1) island

The wind is gentle and the island is quiet. ...

Standing on an isolated island, I looked at the vast sea of people, within reach and out of reach. A sea of people, so moving, so lively, can not be completely quiet for a moment. It seems boring to hear the chirp every minute, but I hope to blend in with them and become one of them. The fate of an isolated island doomed me to be lonely, lonely and lonely all my life. ...

I was eager for excitement, so I fled the island. Even at the cost of losing an eye, I still go forward without hesitation. I naively thought that as long as I fled the island, I could get out of loneliness and live a colorful life that I had been longing for for for a long time. ...

But the reality is always cruel. ...

When I walked into the crowd, I opened my only eye. I wanted to see colorful things, including people. I prefer to talk to those people, but as long as I get close to them, they will run away, just like I do to an island.

I didn't care at first, because there were so many things that made me curious. Slowly, my curiosity faded. I found that loneliness attacked me again. So far, I haven't really talked to the so-called people, but others have been calling me crazy, cyclops and so on.

Although I don't care on the surface, my lonely heart is sad for a touch ... so-called human words can be said. Finally, I fled back to the island and lost my other eye. ...

The wind is still gentle, the island is still quiet, I feel the island with my heart, and loneliness becomes wonderful music. ...

Lonely, lonely, lonely ... I whispered, and a drop of salty water dripped from the corner of my eye. ...

……

Senior high school composition (2) Taste tears

My eyes are moist and moist, because I am moved, so I love the feeling of being full of water droplets, even if it hinders my beauty!

17 years old, learn to be responsible for your actions and grow up, so you force yourself to be strong every time, and tears are the embodiment of cowardice. I don't allow myself to cry. For a long time, I have forgotten the last time I shed tears and the taste of tears. I remember that tears are ugly, so I can't cry. ...

Unexpectedly, however, at the age of 17, I only shed tears for a trivial matter. ...

Our school system prohibits students from charging with chargers and reading in the corridor after lights out. Rebellious I charged behind the teacher. As a "night owl", I don't want to stare at the ceiling for an hour every night before falling asleep.

Maybe this year, I had a fight with him, so I rushed three times and got caught twice. I can't help but sigh: but he died before he could conquer, and the heroes cried on their coats from now on. When I was caught by the headmaster and the head teacher for the first time, I really wanted to give up and claim it, but my strong thoughts didn't allow me to escape.

"Men do things, dare to do things" is my motto, although I am not a man. I still went with the great spirit of "the wind blows and the water cools, and the strong men are gone forever." Although I was only warned that time, my gentle Chinese teacher's stern eyes stung my weak hands and feet and my lips kept fighting.

It was discovered by the political teacher for the second time and handed over to the class teacher. I know the head teacher is easy to talk to, which is better for us. Because it is good, I have no face to ask for it. I am afraid that her eyes are full of blame and disappointment, and I am even more afraid that her gentle smile and caring eyes will not appear in front of me. I really want to be a coward. I'm ready to be a coward once. It was the appearance of the head teacher that stopped me. She still uses a gentle smile and caring eyes. There is no reprimand or harshness in her words, only understanding and guidance.

I was so touched that I excitedly said thank you to her in a hoarse voice, and then hurried into the classroom. Sitting in my seat, my eyes are wet, and the wet water drops flow on my face, which is cold and warm.

I know I am in tears. If I shed tears, I will be a coward. This time I allowed myself to be a complete coward. ...

.

Essay (3) Tomb before BC

There are flowers in front of the tomb, which are blooming brightly. The red flower, like blood, is about to drop! The doll stood in front of it, and the weeds half a person's height flooded her lower body, even the red shoes on her feet. ...

The doll stared at the flower as if her life belonged to the fusion with the flower. The wind blew up her long blue hair and covered her eyes. She gently opened her eyes and looked at the flowers in the ancient tomb.

There is only one monument in the ancient tomb, which is very common. If you put it with many graves, it may be ignored at first, but as long as you pay attention, you will find that the tomb engraved with "My beloved wife-Diana's tomb" is signed "Di Starr in 200 BC", but the monument is as new as it has just been erected, and even the dust in the air has not fallen on it. ...

The doll looked at the tablet computer and turned away. She left, walking slowly, completely unable to see her body swinging. She stepped out of the weeds, revealing her lower body-one foot, no, a foot composed of two feet, bigger than ordinary people, revealing scarlet shoes at her feet. ...

If you write it here,

Hehe, I took out my high school notes and found that I was really inattentive in high school class. I actually wrote a lot of long essays, reflecting my mood and emotional life at that time ... It turned out that I was still rich in high school. Because of the college entrance examination, I was afraid to recall my life at that time for half a year. Depression is the theme of senior three, and many things are very helpless. However, I am not a senior three, and I am very helpless.

To you, high school!

Winter is full of vitality, and she awakens everything; Summer is full of vitality, she embellishes everything; Autumn is shy, she dyes the forest red; Winter is cold and depressing, making everything barren. People's vitality is vividly set off by the depression and indifference in winter.

Look! People will not be listless because of the cold in winter and stay under the covers all day. People's work goes on and goes on regularly, and everyone looks more energetic.

People come and go in the street, everyone is full of energy and never gives in to the depression and indifference in winter. Some small vendors and vendors are also hawking one after another, and there is an endless stream. You can also see warm stoves, hot tea eggs and corn in the bustling crowd ... will all this still make people feel cold?

Winter is beautiful, and the most emotional thing is when he is wrapped in white. Snow is white and flawless. She doesn't need any packaging. The beauty she shows is simple, but it brings infinite reverie ... everything is so simple and clear against the snow. Seeing all this, no one can but be impressed by her beauty, and let people write many poems for him. ...

Recalling the snowy day last year, everything was covered with a layer of white, and crystal snowflakes fell to the earth, touching your cheeks playfully from time to time, making you feel "the coolness of happiness".

The judicial department insisted on using her hands, which were red with cold and without gloves, to try to catch this falling thing from the sky, but she obviously didn't cooperate and left quietly, only adding a little moisture to her hands. But she has a soft spot for my hair, and she falls on my hair smartly and wantonly, and refuses to leave for a long time. ...

I remember when I was a child, I would have a snowball fight with my friends and make a snowman every snowy day. At that time, I also had long hair, tied into two pigtails, and swayed up and down when I kept running in the snow. My friends always touch my ear-long hair and say enviously, "It's beautiful!" "

Later, the two girls grew up in the same primary school but not in the same middle school, but on snowy days, we all went out together without gloves, leaving our footprints in the snow.

In the second day of junior high school, we were overwhelmed by the heavy study. In the first snow that year, the two girls didn't have a snowball fight as before, but just walked slowly in the snow holding each other's cold hands and singing their favorite song: "It's so cold, the snow is so deep." Snowflakes are still attached to my hair and still fall on my hair. We walked on the playground for a long time. Finally, she said, "There seems to be a feeling of' holding your hand and growing old with your son'." We all laughed. Although this should not be used to describe us, I believe ...

In so many winters, we have gone through many days of holding hands and humming snowman together.

However, everything has an end, and we finally endure the pain of separation. She finally left with her parents. Knowing this, I couldn't help myself, and tears flowed down unwillingly. I said to myself: don't cry, she will live better there and get better grades. I always use these to comfort myself, but do they work?

Once, I received a letter from her. She asked me to forgive her for leaving without saying goodbye. She doesn't know how to face me when I grow old with my son. She said that she missed the snow in her hometown, the "Snow White", the girl who insisted on walking with her in the snow without gloves even if it was cold, and the simple agreement. Finally, she wants me to get better and better grades and work hard with her.

On my way home, I don't know which record store happened to play Mavis Fan's Snowman. The cold timbre and soft melody add a bit of silence to the snowy evening. "Snow, piece by piece, spell out the fate of you and me. Seeing that spring is coming, I will no longer exist ... "

Mo, I think this kind of life is like the feeling of melting after a snowman piles up. Although the way of existence has changed, perhaps the essence of snow is not a clear spring. She is pregnant with the arrival of spring, irrigating the growth of summer and displaying the fruits of autumn. ...

Therefore, I love winter, her purity and her uniqueness. She symbolizes hope and the arrival of spring. ...

Late autumn prose

It seems particularly cold this autumn. On the way to school in the morning, pedestrians have colorful scarves of different lengths around their necks. I don't know if fashion is at work, or can't stand the coolness of autumn wind?

With the sound of my mother urging me to add a coat, autumn is getting closer and closer to me. It seems that in the blink of an eye, he has jumped into my arms like a naughty child.

The hot summer has gone away from me. The buttonwood trees on campus are flying with beautiful pale golden leaves. The sky is high and blue. Calm down and listen. Autumn insects whisper. What a beautiful late autumn scenery!

The mood in autumn is quiet, even a little sad. Fragile yellow, full of eyes, reflecting a lonely figure, walking among the fallen leaves. Late autumn seems destined to be the season of missing. Let your thoughts follow the swaying autumn leaves, follow the flowing clouds, recall the past sweet time, and think of friends you haven't seen for a long time in the distance, which will inevitably lead to some disappointment and loss, but the fine weather with clear clouds and clear winds can not help people feel depressed. Therefore, autumn makes people feel depressed and can't stop. It is common for autumn to look gloomy. On the street where the autumn wind is rustling, the girls have a sad expression on their faces, which seems to be more dignified.

In the autumn wind, there is a smell of gradual cooling after being baked by the sun. It's a smell that makes people smile. Seeing the sky getting higher and higher, the blue gradually deepened. Every day in late autumn makes me mature, strong, pure, simple and extraordinary.

In the air, the rich fragrance intertwined, burning the late autumn dusk into intermittent sunset glow, dyed my face red, overflowing into my heart, and smiling on my lips.

On the night when the light was turned on, I leaned against the window and looked at the bright night sky in late autumn. When I was daydreaming, the dew condensed and the moonlight rubbed the street by the window. I silently bowed my head and wrote this essay, and then quietly enjoyed this elegant scenery, waiting for myself to become a thing in this landscape. Maybe this is just an autumn mood.

Weekend essay

As usual, it is still a noisy city outside the window, but on this weekend morning, I suddenly feel that this city is so weird and lovely! The neighborhood where I live is probably full of office workers. It's a rare weekend, and everyone is enjoying this rare, once-a-week stay! So the whole community is like a sleeping child, sweet and quiet, smiling at the sun in a deep sleep! The traffic on the road a little further away is still busy, but probably the drivers are enjoying the leisure atmosphere on weekends, and the speed is not fast, which makes people feel that those steel-like bodies are showing the lazy feelings that are rarely seen at ordinary times! Further away is Lotus Hill, which is green, gloomy and lush, and also shows laziness, as if it were just a kitten basking in the sun, enjoying the gift of sunshine lazily and motionless! Suddenly remembered that cute cartoon character-Garfield! I remembered its famous saying: Do you think it is easy to sleep for 20 hours every day? Ha ha, think about it, I smiled. Yes, if I really have that ability, I will still sleep in the dark. How can I stand by the window and experience this early summer morning in Shenzhen? Maybe it's a blessing in disguise, losing a rare weekend lie-in and enjoying an early summer morning sunshine!

Shunza's voice came from the computer speaker, which is my favorite song. There is a lazy humming in the song, which is very suitable for such a quiet morning. This cheerful and lazy Saturday morning makes people put aside all their troubles ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

/c？ word = % D2 % F4 % C0 % D6 % 3B % CB % E6 % b 1% CA & amp； URL =/Article % 5f print % 2 easp % 3f itec id % 3d 67 1 & amp； B = 0 & ampa = 48& User = Baidu

Music essay

I'm not a conformist, and I don't want to put a "coat" on my inner music, because it's a heartfelt voice, so let it show itself naturally.

What is music? I quite agree with a great man's statement that "it is impossible to produce music without touching the heart" and that it is not rigid. Actually, I still have a great complex. I love life beyond time and space, and I always like to give a poetic name to the "trivial things" around me. I often indulge in the world of music, and I am always moved by her gorgeous beauty, graceful beauty, tragic beauty and gloomy beauty. As a loyal listener, I listened to her ancient legends and beautiful fairy tales and marveled at the magic of music. In her rhythmic beating, I seem to be enchanted, floating off the ground and flying far away to the countryside with a transparent blue crystal lake. Sometimes, I feel as if I am in a background where I can see musical prodigies, which can't be described as "modern". In the golden hall, when I saw the man who was struggling with fate and trying to hold it by the throat, my heart suddenly boiled, and two torrents were violently colliding, one was volcanic lava with smoke and fire, and the other was polar ice flow from Siberia. It seems that I will have an indissoluble bond with music in my life.

I am eager for music. In my long journey of life, music will be my loyal journey with you. She is like a paintbrush, so my life is colorful. At the same time, I am also her loyal partner. I will share her pain and sorrow, her happiness and joy. I have an agreement with music. If you want to set a deadline for her, it is a lifetime.

Pp music essay

Music notes (written in winter)

I recently dabbled in some western music under the guidance of the master. Writing so-called music essays can only make people laugh and give generously, but only capture some emotions with impressions. But I think that one is to write to Master to witness my progress, and the other is to cherish myself. Although humble, my feelings are the most special and precious. I recently listened to Tchaikovsky's Fifth Symphony and Sixth Symphony ... I have always been fascinated by Russian culture, and the works of gref and Tosstorff are my favorites. That kind of melancholy, the artist's eternal shackles, inescapable sins, introspective melancholy, and groaning of external suffering can all be expressed in his works, which makes people feel desperate and sad. They think, heavy and sad because of thinking. There is endless cold and exile, from the beloved home to another exile. Don't hesitate to carry it on your shoulders. This is more guilty and tragic than any other nation. I will not go to the world for the liberation of my soul, I will not fight against the outside world to vent endless resentment and complaints, I will not turn a blind eye to the suffering of reality, I will cover my fate with optimism, and I will not shut myself in an ivory tower to carve exquisite and gorgeous skills. Their hearts will always be associated with the cautious suffering and cold blood of the Russian land, like the thick Volga River, which is long, wide, kind and heavy. I think this is very suitable for winter. The rustling snowflakes fall in the dark Chinese fir forest, and the vast plains are accompanied by endless sadness and hesitation. The world blocked by ice and snow, to taste it ... I don't know what word, taste? Charm? Smell? None of them are suitable. It is different from the aesthetic experience with metaphysical thinking in China ancient literature.

Both symphonies have a movement, which can be interpreted as a waltz to express memories of past joys. When you are old, you recall the tenderness of your past eyes and their heavy shadows. This sweet sadness, as quoted by Turgenev in the introduction of Spring Tide, is also a Russian folk song "Happy years, happy days-like spring water, gone forever!" This reminds me of a 500-year-old teacher who told us about the history of modern and contemporary literature in China when I was a freshman. Boring, boring and boring lectures make it impossible to sit alone with several yawning students in each class. Once she was talking about Rou Shi's February. Somehow, she recalled that "February" had just been made into a movie "Early Spring" in high school, and girls were scrambling to see an open-air movie. Her eyes turned to the window, and every wrinkle on her face seemed to bloom. I followed her eyes-it's really early spring outside the window, and there are whistling white discs playing next to tender beans and vines. The sun is warm and fills the whole earth like a song of youth. I forgave her, forgave her nagging, her boredom and her laziness. After all, everyone will reach the age of white hair and wrinkles and recall youth. I don't know how I will recall the fruitless youth at that time. Just like the cheerful waltz in the whole symphony, how do the old musicians recall their past glory?

It is worth mentioning that the musician died of cholera six days after the premiere of the Sixth Symphony. This song eventually became Pyotr Il'yich Tchaikovsky's "swan song". Everything is life, everything is smoke. The last movement of the work written for my destiny was so sad that I couldn't breathe and cried. Does he have a premonition of fate, the eternal death of life, and the sadness of despair?

Ben also writes prose, but it seems that it has nothing to do with music. But I still have the cheek to put on a big hat of music for myself ~ anyway, it is a bit idle and faint for an outsider who listens to music. I don't want anyone to solve it, and I hope I won't be blamed. I may write papers 2 and 3 in the future. I can imagine the smile on your lips knocking on the door of music. The sunset in the evening is covered with a long way to the distance, which is the end of the overture of A Midsummer Night's Dream and the sweetness and sadness of a colorful dream.

Life without life, soul without body.

The town around the neck is so cold, doesn't it mean that it brings hope? I'm lost. ...

Some people say that I am not only cold, but also a little cruel. I only care about my business, not others'.

I once said that man is just a book. What others read is whether you can read. No one can read me.

Now I add that I am waiting for the person who can read me to appear.

I can't forget one sentence. Ignoring is your freedom, but don't forget your existence!

Existence? What is existence? When a person dies, there is nothing left, and silence eventually becomes sinking and depravity. ...

I remember when I arrived at Machi, I said, I would be anyone for you, but I am myself.

We talked a lot, but we didn't understand and feel.

I know, my sister did it on purpose. She released me, and I was waiting.

A god told me that my heart was bleeding!

Lofty freedom

Garden of Eden

I have been reading in bed from 9 o'clock last night to 4 o'clock in the morning. A beam of light is projected on the page enthusiastically, like the gentle touch of God's hand. The world outside the window is so quiet that it seems that time has stopped. My eyes and my soul are firmly attracted by these three books. Except for the world shown in these three books, I almost forgot who I am, where I am, and what day and year this year is. These three books are: Yu Hua's prose collection "Can I Believe in myself", Natalie Angel's "The Beauty of Animals-A Re-examination of the Essence of Life" and Hainan's literary magazine "Tianya". At 4 o'clock in the morning, I undressed and went to bed, and my whole body and mind felt a sense of satisfaction similar to drinking until I was drunk. I fell asleep in less than a minute.

I can believe in myself by Yu Hua is a book about reading and writing. He talked leisurely about his favorite writers: Chekhov, Borges, Yukio Mishima, bulgakov, juan rulfo, Kawabata Yasunari, Faulkner, Kafka … and his own works. Yu Hua's profundity and uniqueness undoubtedly proved that he was the best writer in China at the end of 20th century and the beginning of 26th century. Among contemporary writers in China, no one can write better articles about reading and writing than this book. China finally has a creative level and a rational understanding of creation, which is close to the level of a world-class master. Reading such a book has an incredible feeling, just like an astronaut overlooking his home after landing on the moon.

Natalie Angel's Beauty among Animals, like Fabres's Insects, has gone far beyond popular science books. Animal and plant life, like human life, is extremely beautiful and strange. Please look at the section describing orchids in the book: "Orchids are the attraction of the flower kingdom. The premise of their appearance is that a flower picker is born every minute: a flower picker with wings and an irresistible desire for wine and love on his chest. The colors of these orchids are so emotional, their buds are so emotional, and they look like a decadent atmosphere. When it is their turn to deceive and sexually seduce flower pickers, their decadent spirit can make the decadent English poet Oscar Wilde languish and die. " Natalie Angel, a woman with a burning heart, full of understanding and spirituality, wrote a universe book about biology full of fun, poetry and philosophy, which is purer than pure literature. This is really lucky for our readers.

Tianya is a magazine with a strong modern flavor. It is both a literary magazine and an ideological magazine. In this issue I read, I was particularly attracted by many poems: "I am always glad that there is a lamp in the dark/in the wind and the bell, and I am waiting for that lamp …" "The trees in the north, standing in the February wind/leaving, are also standing there/showing clearly on the window …" From the 1970s to the 1990s, Duo Duo has been writing the best poems in China. Poets who have created vitality for a long time like Duo Duo are extremely rare in China. Many of them are ignored by China literary circles, and many of them are out of honor and fame. Many of them are just proofs of his self-confidence based on strength and self-confidence, and many of them are mirrors, reflecting the impetuousness and vanity of many literati.

What is reading for? The dream of "there is a golden house in the book, a thousand catties of millet in the book and Yan Ruyu in the book" was shattered by the ravages of intellectuals in the past few decades; Besides, the stale taste of these words is really unpleasant. Most modern people think that reading is to acquire knowledge, to enrich emotions and to sublimate ideas. This view is generally correct, but it is still understood from the utilitarian level. For those who really love reading, reading is the only way to acquire knowledge, enrich emotions and sublimate ideas, but this is not the whole meaning of reading. If we only rely on this utilitarian motivation, reading is still an arduous task, a boring job that has to be completed, and an enemy that needs to be dealt with hard. Only reading activities beyond utilitarianism can be truly happy, beautiful and wonderful, just like a fascinated artist intoxicated with his infinite love for art-Picasso and Miro are intoxicated with their lines and colors, Beethoven and Chopin are intoxicated with their notes and melodies, and Rodin is intoxicated with his stones and bronzes, entering a state of out-of-body experience and ecstasy.

For me, reading, like writing, is a lifestyle that I have no choice but to live and an addiction that I can't quit. Reading stems from my overly sensitive mind's fear of loneliness and death. I am reading, so I don't know what loneliness and death are; Or if I stand by and watch my loneliness and death from the other side, my soul will be suddenly enlightened. I am reading, even if I live in a closed iron room, I am touching the whole noisy world and the grand universe with my heart and blood. When I am reading, I will find a more authentic self, both primitive and dreamy, much more authentic than the cautious self in reality-in reality, I am struggling in various fetters and restrictions, and distortion is inevitable. In reality, I am often "non-me" and "anti-me", and I am often an illusory me. I’m reading a book. I'm just a bird, spreading my wings and fantasizing in the blue sky. No foreign autocratic force can force me to submit against my will. Reading, almost like dreaming, is the noblest freedom and purest happiness in the world.