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The ideal is the twinkling stars in the twilight sky, the beacon that guides the way in the night. Ideals are not like utopia, fantasies, and dreams like empty buildings in the air or mirages, but like flowers in the spring and white clouds in the sky. A person with lofty ideals has a passionate and upward attitude towards life.
Purposeful and enterprising, his life is full of sunshine and hope.
A person without lofty ideals is like walking in a dark night without stars, and there is no goal in his life that motivates him to strive for, so that his life will always be spent in nothingness and boredom.
If a person wants to make a difference, he must first establish his life goal, and work hard for it. Only then can you have the privilege of tasting the joy of success.
At different ages, the direction of people's struggle and the things they pursue are also different, and our ideal in childhood is to be scientists, engineers, painters, entrepreneurs, and so on. Everyone has their own object of worship in their minds, and they are full of romantic dreams for the future. However, with the growth of age, the increase of knowledge and the increase of experience, our ideals and pursuits are more and more in line with reality and our own actual ability.
Everyone should believe that they are a small gold mine that cannot be developed, and they should be full of hope and hope for their future and future. Every day, we must maintain a positive and optimistic attitude, establish our own life goals, and work hard for them. Maximize your potential.
In this way, your life path will definitely shine, and success will go all the way with you.
Young friends, we must be a person with ideals, and strive for our own goals, with a more confident and high-spirited attitude, every hopeful tomorrow. Don't give up when you can dream, and don't give up flying when you can. Work hard for your ideals!
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After a heavy rain, what happens to a traveler with an umbrella who gets wet, and a person with a cane falls and takes nothing? Please read – Three Travelers.
Three travelers stayed in a hotel at the same time. When he went out in the morning, one traveler brought an umbrella, the other with a cane, and the third with nothing.
When the evening returned, the traveler with the umbrella was drenched in water, the traveler with the cane fell and was bruised, and the third traveler was unharmed. So the first two travelers wondered and asked the third, "How can you be okay?" ”
The third traveler did not, but asked the traveler with the umbrella: "Why did you get wet and not get hurt?" ”
The traveler with the umbrella said: "When the rain came, I boldly walked in the rain because I had an umbrella, but somehow I got wet; I walked on the muddy road, because I didn't have crutches, so I walked very carefully and chose a stable place to walk, so I didn't fall and get hurt. ”
Then he asked the traveler with the cane, "Why didn't you get wet but fell and broke yourself?" ”
The man with the cane said, "When the rain came, I chose a place to hide from the rain because I didn't have an umbrella with me, so I didn't get wet. When I walked on the muddy and bumpy road, I walked on crutches, but for some reason I often stumbled. ”
The third traveler smiled and said, "That's why you got wet with your umbrella and fell with your crutches, but I am safe." I hid when it rained, and I walked carefully when the road was bad, so I didn't get wet or get hurt.
Your mistake lies in the fact that you have an advantage, and you think that with an advantage you have less trouble. ”
Many times, instead of stumbling on our own flaws, we stumble on our strengths, because our flaws remind us, and our strengths often make us forgetful.
Interpretation] This fable may not give us much of the beauty of figurative art, but it gives us profound enlightenment. Of the three travelers, the first two of whom were intimidated, let their guard down, and thus went awry in their advantageous areas. The third man had nothing to fear, so he was able to be cautious and return safely.
So the article concludes: "Many times, we stumble not on our own flaws, but on our strengths, because flaws can remind us, and strengths often make us forgetful." This passage contains philosophical thoughts and is full of vigilance.
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Spring must have been like this: from the green and restrained hills, a handful of snow can no longer hold it, poof, the cold face will be smiled into a flower, a sloppy song will be sung from the clouds to the foothills, from the foothills to the low deserted villages, sung into the hedgerow, sung into the yellow webs of a duckling, sung into the soft dissolved spring mud - soft as the spring mud of a freshly turned quilt.
So delicate, so sensitive, but so endless. A thunder can provoke the clouds that cry all over the sky for no reason, a burst of cuckoo crying, can fight a city of azaleas, a gust of wind rises, and every willow sings out a white and vast, empty fluttering and unspeakable, uninvited flying, every trace of flying, is a semicolon of a willow. Anyway, spring is so unreasonable and illogical, and it can still be too good to be peaceful.
Spring must have been like this: the dry stems of the leaves and flowers in the pond were dead and struggling to guard an old root, and the beams of thousands of houses in the north were still gently holding a small empty bird's nest under the pressure of the wind and snow, and then, suddenly, one day, the peach blossoms conquered all the mountain villages. The willow tree controls the royal ditch of the royal family and the river head of the people--spring is like a king with a clear banner, and the regiment has long been pious and pious and beautiful.
And about the name of spring, there must have been such a story: before the "Book of Songs", before the "Book of Songs", before the Cangjie made words, a little sheep suddenly felt sweating when gnawing grass, a child suddenly felt the soaring when flying a kite, a pair of legs suffering from wind pain suddenly felt comfortable, thousands of pairs of hands on the bank of the stream, on the pond side of the river, on the side of the river, the hands of the sand suddenly felt the blood of the water, ......As they ran to each other in amazement, they decided to pout their mouths in the shape of whistling and name the season with a pleasant whispering volume"Spring"。
Birds can start measuring the sky again. Some are responsible for measuring the blueness of the sky, some are responsible for measuring the transparency of the sky, and some are responsible for measuring the height and depth of the sky with those wings. And all the birds are not good mathematicians, they squeak and calculate, and nucleus, and finally do not dare to announce the statistics.
As for all the flowers, they have been handed over to the butterflies to count. Give all the stamen to the bees to compile. All the trees, leave it to the wind to pamper. And the wind, hand over to the old wind chimes in front of the eaves to remember and inquire one by one.
Spring must have been like this, or, somewhere, it still is, right? Walking through the Black Forest, where chimneys and chimneys are in the past, I want to visit the spring that lingers in the middle of the distant age.
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