经典qy288 时间:2018-01-11 我要投稿
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  A cold autumn rain. After a few autumn rains, the smell of autumn is very strong.  Always like autumn, always feel that no season can be so close to the mood, tacit and appropriate.  Choose a country of autumn, follow a long path of winding path, step by step, a beauty.  The fragrance of the golden cinnamon comes through the sun. Perhaps, after a short time, the frost leaves will be red to the shame of the face, with a clear hierarchy in the wind. Under the tree, sometimes a faint purple flower is peeping in the face... Too much reading can not finish the color filling the eyes, such autumn is happy.  However, behind the gorgeous back can catch "the frost wind chill, the guguan river cold, the remnants of the building" the gloom and cold, although silent.  It should be the end of an ancient city wall, the ruins of the ruins, the grass grow. There should also be a low and strong xun sound like shadow accompanied, if there is no. But always feel the double sadness of autumn and dusk too much vicissitudes, I can not bear.  I still like the diffuse light in the humid air. The autumn sound of trees, the mountain and the cold, let the life of a little sigh: have a kind of autumn sound can and who mutual annotation, have a kind of mountain color can also with who toss and turn to confirm?  More often, I like to wander in the shade of a small town on a sunny evening. Let the wind calmly comb through the strands of silk, the sweet and sad clearly distinguish, and mixed with a dignified figure, under the depiction of the sunset and autumn general euphemism. A leaf of fallen leaves, swirling in the final act, drifted away to peace. Under the distant sky, is there a butterfly dance? Is there anyone who has a similar feeling at the same time?  This is the best time to miss your old friend's dream.  A bird, with a beautiful arc through the empty dusk, disappeared into the field of sight, half of the familiar strange poetry, entangled in the upper lip. In fact, I do not know what poetry, just independence from the evening, to find a nihility of the mind, to comfort the branch.  翻译  一场秋雨一场寒。几阵秋雨过后,秋的气息便很浓了。  一直很喜欢秋天,总觉得再也没有哪个季节能和情绪如此亲近,默契而又妥帖。  选一处秋日的郊野,顺着一条弯弯长长的小径拾级而上,一步一种美丽。  金桂的幽香穿过阳光,迎面而来。或许,过不了多久,满树的霜叶就会红了欲语还羞的脸,层次分明的在风中招摇。树下,间或有淡淡的紫色小花在掩面窃笑……太多读也读不完的色彩充盈着双目,这样的秋是欢欣的。  然而,在绚丽的背后却能捕捉到“渐霜风凄紧,关河冷落,残照当楼”的黯然与清冷,尽管无声无息。  那应该是一处古城墙的尽头,残垣断壁,蔓草丛生。还应该有低沉苍劲的埙声如影相伴,若有若无。可总觉得秋色与暮色的双重悲凉太过沧桑,我不大能承受。  我还是喜欢潮湿的空气里弥散的淡淡愁怨。树树秋声,山山寒色,让人生出一点点的感慨来:有没有一种秋声可以和谁相互注释,有没有一种山色又可以和谁辗转印证呢?  更多的时候,我喜欢在一个有阳光的傍晚,漫步于小城的林荫下。让风恬静地梳理扬起的丝丝缕缕,把甜蜜和哀伤清晰地分辨,又混合着挽起凝重的身影,在夕阳的描绘下和秋思一般委婉。一片落叶,打着旋儿作着最后的演出,飘向远方而终究归于平静。远方的天空下,是否也有落叶跳着蝴蝶的舞蹈?是否也会有谁于同一时分萦绕着相似的感怀呢?  这样的时候,最适合做着怀念故友的清梦了。  一只鸟儿,以一道优美的弧线穿过空空的暮色,没入视野,有半阕熟悉的陌生的诗词,纠缠上唇间。其实,我何尝懂什么诗词啊,只是独立于黄昏,给千丝万缕的意念找一个虚无的、聊以慰籍的枝柯罢了。


  What is happiness? Everyone has his own voice. Happiness can ripple on the face, happiness can be written in the heart! Sometimes happiness can really burn people. Because it is a kind of strength, it is the essence of a kind of training! A kind of walking through the bloody breeze! A kind of dialysis life is short of capital! So happiness is lovely, is hurried, is enjoyed, is expected!  Happiness flows like water, pure and precious! Happiness is like a poem, happy with a little sadness! Happiness is not only the accumulation of wealth, but also the direction of the relationship! If we could one day run through the mountains like a stream, and slide across the plains, and end up in the river! What a pure happiness that should be! The most beautiful memory must hide the most elegant happiness, because it is the most primitive expression of life!  Perhaps the simplest happiness is to do what you love, love your favorite person! In a couple's heart, the meteor shower is romantic, but in the eyes of the observer it is a kind of real happiness! People sometimes feel happy when they are moved, and when the same true happiness comes, it can also become a kind of moving! When there is silence in the depths of your soul, try to live and find something called happiness. It will turn your tears into pearls and light up your lost path!  I like to meditate, because that quiet smell can lead me back to childhood, the simplicity of childhood can be called happiness. Because there I have the freedom to be like a butterfly, without thinking about the glitz of the world. All I have to do is to hold hands with the girl I love, and count the ignorant shaohua! People who travel far away are golden yellow in autumn and fill the corners. But I also put missing on the branch. And to get lost to me, like a wave, covered with scars. But the words express my state of mind in luxuriant and optimistic words: the long life of happiness, a little bit of pain. The world house is big, but there are fewer people! Happiness is much, but happiness is silent...  翻译  何谓幸福?每个人都有自己的声音。幸福可以荡漾在脸上,幸福可以写在心里!幸福有时真的是可以灼人的。因为它是一种力量,是一种励炼的精华!一种走过血雨腥风的从容!一种透析人生苦短的资态!因此幸福是可爱的,又是匆忙的,是享受的,更是期待的!  幸福像水一样流淌,清纯带点可贵!幸福像诗一样表达,快乐带点悲伤!幸福不只是财富的积累,也是感情的方向!倘若我们有一天可以像小溪一样流过高山,滑过平原,最后聚首在河流!那该是多么实在单纯的一种幸福感啊!最美的记忆背后一定藏着最典雅的幸福,因为那是生命最原始的表白!  或许最简单的幸福是做自己喜欢的事,爱自己最爱的人!在情侣心中流星雨带表浪漫,而在天文观测者眼中它就是一种实在的幸福!人们有时因感动而感到幸福,同样真诚的幸福降临时,它亦可化为一种感动!当你的灵魂深处住着沉寂时,那么请你努力生活,寻找一种叫作幸福的东西。它会把你的泪珠化作珍珠发出光芒,照亮你要走的迷途!  我喜欢沉思,因为那种安静的味道可指引我回到童年,童年的简单可以称为幸福。因为在那里我拥有像蝴蝶一样的自由,无需考虑尘世的浮华。要做的就是和我爱的女孩一起拉着手,细数那懵懂的韶华!远行的人像秋天的落叶金黄,填满角落。却也把思念挂上了枝头。而向迷失不断靠近的我,像个浪子,满身伤痕。却用华丽乐观的词语表达着我的心境:幸福漫漫人生路,年华点点苦中行。这个世界房子大了,人却少了!快乐多了,幸福感却沉默了……


  The rain stopped, and the light wind gently brushed her cheek. The night was quiet, and the heart was silent.  What time of the grass withered flowers and plants on the ground, inadvertently and bring forth the fresh and tender green shoots, like a missing ever silent hidden traces, suddenly one day he reminded many anacreontic, bitter memories. So, every wind of the night, every rain stop, I am like a naughty child stepping on the grass, looking for that full of flowers green dream. But the flowers always have withered, there is fine water flow, so see each incomplete story end, I will quietly tell myself again, since you can't grasp tomorrow, so cherish the present scenery quietly.  The subtle wind, the sound of the dream, your soft voice sounds like a beautiful melody, long and low. Silent night is a period of not sleeping, each note is a memory of the dust. Open the palm of the palm, those who once thought already firmly hold tightly, in the kiss of the wind but also become ethereal blurred. Emotion is a poem without rhyme, just an unconcerned, can not find the true meaning of the poem. Perhaps life is destined to have some memories of waving and turning, only to achieve that kind of defamiliarness but heart to heart.  All the time, I like a person to write down a little bit of feelings quietly, just like this summer night, a person in the light looking for a long time to vague memory. Outside the window occasionally a gust of wind, that is a section of the escape from the beautiful scenery.  The clear sky, the flowing clouds, the sweet fragrance of the flowers, the green grass like silk, the subtle mood, the light dream. I can't remember when the throbbing heart began a long silence, even when it was raining. No longer for the promise of a light like a fly in the endless night, not because a decisive turn into tears, everything is just a story without end, just a beginning, but don't have to haggle over every ounce in which way the story master will ultimately.  The snuggle figure of the street lamp has been faded out of color. The fresh breeze, like the silent dream, still sings the distant melody alone. The scenery is like the beginning, but the face is gone.  All said that the moon is the deepest thoughts of the bottom of my heart, so what is the mood in the fog? !  The night that has been washed by the rain is a lot of disturbing noise, the flow of every wisp of wind is quietly telling the story of a beautiful story. Sit in front of the window silently, let the mist take your mind to a night after a rain, like now, only with the hand of the pen engraved on the surface. When the day is bright, bind the thought of scattered.  The wind of the early morning has drunk the young dream. The flowers of the balcony seem to have changed into attractive skirt, green on the ground I heard your soft singing. Night is coming, tonight I will sleep quietly, let you in the wind in a shallow laugh.  翻译  雨停了,淡淡的风轻轻拂过面颊,夜静了,心儿也静了。  什么时节那片绿茵地上凋落了花草,不经意间又悄然生出了鲜嫩的青芽,像一份思念曾经无声隐匿了踪迹,突然某个不经意便又勾起了许多明朗的、苦涩的记忆。于是,每个起风的夜晚,每个雨停的日后,我便如一个顽皮的孩子踏着青草,寻找那个载满了花香绿意的梦。可是,繁花总有枯萎日,细水终有流尽时,所以在看到每一个残缺的故事走向终结时,我又会轻声告诉自己——既然你把握不了明天,那么就安静地珍惜眼前的风景吧。  淡淡的风,吹醒了青涩的梦,你轻柔的声音像一首曼妙的旋律,久久低洄耳际。静静的夜是一段不眠的曲,每一个音符都是一幕落尘的记忆。摊开掌心,那些曾以为早已牢牢抓紧的东西,在风的亲吻下却也变得缥缈迷离。感情是一首无韵的诗,只是一个不留神,便寻不到诗里的真谛。也许人生注定要有一些挥手转身的记忆,才会成就那份形同陌路却又心心相印的情意。  一直以来都喜欢一个人静静地用文字记下点滴情怀,就像这个夏日的夜晚,一个人在灯光中寻找着久远到模糊的记忆。窗外偶尔拂来一阵清风,那便是某一段章节里逃逸出的亮丽风景。  晴朗的天,流动的云,花儿散逸的馨香,碧草如丝,淡淡的心情,轻轻的梦。记不起什么时候那颗悸动的心开始了漫长的沉寂,即使落雨天也依然不惊波澜。不再为一句轻似飞花的承诺守着无尽的黑夜,不会因为一个决绝的转身而泪流满面,一切只不过是一个没有结局的故事,只需要一个华美的开端,却不必斤斤计较故事里的主人翁最终会以怎样的方式落下帷幕。  路灯掩映下的相偎身影早被流年褪去了色彩。清爽的风似曾无声的梦,依旧独自浅唱着那首遥远的曲调。风景如初,却是人面无踪。  都说赏月是在寄托心底最深刻的思念,那么雾中观花又是如何一种心境呢?!  被雨洗过的夜少了许多扰人的喧嚣,指间流淌的每一缕清风都在静静地诉说着一个又一个唯美的故事。默默的坐在窗前,让沉雾把思绪带到某一个雨后的夜晚,像现在这样只是用手中的笔刻下表面的淡然。等到天明,装订散乱的思念。  清晨的风惹醉了年少的梦。阳台的花好像又换上了迷人的裙裳,绿茵地上我听到了你轻声的歌唱。夜来了,今晚我会悄悄睡去,任你在风中浅笑徜徉。