ma's. Maybe fatherly love is like green tea. You only need to taste, but you don't need words to understand.
Things are different, and success or failure depends on it. Time flies and the years change. Time seems to verify the changes invisibly, and our life seems to be scarred by cumin. The deep meaning of happiness, the pure land of the soul, may be just the accumulation and peace of fatherly love and maternal love.
As a child, what is the most important filial piety? Learn from what your father did and what your mother taught you, know how to be safe, be grateful, think, set foot on the moon, and talk and laugh about it.
Our life is not given by heaven. From the moment we came into this world, we could not live without two great men. The mountains usher in another spring, and every drop of water is love. It's hard to blame for the spring.
Excerpt from beautiful prose 3: How much hope, deep affection
The town is secluded and mottled. The autumn wind is bleak and the autumn is crisp. In the article, there are mistakes, but it is very reassuring.
The autumn wind rustled away the dead leaves of several trees. Suddenly looking up, the sky is still blue and the white clouds are still soft; People are gentle, their hearts are leisurely and their thoughts are melodious.
Grind a square of ink and cultivate your thoughts. Enron, keep a dull fireworks. I use the simplest rhyme to compose a song of the softest years. Accompanied by the breeze, the prosperity remained the same, and it was quiet for a while. It's enough to enjoy the spring breeze of the autumn moon a few times more and to gather and disperse more and more. Life is quiet and beautiful, charming and affectionate, nostalgic as ever.
Looking back and smiling, Qian Shan is full of water and charming. Every distance I have traveled has become so long unconsciously. I just know that after the fleeting time, my mind has never changed, and how many ways of the world may change slowly in the cycle of countless seasons, or vicissitudes, or sadness, or grace.
In the past, my heart and thoughts could not resist the passage of time, and I was put aside by my own fatigue. When the wind blows, I arouse thousands of feelings. Cherish the first sight, why do you lean in time? Close your eyes and take a deep breath, autumn, so long, busy but not refined.
Although I haven't experienced great changes, I somehow feel that something is different and very helpless. Accustomed to it, cherish the beauty of the past with the most delicate mind.
Red dust and tiny dust, time has washed away all the lead. The breeze rises, the clothes are young, the heart remains the same, but the pedestrians are in a hurry. Who knows this, who understands this? A few strokes, but also endless demands and frustrations.
Epiphyllum is fleeting and rocks are hard to move. I long for you. Take a nap, dream of Liang Zhu, and become a butterfly in the incense-filled place.
Love, leaving people and never looking back; Without sorrow, the years are stable. Flowers bloom, it is an encounter, it is fate; When the flowers fell, I watched the petals fall, and your wrinkles were quietly hidden in my heart.
In my brow, I am as gentle as ever, reluctant to part with your warmth. I am quietly waiting for you in the quiet escape of tea and water. Forget yourself and smile. Corner of the mouth, the rhyme in the dream, or you. Time flies with love, silent.
A stream of hay counts Cangshan. Leaning against the window alone, my mood is ups and downs. How dare I go without you? Everything has changed. Why haven't my feelings changed? It seems unreal, but it's real.
I often wonder: what kind of state of mind would it be if I could be safe and sound in the noise? When the world is full of troubles, how many things in life are painful?
A prosperous idea has gone up in smoke. Everywhere is prosperous, everywhere is brilliant, every thought has come true, and every inch is acacia, every inch is gray.
A romantic trip, a tour of mountains and rivers, a quiet stream and a visit to vegetation. In getting along with mountains and rivers, I learned how to get along with the world I live in.
As beautiful as flowers and jade, as water flies, life is just like first sight. Who will remember those buds that wither in a hurry when they bloom? They miss not going home, but passing by.
Burning incense in my last life, but I missed my lingering feelings with you again in this life. In this life, this encounter always becomes a difficult attachment in a dusty dream. Repeated several times, but always reluctant to forget. Then, in this smoky years, whose heart is painful? But I never regret meeting and knowing each other in this world of mortals, even if you are at the end of the world and I am at the cape. Across the insurmountable distance, my concern will still jump between the lines, and you, as always, have been waiting for me all your life.
In life, there are always some stories that have graced the years; In the sea of people, there are always some encounters, as beautiful as water. As time goes on, people will leave. Will people and things in the past remain the same in the face of these old days, like smiling?
I thank fate for giving me this meeting. Since I don't want the prosperity of this world, you are my world. With you in this life, there is no her in the world.
Looking at the flowers, I feel sorry for the flowers, but I can fight for them, leaving a little tenderness, hope and affection.