Please introduce a few simple but touching essays

Yu Guangzhong's "Mother's Day":

In this life, in this life, I have two most heartless cries.

Once, at the beginning of my life.

Once, at the end of your life.

The first time, I won't remember, was to hear from you.

The second time, you won't know, and it's useless for me to say.

But in the middle of the two cries.

There was endless laughter.

Over and over again.

It reverberated for thirty years.

You know it, I remember it.

There are Zhu Ziqing's "Back", Hu Shi's "My Mother" and Zhou Guoping's "Niu Niu - A Father's Notes".

Lu Xun is a trivial matter, Zhu Ziqing's back

suggested Zhu Ziqing's "Back", touching, "Crazy Mother" is very touching.

It's Quiet Here" writes about the Japanese cemetery in Singapore.

When will I see you again" was written when Zhang Xueliang was under house arrest by Lao Jiang.

You go and look up the graduation essay... It's very sad. You don't need many languages ...

I have always wanted to make money by writing, but I look down on online literature. I always feel that it is too vulgar and too simple.

It's also drunk to think about it, and everyone's articles have been on the public account, and they have all earned a lot of manuscript fees.

And I haven't published a word myself, and I haven't earned a penny of manuscript fees. But here I look down on others, I look down on other people's articles.

As the so-called poor people, there is something hateful, probably referring to people like me.

I read a few articles, and there is nothing special, that is, some inspirational articles. But in the past, I often read half of the articles and felt that I couldn't stand it. Solan.

And her article not only went all the way down, but also moved me several times in the middle. Her writing is also simple and popular, and there is not much beauty and exquisiteness.

Writing touching and profound articles in ordinary words is what a master does.

After reading her article, I feel that I also have my own direction.

That is, to tell a good story in simple language.

There is no post station in youth.

The wind and the moon flow. Time has taken the same steps, walking unhurriedly, through spring, autumn, winter and summer, and through a month of cloudy and sunny days. Looking back suddenly, the days that have passed away are like a shaking kaleidoscope, inadvertently shaking out an impersonable pattern, and the gathering and dispersion and joys and sorrows are out of print. So I knew that youth was a one-way bus, and there was no post station to return.

The morning bell and dusk drum urge me to raise the sail of the voyage, but my heart is like a leaf nostalgic for the old branch, hesitating in the wind of yesterday, and it is difficult to start from me. I also know that I shouldn't delay the trip, but I can't get rid of the fetters of emotion, I can't seal everything I have in the castle of memory, I lock my birthday tightly, walk through the sunset and the moon every day, as if standing in a clear river, the clear river is the life I have and only have once, but I am standing in the water too often, let the water upstream flow through me and then become the water downstream, let the future flow through my present becomes the past, but I lose today and tomorrow because I am too obsessed with yesterday, So there was nothing.

I often imagine what kind of state of mind it would be for me to sit in yesterday's memories with snowflakes on my head and chew on the stories hidden in every ravine on my face when Chunhua and Qiushi have become history! should have understood a lot and believed very little, but he was still confused by the joke of "the wolf is coming" again and again; It should be a fairy tale that is more in love with spring than winter, but is still nostalgic for the "snow child". The distance traveled seems to be a circle, and after a long journey, it returns to the starting point.

So a lot of times it's doing the same thing, which is looking for a goal.

I once meditated in the darkness, and finally deciphered that the simplest grass withered grass Rong is a kind of mystery, which is the intuitive teaching aid of life: flowers can only be red once, and grass can only be green for a year. The deceased is like this, like the smoke of the past.

It has drifted away with the monsoon, so why bother to pursue and reminisce. The train of youth carries countless passengers, and no one can predict what will happen along the way, and no one can return to the starting point of their own boarding. Since I have no choice, let me crush the frustration and wishful thinking I once had on the rails of time, and then push open the doors and windows, bask in the fresh air and sunshine, and welcome a new journey.

Because I already know that youth is a one-way bus, and there is no return and no post station.

In my memory, the multicolored clouds are woven by the sun; The vast sea is made up of rivers; Beautiful flowers are blown by the spring breeze; The abundant rice is brought out by the earth. Where does our happy life come from? Our happy life is watered by the sweat and blood of many revolutionaries and laborers.

It is not easy to come by, so we must know how to cherish it.