The sea is choppy, the tides rise and fall, and the clouds are rolling. Even if you look up at the sky at sunrise and sunset, you will roar loudly and you can hear it all over the sky. The master said: What will the sky say?

The way of life, the road is simple, the wisdom is silent, the square is broad, and the essence is self-presented. People are in a hurry, who can understand the emptiness of nature?

Maybe Dongpo understood.

As a result, a figure suddenly appeared between heaven and earth, holding a bamboo stick in his hand. In the shadow of deep water, a person was alone outside the official sea, cooking with his heart. Amuse yourself, folk music, landscape music. Look around, feel the world, sing the moon poems and songs, how free and carefree!

So, I began to understand Dongpo, understand the calmness away from the hustle and bustle, and even felt how chic and demanding it was to "idle flowers and fall to the ground and listen silently" ...

When I came from the east to express my whistle, I picked chrysanthemums and saw Nanshan. So is Tao Yuanming. There is also Mei's wife, the owner of the crane, and the teacher of the boy who collects medicine; Don't they all exist transcendentally?

Beyond the world of mortals, floating between heaven and earth, hermits have nothing to ask for and are hidden in mountains and rivers. Since the enlightenment is cool and comfortable.

This may be the reason why people in the past always praised hermits for cherishing words like gold!

However, is a hermit really like that idle flower? Do you really understand the true meaning of silence in nature?

Sages love life, but they don't know how to enter the world with the heart of life

Was Confucius broad-minded thousands of years ago? But he did not end his life in the mountains, but made his mark among his disciples for three years. Perhaps this is the real idle flower, falling silently, falling in the real soil, and then melting into fragrant soil, nourishing generations. Now, before bowing to his tall figure, isn't his wise brow the silent breath of heaven? This is the way of nature. He doesn't obsessively please anything, and he doesn't need to deliberately avoid anything. He just stood still and looked after the stability of the universe.

Buddha said: there are thousands of flowers, but every leaf doesn't touch the body. Empty, but there are thousands of flowers. No wonder Laozi and Zhuangzi don't know whether they are butterfly people or butterflies, and they smile at everything. It turns out that he has merged with all kinds of people and realized that there is nothing in heaven and earth, but it contains everything.

Unforgettable blame for the death of his wife, Lao Zi and Zhuang's song. Isn't that a hymn to the return of idle flowers to nature silently?

The drizzle warms clothes, and the idle flowers fall silently, which comes from nature and belongs to nature.

People should also be in harmony with nature. When flowers bloom, spring blossoms, stay fragrant for a lifetime, and when flowers fall, sleep quietly and peacefully. Isn't this nature, heaven and supreme truth?

Man is born with everything, born in nature, longer than nature and belongs to nature. Heaven is silent, and human nature wants nothing. Don't seek everything, let alone run away from everything.

Simple, plain, true, with the sun and the moon, with the world!

Unforgettable past

Sixty years ago, in Normandy, France and Utah beaches, teams of American and British soldiers braved the bullets and rushed to the bunker ahead. One soldier after another fell, and some people were still shouting to run forward. At that time, blood dyed the whole beach red. ...

Sixty years ago, in Stalingrad, the Soviet Union, at the front, trucks after trucks were carrying recruits who had just come out of training camps. The officers shouted in the car, "We don't need deserters alive!" "The words sound just fell and a shrapnel penetrated his head. The recruits were kicked out of the car. Some people got guns, while others only got bullets. The megaphone kept repeating a sentence: "Those who didn't get guns followed those with guns, and comrades with guns died." People without guns pick up their guns and continue to charge ... "

Sixty years ago, in a village in the northeast of China, at night, a middle-aged man with bare arms straightened his belt with a cold and shiny broadsword and turned to a group of villagers, including teenage boys and gray-haired old people, who also carried broadswords. The middle-aged man said, "You didn't let your family know, did you?" Everyone was silent, and the middle-aged man waved. "Then let's go." Half an hour later, the screams, gunshots and metal collisions in the Japanese base broke out one after another, and the moonlight reflected on the blade also had the color of grief and indignation, which kept flashing with the waving of the knife. With the last shot, I can't find the moonlight on the ground anymore. ...

War can only bring us death and destruction. The war left us with painful memories and heroes. We can't forget the heroes who died for justice and peace, war, death and destruction, and we can't and shouldn't forget the heroes in war. They ended the war, stopped the destruction and replaced the deaths of others with their own.

The war is over, let's remember this sleeping hero.

Today, 60 years later, in Normandy, France, Utah Beach, veterans who fought bloody battles here put on military uniforms full of medals and walked on the road. People cheer for them, cheer for them. At the same time, they also found that the veterans laughed so hard. ...

Today, 60 years later, the Red Square in Moscow, Russia is the main place to celebrate, or should I say to commemorate, the 60th anniversary of the victory of World War II. Heroes from all over the world are respected and praised by leaders of various countries.

Today, 60 years later, a class of students in a small town in northeast China, led by an 80-year-old man, came to a monument. The old man told about his experience of killing the enemy, surviving and escaping, and he is still excited. He sang the song that made his blood boil: "The broadsword was cut on the enemy's head ..." The students shed tears. ...

Commemoration, for the unforgettable past.

Leave it till tomorrow.

Looking back is spring, bowing is autumn, and the wheel of fate keeps turning: the passage of years and the involvement of rivers in the cycle of the four seasons are pregnant with endless life. Tomorrow-this is an eternal and beautiful word, a symbol of hope and peace. However, what can today leave for tomorrow, and what can be done to achieve glory?

Reciting Yi 'an's beautiful sentence and reading Mr. Bing Xin's zhanghua, I suddenly realized: How many spiritual and cultural treasures the Chinese nation has had in the past 5,000 years? Aren't those pearls shining in the long history just a legacy for future generations?

What is left for tomorrow is the culture and art that we have passed down from generation to generation. "A river's water never returns, the waves are exhausted, and it is a romantic figure through the ages." Su Dongpo's words are broad-minded and uninhibited, guiding us to persevere in setbacks; "Yang Liuan, Xiaofeng is dying." Liu Yong's words are subtle and graceful, giving people a different aesthetic and romantic style; "Full of absurd words, a bitter tear." The story of A Dream of Red Mansions written by Cao Xueqin, who eats porridge for his family, has been passed down to this day, and the twelve golden women with different personalities in the works are still fresh in their memories. Today, China's national music has been shining brilliantly on the world stage. Wu Daozi's meticulous brushwork and Qi Baishi's ink and wash are better than Qi Fei's in the picture scroll with a history of one hundred years!

What is left for tomorrow is the spiritual wealth handed down from generation to generation. Do you remember that Qu Zi struggled to sing by the river and finally decided to join Miluo? Do you remember the poet Li Bai? Oh, how can I solemnly bow and scrape to those people with high status and important positions, because they will never be seen with a sincere face. So chic and wild. Once upon a time, Lu Xun, a great revolutionary, abandoned medicine and followed literature, laughing and cursing, creating a just sky for the people of China; Once upon a time, Zhu Ziqing, a great prose writer, would rather starve to death than eat American relief food!

What is left for tomorrow is our excellent character passed down from generation to generation. For fifteen years, Uncle Bai kept his feet on the ground and donated all the hard-earned money of 350,000 to children who were out of school, leaving no money for himself. How many people were displaced by Hengyang fire? It is those young fire fighters who sacrificed their precious lives and saved people in from the mire. Shenzhou 5's success not only made Yang Zhiwei a hero, but also witnessed the revival of the Chinese nation. Liu Xiang's record-breaking leap shows the rise of the Chinese nation!

Grasp our future, spine our mission, and the responsibility of inheriting civilization falls on our shoulders. Pass the flashing torch to tomorrow, give the silent hope to tomorrow and leave the splendid culture to tomorrow.

Vassiligara

"Love" is hard to open in my heart.

After drinking the last sip of milk, I silently put the paper with 120 in front of my father. He raised his eyes and snorted. After signing the autograph, he continued to bury himself in reading the newspaper. My lips moved to say something, but I gave up after all. I'm used to it anyway. After I packed my things, I closed the door conveniently, and the door closed softly as if it were a sigh. I strode to school without looking back. ...

In fact, I also want him to smile and say, "I did well in the exam." ...

My father and I seem to be natural enemies, and our struggle has never stopped since childhood. Naughty is a boy's nature. Whenever I get into trouble, he always keeps silent and beats me with a belt. I probably inherited his stubbornness. I didn't cry, but a crisp slap scuffled with my mother's cry. Finally, I slammed the door-I made a dash for the door.

My mother often tells me that she loves me, but I just don't know how to express it. I'll try to communicate with him. Communication? I sneer. How can I communicate with a machine like him? He even smiled at the street sweeper he didn't know, but reluctantly refused to show me anything. The only language he uses to express "love" is the endless ringing of his belt. I repay his love by slamming the door more often than talking. ...

Thinking about it, I came to school. "hey!" My friend leaned in mysteriously. "Do you know what day it is today? Father's Day! " Suddenly, my cold old face reappeared in my mind, and I said in disgust, "What's it to me?" "Don't you say something to your father? I couldn't wait to send it last night. When I said' I love you' to my dad, he actually cried! " My friend said excitedly, and then dragged me to the boutique without hesitation. ...

Holding a bottle of Erguotou and a beautifully packaged belt, I returned home in fear. It's ironic to send a belt. Is he going to slap me again?

"Dad, today is Father's Day. This is a gift for you. " I said quietly. He paused and slowly opened the present. Unexpectedly, instead of flying into a rage, he sighed heavily: "Your mother is not here today, have a drink with me." Okay, be brave.

There was a terrible silence, only the clash of glasses. Both of them are a little drunk. I looked at my father and said lightly, "Dad, I ... I ... I love you ..." I took it very lightly and quickly, I wonder if he heard me. "I didn't mean anything, but your belt is about to break …" Before I finished, my father's voice popped out: "I did well in the exam today …" My eyes suddenly became hot. He picked up the glass, raised his head and slammed it, his eyes shining and red. He quickly concealed: "This wine ... this wine is too strong ..." I choked with a smile: "It's a little strong ..." Then I drank a cup, and tears flowed into my mouth ... Tears of love were sweet. ...

A "I love you" will dissolve countless feelings. ...

There is always sunshine after the storm.

I am not a brave boy. I am afraid of difficulties, I am afraid of being at a loss on the way forward, I am afraid of facing the hardships ahead, I am afraid of facing the world without a sense of direction, and I am afraid of losing myself.

When things are about to have a result, especially when I have a bad feeling, I always choose to escape.

I've always wanted to learn to be strong, but being strong is not that easy. Being strong is always not as strong as I thought. It's not a word, it's not an emotion, it's not something you can do on impulse. I think it's so difficult. I tried to do it, but in the end I failed. I still gave up. Although things always end in failure and things always end in giving up, I didn't say no easily. Search is not a brave child, but I am not a child who gives up easily. The decision I give up is always made after a struggle.

Please don't think that when you are strong, it must be a rainbow, and a beautiful world must be waiting for you. People will not be happy in everything, we will still face failure, we will still face pain, we will still face crying, but you should try your best to fight for it before we cry.

Perhaps, I am a failed child, and I am a child who has not yet grown up. So my world always fails more. No matter how hard I try, my failure rate will always be 70%.

But after that day, I think my life should not be like this, my life should not be a failure, my life should be rich and colorful. I have the right and the ability to fight for the rainbow.

Life is really fragile. When nature trembled for two minutes, we faced what you were going to do, and we began to panic. We began to be at a loss, and our land was in a panic.

Similarly, the vitality is also very strong. The coke boy in the ruins, the girl whose legs were cut off in the ruins, and the people rescued by the PLA soldiers a few days and nights later, if they give up their willpower and live in the dark world around them, are they still alive? Do they have any hope of survival?

After that day, I gradually realized that I seem to be no longer a child, and there are still many things I should do. I shouldn't give up so easily. If I bite my teeth again, I can see the rainbow and the beautiful flame, but I always hesitate at the most critical moment. Although my hesitation has also experienced reflection, if I think about it and think about it again, there will be a beautiful miracle around me, and my rainbow is not far away. I missed many opportunities to see the rainbow.

The missed will never come again, and the present is still there. I want to seize the present, don't easily say no to the things in front of me, I want to persist with my heart, and I want to strive for it. Again, you may not see the rainbow after the storm, but you will definitely not see the rainbow without it.

I want to hold your hand >

Sunrise and sunset, flowers bloom and fall, the constant is the temperature of love in the palm of your hand.

-inscription

Every time I cross the road, my father always extends a warm hand to lead me across the road. Every time I see him reaching out to me, I always hold it happily and will not let it go for a long time, because it is always so warm and inclusive of my hand and my naive fantasy heart.

Every time my mother takes me out shopping, she always holds my hand with that hand full of years. Her hand always holds mine tightly for fear of losing me. I often think that no matter what my mother will do in the future, she will try her best to hold my hand, for sure.

Every time I help grandma downstairs, her hand with protruding veins and faintly visible bones always tugs at me tightly, for fear that I will let go. Her eyes are not good and she can't see the stairs clearly, so she always walks slowly and looks at me from time to time. Her eyes are full of dependence and expectation. Grandma is getting older and older, and my hands, like dead tree skins, are holding my hands tighter and tighter.

Every time I go shopping with my friends, she always holds my hand and talks to me. Sometimes it is inevitable to vomit, so she exaggerates with one hand, but she never lets go of my hand with the other, loosely. She never seems to worry that I will shake her hand. Indeed, I have never been apart.

I don't know how long those hands can hold me. Maybe there will be more hands holding my hands, but maybe one day, there will be no hands around me, leaving me alone. But even so, I will miss the hands I shook and shook. They brought me more than confidence and courage. They let me know that I am not alone. ...

Thank you for accompanying me to write down my youthful hands. Can I never let go?