-Rousseau
● The ideal of life is for the ideal life.
If life deceives you,
Don't be sad, don't be impatient!
You need to keep calm in blue days;
Believe it, happy days will come. -"If Life Deceives You"
Live and work in peace, have plenty of food and clothing, and have a bright future. Sunshine avenue is happy, healthy, happy, happy, prosperous and happy together. From then on, happiness, family happiness, family reunion, more than a year, a successful career.
2. Ancient poems describing life 1. The thatched cottage was broken by the autumn wind. Du Fu growled in August and autumn, and rolled up my three hairs.
Hair flew over the river and sprinkled on the periphery of the river. The highest one hangs a long forest tip, and the lower one floats to Shentang 'ao. The children in Nancun bully me. I can stand being a thief.
I openly carried Mao into the bamboo forest, and my lips were so dry that I couldn't breathe. When I came back, I sighed on crutches. In an instant, the wind will set the color of the clouds and ink, and the autumn will be bleak and dark.
The cloth has been cold and iron for many years, and the pride is cracked. There is no dry place in the bedside table, and the feet are numb with rain.
How can you get wet all night since you are in a mess and don't get enough sleep! There are tens of millions of luxury houses in Ande, which greatly protect the poor people in the world from the spring breeze and the wind and rain! Oh! When I suddenly see this house in front of me, I will freeze to death alone! 2. Li Qingzhao will never meet the sunset. Where are people? Dye willow smoke and play plum blossom flute. What do you know about spring? Is there no wind and rain when the weather is harmonious during the Lantern Festival? Come and meet each other, enjoy the BMW and thank the wine friends for their poems. Zhongzhou is in its prime, and the boudoir is full of leisure. Remember points three to five.
Pave a green crown, draw golden snow willows, and compete with them. Now I am haggard, windy and frosty, and I dare not go out at night.
It's better to listen to people laughing under the curtain. 3. Li Qingzhao's "Slow Sound" is looking for it, cold and clear, sad and sad.
It's the hardest to stop breathing when it's warm and cold. Three glasses and two glasses of wine, how can you beat him? It's late. It's urgent.
Guo Yan is very sad, but this is an old acquaintance. Yellow flowers were piled all over the floor, withered and damaged. Who can pick them now? Looking out the window, how can a person be dark? Indus is raining in Mao Mao, dripping at dusk.
This time, what a sad sentence? 4. Du Fu: I hope that although the country is broken, the mountains and rivers will last forever, and the vegetation will turn green in spring. Sad state, can not help but burst into tears, amazing birds, leaving sorrow and hate.
The war lasted for more than half a year, and letters from home were rare, with a hundred thousand gold. Twisting with melancholy, scratching my head and thinking, the more I scratch my white hair, I can hardly insert a hairpin.
5. Longmen Du Fu Longmen broken, eucalyptus out of the city. The emperor is close, and the gold and silver Buddhist temple is open.
When I returned it, I changed it again and again, and the water was long. On the journey of reading each other, I have done it several times in my career.
6. Du Fu, the old guest house, followed the personnel and never left this pavilion in early autumn. The pear leaves are red again, and the bamboo forest is still green.
The wind curtain rolled, and the cold anvil rang last night. Without Jianghan, the melancholy moon is invisible.
7. Cold food boat is Du Fu Chen Jia's strong meal, and it is still cold, so it is hidden in several depressions. Spring water, rivers, so floating on the boat is like sitting in the clouds; My body is getting weaker and my eyesight is dim. Looking at the flowers on the shore is like a mist.
The listless curtains saw butterflies flying by; Seagulls skimmed over the rapids. White clouds and white mountains are thousands of miles away, worrying about Chang' an and going straight north.
8. If you dream that Li Qingzhao had a shower last night, you don't need to drink after sleeping. Ask the shutter man, Haitang is still there. Know what? Know what? It should be green, fat, red and thin.
9. Drunken Li sells golden beasts in his head because of the clear fog. The festival is also a double ninth festival, and the jade pillow gauze kitchen is half cold at night.
Dongli drinks until dusk, and faint chrysanthemum fragrance overflows his sleeves. Mo Tao doesn't forget me, the curtain rolls west wind, and people are thinner than yellow flowers.
10. Wulingchun Li Qingzhao is full of fragrant flowers and tired of combing her hair at night. Things are people, not everything, and tears flow first.
It is said that Shuangxi Spring is still good, and it is also planned to make canoes. I'm afraid the boat won't move. I'm worried.
1 point crimson lips Li Qingzhao opened the swing and got up to adjust her delicate hands. Beside her, the thin Germany hung with crystal dew, and the sweat on her chest permeated with the thin silk robe.
Seeing someone coming, socks and golden retriever slipped away. She ran away shyly and leaned against the door, smelling the fragrance of plum flowers.
If you have a dream, Li Qingzhao always remembers the sunset in Xiting, intoxicated and unaware of the way home, returning to the boat at night and wandering in the depths of the lotus. How to row a boat out, accidentally, but scared a group of Oulu.
3 drinking (fifth) Tao Yuanming built a house in the human territory, without horses and chariots. Ask what you can do, your heart is far from self-prejudice.
Picking chrysanthemums under the east fence, you can see Nanshan leisurely. The mountains are getting better and better, and the birds are back.
That makes sense. I forgot what I wanted to say. 4 Guiyuan Tianju (1) Tao Yuanming has no rhyme and loves autumn mountains.
I sneaked into the official career network and have been away from the game for more than ten years. Birds in cages are often attached to the forests of the past, and fish in ponds yearn for the abyss of the past.
I want to open up wasteland in Minamino and keep my humility to the fields. The house is surrounded by about ten acres of land, thatched cottages.
Willow trees cover the eaves, and peach trees cover Li Lieman in front of the hospital. The neighboring village of the neighboring village is faintly visible, and there is smoke in the village.
Several dogs barked in the alley, and the mulberry tree was barked by a rooster. There is no dust and sundries in the yard, and the quiet room is comfortable and leisurely.
Trapped in a cage without freedom for a long time, I finally returned to the forest today. A farmhouse by the Wei River, Wang Wei, in the countryside under the setting sun, cattle and sheep go home along the path.
A rugged old man in a thatched door leaned against a cane and thought about his son, the shepherd boy. There are whistling pheasants? Full ears of wheat, sleeping silkworms and peeled mulberry leaves.
The farmers who came back with hoes greeted each other cordially. No wonder I long for a simple life and sigh the old song, oh, back to the past! .
There seems to be no one on Wangweikong Mountain in Chai Lu, but I think I heard a voice. The shadow of the sunset shone into the depths of the forest, and the scenery on the moss was pleasant.
One autumn night in the deep mountains, Wang Wei, an empty mountain after the rain, stood in the autumn evening. The bright moon shed clear light from the cracks and cleared the fountain on the rocks.
The bamboo forest is sonorous, the washerwoman returns, and the lotus leaves are swaying to get on the canoe. Spring spring might as well give it a rest, and the autumn sun can stay on the hills for a long time.
Zhu Wangwei leans alone in the dense bamboo, I am playing the piano, and I am humming. It's too light for anyone to hear, except my partner, Mingyue.
In mid-spring, Wang Wei's family is full of spring pigeons, and apricot blossoms are white at the edge of the village. Hold an axe to cut far and wide, and hoe the spring pulse.
Yan knows his lair, so he looks at the new calendar. In the face of sudden disobedience, Philip Burkart Bin was disappointed.
9 Look at the new sunny field Wang Wei's new sunny Yuan Ye is vast and has no atmosphere. The gatehouse of the outer city is close to the ferry pier, and the trees at the edge of the village connect the stream and the estuary.
The silvery white river is shining in the fields, especially bright, and the green mountains stand behind the ridge. It is the busy farming season, there are no idle people, and farmers are busy going to the fields.
10 Bird-singing Creek Wang Weiren idles osmanthus, and the night is quiet and the mountains are empty. When the moon comes out, the birds are startled, and the sound enters the spring stream.
3. Poetry describing daily life Poetry describing daily life:
1. There are three or two peach blossoms outside the bamboo, and there are duck prophets in the spring water heating. (Su Shi's "Hui Chong Chunjiang Night Scene")
Wildfire never completely devoured them, but they grew taller again in the spring breeze. (Bai Juyi's "Parting from Ancient Grass")
3. Pick chrysanthemums under the east fence and see Nanshan leisurely. (Tao Yuanming's drinking)
The eaves are long and clean without moss, and the flowers and trees are planted by hand. (Wang Anshi's "Mr. Shu Huyin's Wall")
We open your window and overlook the garden and fields, holding cups and talking about mulberry and hemp. (Meng Haoran, "Passing the Old Village")
6. I like children and hooligans best, lying on the stream peeling lotus flowers. (Xin Qiji's "Qingpingle-Village Residence")
7. In spring, silkworms will weave until they die, and candles will burn with tears. (Li Shangyin's Untitled)
8. It is always spring that waits to see the east wind. (Zhu's Spring Day)
4. Modern Poetry about Life Life is like a white handkerchief. As long as you add a circle of elegant lace, life will become tasteful.
Ordinary plus a little special means that I am particularly ordinary.
Although there is no trace of my wings in the sky, I have flown.
Just walk there and don't stop to pick camellias to keep them fresh, because the flowers will continue to bloom along the way.
You smiled slightly and said nothing to me. I think I've been waiting for this for a long time.
People can't express themselves in history, and struggle to show their sharp corners in history.
Maple leaves will turn red only after wind and frost, and people will become more mature and strong only after difficulties and obstacles.
I can't choose the best, but the best chose me.
The dry river bed does not thank him for his past.
Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves.
The mark of death endows life with the value of money, which enables it to buy real treasures with life.
1. Listen to a ballad about the end of time.
The time whizzing by my ear is bleak.
They stood at the end of the line of sight,
Wave goodbye in chronological order.
I really want to remember those smiling faces,
It's just I know
they
No match for time.
2、
Hide at a certain time
I missed the palmprint for a while.
Hide somewhere
Miss someone who is in the way.
People I care about
but
Where were you when I dreamed of you? . .
3、
Finger pointing
Time flows from one hand to the other.
Put your hands together, I want to save time.
It's just running water
The years passed.
Like lost youth.
4、
Fireflies in memory
Always haunting my dreams.
Refuse to leave
Rain of the Children
Wash away the innocent heart
No sadness
The footsteps of the years
The river ran away in a hurry.
Never Goin' Back
The ancient poems about records are like the strong wind in spring, which blows at night and blows away the petals of ten thousand pear trees. -Cen Can's Farewell to Tian Shuji Wu's Homecoming, Song of Snow.
I don't know who cut the thin leaves, but the spring breeze in February is like scissors. -He Zhangzhi's Singing Willow
During the Qingming Festival, there are many rains, and pedestrians on the road want to die. -Du Mu's Tomb-Sweeping Day
On the third night in September, the dew is like a real pearl and the moon is like a bow. -Bai Juyi's Poems on the Mujiang River.
Unconsciously, it is spring, and an inch of time is an inch of gold. -Don Wang Zhenbai's two poems in White Deer Cave.
It's just when a person is reading. -Yan Zhenqing's "Poetry of Persuasion".
The prime of life no longer comes, and it will be difficult to wake up one day. Timely encouragement, time waits for no one. -Tao Yuanming's Miscellaneous Poems Rootless Life.
Tomorrow follows tomorrow, there are so many tomorrows. If people are tired of tomorrow, they will go to Qiu Lai in spring to watch the flowing water and the sunset at dusk. If tomorrow can become geometry in a hundred years, please listen to my song of tomorrow. -Wen Jia's Song of Tomorrow.
Without two mornings in a day, time will not come.
6. Poems about a better life in ancient poems describing life (the following is the beautiful pastoral life described by ancient poets for reference)
Wu Xinyi by Wang Wei: The Red Calyx of Hibiscus in the Mountain. There is no one in the stream, and it has begun to fall.
Autumn in a Mountain Residence by Wang Wei: An empty mountain stands on an autumn night after the rain. The bright moon shed clear light from the cracks and cleared the fountain on the rocks. The bamboo forest is sonorous, the washerwoman returns, and the lotus leaves are swaying to get on the canoe. Spring spring might as well give it a rest, and the autumn sun can stay on the hills for a long time.
Wang Wei's Birding Creek: When people are idle, osmanthus flowers fall, and the night is quiet and the mountains are empty. When the moon comes out, the birds are startled, and the sound enters the spring stream.
Wei Shui Farmer by Wang Wei: In the setting sun in the countryside, cattle and sheep go home along the path. A rugged old man in a thatched door leaned against a cane and thought about his son, the shepherd boy. There are whistling pheasants? Full ears of wheat, sleeping silkworms and peeled mulberry leaves. Jojo and Fu Tian greet each other cordially. No wonder I long for a simple life, and the disappointed songs are fading.
7. A poem about a better life: Chai Lu Wang Wei: There seems to be no one on the empty mountain, but I think I heard a voice. The sun entered a forest and reflected from the green moss.
Wu Xinyi by Wang Wei: hibiscus flowers are at the bottom of the wood, and red calyx is in the mountains. There is no one in the stream, and flowers bloom and fall in succession.
After the rain, an empty mountain stands in the autumn night, there is moonlight in the pine forest, crystal stones in the stream, bamboo words of the sweeper going home, lotus leaves in front of the fishing boat, my friend's prince, spring has passed, what does it matter if you are here? .
Wang Wei birdsong creek: when people are idle, sweet-scented osmanthus falls, and the night is quiet and the mountains are empty.
Wei Shui Farmhouse by Wang Wei: When the sun sets, cattle and sheep go home along the path. An old man is shut in the door of a thatched cottage, leaning on a stick and thinking about his son. Where is the shepherd boy? Full ears of wheat, sleeping silkworm moths and peeled mulberry leaves Fu Tian all met and said goodbye, which was their admiration for leisure and disappointment for singing.
8. Poems about diaries 1. Retain the eventful years that have passed.
Remember the 10 thousand customs that have appeared.
When the memory is about to fade.
Relive these.
2, a good memory is not as good as a bad pen!
3. There is a sparkling poem "Diary of an Ancient Town".
4. I am not a poet
There is always an impulse to write poetry.
Whether it's the joys and sorrows at work
Or the ups and downs of life
I want to express it in the form of poetry.
Just like someone else's diary.
Tell a straightforward story.
In fact, I have kept a diary for many years.
Just in a different way.
I wrote my diary into a poem.
Poetry became a diary.
Diary is the genre of my poetry.
Poetry is the soul of my diary.
Diary is a paradise for my poetry.
Poetry is a frequent visitor to my diary.
I can't write poetry without my diary.
Without poetry, my diary is lifeless.
Anyway, I think so.
I won't say what others say.
This is my poetry diary.
Sunshine all the way, wind and rain all the way.
Record my spring, summer, autumn and winter
Little by little.
once in a while
My diary of naughty poems
Will be like a group of urchins aged three or five.
Someone will run away from me.
Walk into the newspaper network
A chic time (Peng Minsheng)