I dare not say what life is, I can only say what life is like. Life is like a river of spring water flowing eastward. He originates from the highest point, and ice and snow are his predecessors. He gathered many trickles to form a powerful flood, rushing down, he zigzagged through the cliffs, washed down a layer of sandy soil, carried the rolling sand and stones, and flowed away happily and bravely, Along the way he enjoys everything he encounters: Sometimes when he encounters the obstacles in front of the rock, he rushes angrily, roaring, whirling, and the ups and downs of the waves before and after push him, until he crosses and overthrows the cliff, he is calm and swept away. Sometimes he passed the thin flat sand, in the setting sun and fragrant grass, and saw the red peach blossoms on the shore. He was happy and shy, flowing quietly, singing in a low voice, and passing through this section gently. Romantic itinerary.

Sometimes he encounters a storm, this electric shock, this thunderbolt, which terrifies his soul and soul, the wind blows him up, the heavy rain hits him, he is temporarily cloudy and disturbed, and the rain is over, and it only adds to him a lot. new power. Sometimes he encounters the sunset and the new moon, shining on him, projecting on him, with a little warmth in the coldness: at this time, he just wants to rest and sleep, and the forward force still urges him to go ahead... Finally one day, he saw the sea from a distance, huh! He has come to the end of his journey, this sea, that holds his breath, makes him bow, how vast and great she is! How bright and how dark! The sea solemnly stretched out his arms to receive him, and he flowed into her arms silently. He has melted, naturalized, neither happy nor sad! Maybe one day, he will rise from the fluffy raindrops on the sea again, fly westward, form a river again, wash down the stone walls on both sides, and then look for the peach blossoms on the shore. Yet I dare not speak of the afterlife, nor can I believe in the afterlife!

Life is like a small tree. He gathered a lot of vitality from the ground, stretched out under the snow and ice, and bravely and happily broke out of the shell in the moist soil in early spring. He may grow on the plains, on the rocks, on the walls, if only he looks up and sees the sky, oh! I saw the sky! He stretched out his tender leaves to absorb the air, to withstand the sun, to sing in the rain, and to dance in the wind. He may be under the shade of a big tree, or it may be overburdened by a big tree, but the strength of his youthful growth finally made him break free through the branches and leaves, and stand upright under the scorching sun! When he encounters a splendid spring, he may bloom a tree full of flowers, bees and butterflies flutter around him and make a noise, birds sing on his branches, he will hear the yellow warbler sing, the cuckoo sings blood, and maybe also hear the owl The chirping of birds. When he grows into the most prosperous middle age, he stretches out his thick shade like a cover, to shade the delicate flowers and grasses under the tree, and he bears a lot of fruits to present the endless sweetness and fragrance of the earth. The autumn wind blew his leaves from dark green to crimson. Under the autumn sun, he was more solemn and splendid. It was not the pride of flowering, nor the joy of the result, but the tranquility and joy after success!

Finally one day, the winter wind rolled down his dry yellow leaves and shook him. He danced weakly in the air and moaned under the roots. The earth solemnly stretched out his arms to receive him, and he fell silently on the ground. in her arms. He has melted and naturalized, and he can't say that he is happy or sad! Maybe one day, he will break out of the nuts in the ground again. It grows into a small tree again, and then passes through the dense cover, and then listens to the singing of the yellow warbler, but I dare not speak of the next life, nor do I dare to believe in the next life.

The universe is a big life, and we are a breath in the atmosphere of the universe. The river flows into the sea, and the leaves fall back to their roots. We are a leaf and a drop of the great life. In the big life of the universe, how humble and insignificant we are, and the activity and growth of a drop and a leaf synthesize the evolutionary operation of the entire universe. Remember: not every river can flow into the sea, and what does not flow becomes a dead lake; not every seed can become a tree, and what does not grow becomes an empty shell! Life is not always happy, nor is it always painful, happiness and pain go hand in hand. It is equivalent to the fact that the water channel has to pass through different banks, and the trees have to pass through the four seasons. In joy we should thank life, in pain we should also thank life. Happiness is exciting, but pain is not beautiful? I once read an epigram that said, "May there be enough clouds in your life to make a beautiful evening".

I dare not say what life is, I can only say what life is like. Life is like a river of spring water flowing eastward. He originates from the highest point, and ice and snow are his predecessors. He gathered many trickles to form a powerful flood, rushing down, he zigzagged through the cliffs, washed down a layer of sandy soil, carried the rolling sand and stones, and flowed away happily and bravely, Along the way he enjoys everything he encounters: Sometimes when he encounters the obstacles in front of the rock, he rushes angrily, roaring, whirling, and the ups and downs of the waves before and after push him, until he crosses and overthrows the cliff, he is calm and swept away. Sometimes he passed the thin flat sand, in the setting sun and fragrant grass, and saw the red peach blossoms on the shore. He was happy and shy, flowing quietly, singing in a low voice, and passing through this section gently. Romantic itinerary.

Sometimes he encounters a storm, this electric shock, this thunderbolt, which terrifies his soul and soul, the wind blows him up, the heavy rain hits him, he is temporarily cloudy and disturbed, and the rain is over, and it only adds to him a lot. new power. Sometimes he encounters the sunset and the new moon, shining on him, projecting on him, with a little warmth in the coldness: at this time, he just wants to rest and sleep, and the forward force still urges him to go ahead... Finally one day, he saw the sea from a distance, huh! He has come to the end of his journey, this sea, that holds his breath, makes him bow, how vast and great she is! How bright and how dark! The sea solemnly stretched out his arms to receive him, and he flowed into her arms silently. He has melted, naturalized, neither happy nor sad! Maybe one day, he will rise from the fluffy raindrops on the sea again, fly westward, form a river again, wash down the stone walls on both sides, and then look for the peach blossoms on the shore. Yet I dare not speak of the afterlife, nor can I believe in the afterlife!

Life is like a small tree. He gathered a lot of vitality from the ground, stretched out under the snow and ice, and bravely and happily broke out of the shell in the moist soil in early spring. He may grow on the plains, on the rocks, on the walls, if only he looks up and sees the sky, oh! I saw the sky! He stretched out his tender leaves to absorb the air, to withstand the sun, to sing in the rain, and to dance in the wind. He may be under the shade of a big tree, or it may be overburdened by a big tree, but the strength of his youthful growth finally made him break free through the branches and leaves, and stand upright under the scorching sun! When he encounters a splendid spring, he may bloom a tree full of flowers, bees and butterflies flutter around him and make a noise, birds sing on his branches, he will hear the yellow warbler sing, the cuckoo sings blood, and maybe also hear the owl The chirping of birds. When he grows into the most prosperous middle age, he stretches out his thick shade like a cover, to shade the delicate flowers and grasses under the tree, and he bears a lot of fruits to present the endless sweetness and fragrance of the earth. The autumn wind blew his leaves from dark green to crimson. Under the autumn sun, he was more solemn and splendid. It was not the pride of flowering, nor the joy of the result, but the tranquility and joy after success!

Finally one day, the winter wind rolled down his dry yellow leaves and shook him. He danced weakly in the air and moaned under the roots. The earth solemnly stretched out his arms to receive him, and he fell silently on the ground. in her arms. He has melted and naturalized, and he can't say that he is happy or sad! Maybe one day, he will break out of the nuts in the ground again. It grows into a small tree again, and then passes through the dense cover, and then listens to the singing of the yellow warbler, but I dare not speak of the next life, nor do I dare to believe in the next life.

The universe is a big life, and we are a breath in the atmosphere of the universe. The river flows into the sea, and the leaves fall back to their roots. We are a leaf and a drop of the great life. In the big life of the universe, how humble and insignificant we are, and the activity and growth of a drop and a leaf synthesize the evolutionary operation of the entire universe. Remember: not every river can flow into the sea, and what does not flow becomes a dead lake; not every seed can become a tree, and what does not grow becomes an empty shell! Life is not always happy, nor is it always painful, happiness and pain go hand in hand. It is equivalent to the fact that the water channel has to pass through different banks, and the trees have to pass through the four seasons. In joy we should thank life, in pain we should also thank life. Happiness is exciting, but pain is not beautiful? I once read an epigram that said, "May there be enough clouds in your life to make a beautiful evening".