Writing is to hold back things that are going to leave I used to write about flowers in spring,before the night they were going to wither,and I wrote about rain in autumn, though it never comes back from the darkness.
ion.I’m always trying to keep them with me,and I always took me years to understand,that I could never keep some feelings which are only supposed to live for seconds forever with me,that I can take nothing back from time,that instant is longer than ever.
But I am still me, and for every re I write,I already know the answer,but I can never refuse to start because of the fear of the endings.
the word, Sinpolo.A nonsense word that means nothing.
A word printed on the glass door of the shower room, probably the name of the brand of the glass or the design of the glass door.A “Chinglish” word created by one of the factories which wanted to follow the fashion trend of adding an English name for their brand.A fashionable brand name, even without the original Chinese name beside it.
It was not large or an obvious color,but it was right up long as I lifted my head up,I could see it,and it was also the only point I could stare times the iron curtain outside the window was open,and I could clearly see how light went through the glass door and reflected on the water stains,and how “Sinpolo” took the sunshine,absorbed its color,and created its own image on the times there's no light,so I just looked up into the dark city through the glass,and the word showed up,with a fluorescence in my mind.I enjoyed playing with the lights,using my hand to interrupt them from their original route,using my phone to rearrange them,or just putting my hands under them and observing how lines on my palm were like mountains with shadows.
During those years in that house,I did two things most frequently:argued with my father,and read meaningless novels.I argued with my father fiercely every week,for things I can't even remember now,and,as a result,I cried times,I didn't mean to,but maybe my tears had their own e was nothing worth my tears,I thought,so I rushed to the bathroom whenever this happened--no,not my own room,because I wanted neither my bed,my desk or my books to see me cry, nor did I want to remind myself of the arguments whenever I sat in front of my desk.
At this point,I should have been grateful for Sinpolo,of watching a boring and repeated teenager doing exactly the same thing for thousands of times we stared at each other;I saw the river outside the building I lived in through it,but I didn't know what it saw through some occasions,at midnight,after finishing another novel full of bullshit,I went to the bathroom,still like a walking dead,with my soul sucked inside the I saw the words,or I should say then we saw each other,and I came back.
When I stared at it,I called its name in my 'pore,this is how I usually called it,but maybe it's wrong, maybe it should be sinpore, or sinpore, or just shengbaoluo,its Chinese pronunciation.I did feel sad for it,as its name actually meant something like saint,holy Polo,but the factory made it as Sin they ever know what they were doing?Or maybe they knew,and this was what exactly they wanted.I didn't think it’s very possible though.
But I called it my way anyway,when I wanted to calm myself down,especially when I wanted to stop myself from wasting H2O,I would silently read it for one thousand times in that moment,and amazingly,it would wipe out all strange thoughts,and I could have a blank brain to add some other things into.I knew I was thinking too much every times even when I was doing homework,the rain outside would flow through the window and onto my I lifted my head up,staring at one point in the void,and that voice of Sinpolo appeared,fixing my leak of emotions as usual.
This was not good,I would say.I was relying on my mom could open up my head as the mother in Peter Pan does,she would find out that the word was occupying half of my brain.
After leaving the house,I used to ask my mom about it.“Do you remember the bathroom of our last house?” “Yes, ”my mother answered,with a curious look on her face,“then what?” “Do you still remember Sinpolo?” “No? What's that?” “It's the brand of the glass door in the bathroom.” “No, what's special about it?”“Well, nothing. ”
I felt tired in the middle of the conversation,and suddenly didn't want to share my feelings with her any more.I could tell my mother thought I acted strangely,but this was because that by then she didn't realize,and not did I by then,which kind of person was in front of person was one of those least responsible ones among the crowd,those who were born to be too lazy to think,but still too eager to show off,those who had no intentions of targeting against anything so also had no intentions of knowing any,those who had extraordinary ability of senses like infants,and those who felt no sense of mission for it.
This person is not ready to take responsibility over her emotions now,and the word will take care of her and restrain her,until that day comes.
Today I begin a new life.
Today I shed my old skin which hath, too long, suffered the bruises of failure and the wounds of mediority.
Today I am born anew and my birthplace is a vineyard where there is fruit for all.
Today I will pluck grapes of wisdom from the tallest and fullest vines in the vineyard,for these were planted by the wisest of my profession who have come before me,generation upon generation.
Today I will savor the taste of grapes from these vines and verily I will swallow the seed of success buried in each and new life will sprout within me.
The career I have chosen is laden with opportunity yet it is fraught with heartbreak and despair and the bodies of those who have failed, were they piled one atop another, would cast a shadow down upon all the pyramids of the earth.
Yet I will not fail, as the others, for in my hands I now hold the charts which will guide through perilous waters to shores which only yesterday seemed but a dream.
Failure no longer will be my payment for struggle. Just as nature made no provision for my body to tolerate pain neither has it made any provision for my life to suffer failure. Failure, like pain, is alien to my life. In the past I accepted it as I accepted pain. Now I reject it and I am prepared for wisdom and principles which will guide me out of the shadows into the sunlight of wealth, position, and happiness far beyond my most extravagant dreams until even the golden apples in the Garden of Hesperides will seem no more than my just reward.
Time teaches all things to him who lives forever but I have not the luxury of eternity. Yet within my allotted time I must practice the art of patience for nature acts never in haste. To create the olive, king of all trees, a hundred years is required. An onion plant is old in nine weeks. I have lived as an onion plant. It has not pleased me. Now I wouldst become the greatest of olive trees and, in truth, the greatest of salesman.
And how will this be accomplished? For I have neither the knowledge nor the experience to achieve the greatness and already I have stumbled in ignorance and fallen into pools of self-pity. The answer is simple. I will commence my journey unencumbered with either the weight of unnecessary knowledge or the handicap of meaningless experience. Nature already has supplied me with knowledge and instinct far greater than any beast in the forest and the value of experience is overrated, usually by old men who nod wisely and speak stupidly.
In truth, experience teaches thoroughly yet her course of instruction devours mens years so the value of her lessons diminishes with the time necessary to acquire her special wisdom. The end finds it wasted on dead men. Furthermore, experience is comparable to fashion; an action that proved successful today will be unworkable and impractical tomorrow.
Only principles endure and these I now possess, for the laws that will lead me to greatness are contained in the words of these scrolls. What they will teach me is more to prevent failure than to gain success, for what is success other than a state of mind? Which two, among a thouand wise men, will define success in the same words; yet failure is always described but one way. Failure is mans inability to reach his goals in life, whatever they may be.
Once upon a time, a man punished his 5-year-old daughter for using up the familys only roll of expensive gold wrapping paper. Money was tight, and he became even more upset when on Christmas Eve, he saw that the child had pasted the gold paper so as to decorate a shoebox to put under the Christmas tree.
Nevertheless, the next morning the little girl, filled with excitement, brought the gift box to her father and said, "This is for you, Daddy!"
As he opened the box, the father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction.
But when he opened it, he found it was empty and again his anger flared. "Dont you know, young lady, " he said harshly, "when you give someone a present theres supposed to be something inside the package!"
The little girl looked up at him with tears rolling from her eyes and said: "Daddy, its not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was all full."
The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his precious little girl. He begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.
An accident took the life of the child only a short time later. It is told that the father kept that little gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. Whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems he would open the box, take out an imaginary kiss, and remember the love of this beautiful child who had put it there.
In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given an invisible golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends and God.
There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.
Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, like great winds, have blown me hither and thither, in a wayward course, over a deep ocean of anguish, reaching to the very verge of despair.
I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy - ecstasy so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of life for a few hours of this joy. I have sought it, next, because it relieves loneliness ？ that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the world into the cold unfathomable lifeless abyss. I have sought it, finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what ？ at least ？ I have found.
With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of men. I have wished to know why the stars shine. And I have tried to apprehend the Pythagorean power by which number holds sway over the flux. A little of this, but not much, I have achieved.
Love and knowledge, so far as they were possible, led upward toward the heavens. But always pity brought me back to earth. Echoes of cries of pain reverberate in my heart. Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a hated burden to their sons, and the whole world of loneliness, poverty, and pain make a mockery of what human life should be. I long to alleviate the evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer.
This has been my life. I have found it worth living, and would gladly live it again if the chance were offered me.
三種簡單卻又無比強烈的激情左右了我的一生：對愛的渴望，對知識的探索和對人類苦難的難以忍受的憐憫。這些激情像狂風，吹來吹去，方向不定，痛苦的深海，到了絕望的邊緣。
我追求愛情，首先是因為它帶來狂喜——我常常為之心醉神迷，犧牲所有的餘生來換取幾個小時這樣的欣喜。下，我尋找愛，還因為它能減輕孤獨感嗎？看起來可怕的孤獨中，一顆顫抖的意識世界的邊緣而面前是是冰冷，無底的深淵。最後，我尋找愛，還因為在愛的結合我所看到的，在一個神祕的縮影中看到了聖人和詩人眼裏天堂的願景有想象。這就是我希望，雖然為人類生活似乎太好了，這是什麼？至少？我發現。
以同樣的激情我探索知識。我希望能夠理解人類的心靈。我希望能夠知道羣星為何閃爍。我試圖領悟畢達哥拉斯所景仰的數字力量，它支配通量。一點，但不多，我實現了。
愛和知識，只要有可能，通向着天堂。但是憐憫總把我帶回塵世。痛苦呼喊的回聲迴盪在我的內心。，忍飢挨餓的孩子，慘遭壓迫者摧殘的受害者，被兒女們視為可憎的負擔的無助的老人的兒子，和整個世界的孤獨、貧窮和痛苦的人類的生命是什麼。我渴望減少邪惡，但我不能，我也受到影響。
這就是我的一生。我發現它值得一過，如果有機會，我會很樂意再活給我。
蒙田範文網