I have loved reading since I was a child. The charm of oriental culture is condensed in dignified square characters, and the avenue is simple. It was as if the bond with culture collided with a full embrace. One by one, the stories of young people, or Hong Zhong, or elegant like the lilac girl in the rain alley, or as thick and long as the great river going east, weaved my young dreams. And I, willing to run for it, is like chasing the light.
In the year of weeping hair, before going to sleep at night, I will listen to my mother's recitation. Last few stories. Still remembering the yellow light, there was the sound of flicking through the pages. In the chaotic age of the unenlightened, kittens and puppies play in the forest paradise in the book, warm and laughable. Reading is like a bell ringer that cuts through the darkness, unravels the confusion and worry of a child's heart, and outlines a warm meaning in the ordinary four-hour scene. Whenever I eat, I hold the page in my hand, but I use the book with the meal, and I also have a sense of "the taste of truth". Fang Mian stretched out a road to go, and the flowers were like a brocade.
In the year of cardamom, sometimes to the smoke and watery oil madi to see sangsang in front of the court; From time to time, I saw white mist on the sticky cake stalls in Hulanhe City; Sometimes he and "taste tea with Cha Li Cui An". I heard the silver bells in Yun Mengze's ears, and when I was a little older, I liked to sit alone in the afternoon and read it, and what kind of bitter things I had, all disappeared in one word and one sentence. He carefully wrote a book review for his beloved, and saw the characters in the book, both pity and respect. Self-written words, but not half of the love, a long road, still willing to go.
In the year of the golden noodles, I am willing to take the ancient books around me and sink my heart. However, when he saw Mr. Wuliu in the Jin Dynasty like an idle cloud and wild crane, he was in the human realm, but his heart was comfortable, and there was no noise of cars and horses. Tang Shi Li Qinglian sighed: Jun did not see the water of the Yellow River rising from the sky, rushing to the sea and never returning! A bunch of gossip. In the middle of the night, I saw the branches of the bright moon and startled the birds to chirp cicadas; The west wind of the ancient road still reads the small bridge and flows water people's homes. Only to see that in the ancient text is another vast world. In the long road and walking and singing, still do not forget the original intention, willing to rush to the book to see the fanghua.
Since childhood, I have been good at reading. Life is so trivial, how much vulgarity it contains, how many sorrows, joys and angers, but reading is like the four strings of the pipa, quieting my heart. And Gu, willing to witness a splendid rush under the green lamp of the wooden table, close your eyes and read again after closing the volume.