I have a dream as tender as a bud, which germinates in childhood; I have a dream as fragrant as a flower, budding in youth; I have a dream, which is like a cloud, and it is comfortable today. The road to books is long, and it is up and down. Watch the book, and the friendship is profound.
before the flowers opened that year, the sound of books was already loud, in harmony with the tinkling of spring water outside the window. The smooth rhyme knocks on the door of spring. A grass seed is awakened by the rhyme of the book, and the new green looks like a slim girl, if she but turned her head and smiled, there were cast a hundred spells. Since then, the dream of reading has secretly taken root in my heart.
I still haven't forgotten where I read it. Reading is a trip that is not limited to time. It will take you through ancient and modern times to enjoy the places of interest and get to the appointment that you can't miss. Shuttling through it, I read everything in the world. In the Book of Songs, I saw a woman with thin clothes leaning against the river, and said to herself, "Swallows fly, but they miss their feathers, and they look forward to the future, weeping like rain." In "Spring and Autumn Annals", I heard Confucius shout, "Scholars have to be unyielding and have a long way to go." Taste of Tang poetry, or arrogant, or sad, or open-minded, or joy, although thousands of years have passed, you can still feel the poet's joys and sorrows. Experience the prosperity or desolation of society at that time. The book is full of books, and the heart moves with the book, picking a dream and clearing flowers, accompanied by the moonlight night, looking for happiness in the watch.
I want to wander around the sea of books. Get to know Li Bai, who is unrestrained and uninhibited, and sing together, "Laugh at the sky and go out. Are we Artemisia people?" Make friends with the sentimental Li Qingzhao, and feel the bitterness of "I am afraid of the grasshopper boat in Shuangxi, but I can't carry it, and I am worried". How much I want to read Tagore's "Birds" carefully and recall "the bird that has flown without leaving a trace" together. I want to revisit ostrovsky's How Steel was Tempered, and pay tribute to "the perseverance of Paul Kochagin". Walking in the book, at the same time growing a sentimental and resolute heart, but also growing a kind of unruly and heroic.
dreaming, dreaming, waking up, watching the book for life, and feeling flowing between the eyebrows.
today, there are many complicated things, the setting sun is sinking, the traffic is rolling and people are bustling. However, I still love to indulge in the book, regardless of the world's troubles, my heart remains the same, and I will watch my life.
The world is too chaotic, only the feelings remain the same, only the books remain the same. In the disturbing corners of the world, I feel the peace of watching the book.