Just like a glass of ice water in summer, it is extremely cool after the biting cold. I love books, the kind of quietness that "the mountains are like dais and the moon is like hooks"; The sadness of "curtain rolling west wind, people are thinner than yellow flowers"; The depression of "lonely phoenix tree, deep courtyard locks clear autumn", can these still be found in today's high-rise buildings? I once walked into the Book of Songs with an Yi Ru, and read The Pigeons of Guanju Collection in Hezhou with her. My fair lady, a gentleman is very romantic, so I accompanied her to listen carefully;
I have also walked into the world of Anne Baby, and felt the panic, helplessness and despair that belong to her this season. I saw the snowflakes falling in the Grand View Garden, and heard the heartbreaking cries and groans of pain outside the Yuanmen. At this time, I have forgotten the existence of "I". Only when I came back contentedly did I feel as if I had experienced a happy roaming. I like books. Reading is just an interest and a learning process.
Being in the world of books means entering the colorful ideological jungle where a hundred schools of thought contend, which is profound and wise. The long river of history, swords and shadows, dynasties change; The sky of literature is full of bright stars.
After busy study, it is a good enjoyment to sit in front of a warm desk, the breeze blowing, turning the title page with ink fragrance and reading classic works.