第1个回答 2013-09-17
朱自清 破碎的美丽 有时候，我甚至相信：只有破碎的东西才是美丽的。 我喜欢断树残枝萎叶，也喜欢旧寺锈钟颓墙；喜欢庭院深深一蓬秋草，荒芜石阶点点青苔，也喜欢云冷星陨月缺，柳败花残茎衰。这些破碎的东西是那么平常，那么清淡，那么落魄，甚至那么狼狈。它们从光艳十足无可挑剔的巅峰骤然落地或是慢慢地坠下慢慢地沉淀慢慢地变形，然后破碎，然后走进我的视线中，走到辉煌已让位给别人的今天。我不知道它们曾经怎样美丽过，所以我无法想像它们的美丽。因此，我深深沉醉于这种不可想像不可求源的美丽之中，挖掘着它们绚丽的往昔，然后蓦然回首，将这两种生命的形态拉至眼前，黯然泪下。这由圆满而破碎、由繁盛而落寞的生命过程中，蕴含着多少难以诉说的悲欢离合，蕴含着多少永恒的感伤和无限的苍凉啊! 同样，很残忍的，我相信破碎的人生才最美丽。我喜欢苍老的人记起发黄的青春，孤傲的人忏悔错过的爱情；我喜欢英雄暮年时的忍痛回首，红颜逝去后的对镜哀思。我喜欢人们在最薄弱最不设防的时候挖出自己最痛最疼的那一部分，然后颤抖，然后哭泣，然后让心灵流出血来。每当这时候，哪怕我对眼前的人一无所知，我也一定会相信：那些辛酸和苦难以及那些难以释怀的心事和情绪，是他生命中最深的印记和最珍爱的储藏。只有等他破碎的时候，他才会露出自己最真实的容颜。 林黛玉的破碎，在于她有刻骨铭心的爱情；三毛的破碎，在于她历尽沧桑后一刹那的明彻和超脱；梵高的破碎，是太阳用金黄的刀子让他在光明中不断剧痛；贝多芬的破碎，则是灵性至极的黑白键撞击生命的悲壮乐章。如果说平凡者的破碎泄露了人性最纯最美的光点，那么优秀灵魂的破碎则如银色的礼花开满了我们头顶的天空，带给我们人生的梦想和启迪。这些悲哀而持久的美丽，直接触动了我心灵中最柔软的部分，让我随他们流泪欢笑叹息或是沉默——那是一种多么崇高的感动啊!
第2个回答 2013-09-17
将我短小的生命的树，一节一节的斩断了，圆片般堆在童年的草地上。我要一片一片的拾起来看；含泪的看，微笑的看，口里吹着短歌的看。难为他装点得一节一节，这般丰满而清丽！我有一个朋友，常常说，“来生来生！”--但我却如此说：“假如生命是乏味的，我怕有来生。假如生命是有趣的，今生已是满足的了！”第一个厚的圆片是大海；海的西边，山的东边，我的生命树在那里萌芽生长，吸收着山风海涛。每一根小草，每一粒沙砾，都是我最初的恋慕，最初拥护我的安琪儿。这圆片里重叠着无数快乐的图画，憨嬉的图画，寂寞的图画，和泛泛无着的图画。放下罢，不堪回忆！第二个厚的圆片是绿阴；这一片里许多生命表现的幽花，都是这绿阴烘托出来的。有浓红的，有淡白的，有不可名色的……晚晴的绿阴，朝雾的绿阴，繁星下指点着的绿阴，月夜花棚秋千架下的绿阴！感谢这曲曲屏山！它圈住了我许多思想。第三个厚的圆片，不是大海，不是绿阴，是什么？我不知道！假如生命是无味的，我不要来生。假如生命是有趣的，今生已是满足的了。
第3个回答 2013-09-17
FogG.S.StreetBeauty or none, there is much to be said for a London fog. It gives us all t hat “change” which we are always needing. When our world is all but invisible, and growing visible bit by bit looks utterly different from its accustomed self, the stupidest of us all can hardly fail to observe a change for our eyes at least as great as there would have been in going to Glasgow. When, arriving at one' s house or one's club; that monotonous diurnal incident seems an almost incredib le feat, accomplished with profound relief and gratitude for a safe deliverance, one has at least an unaccustomed sensation. One is not a man going into his clu b, but a mariner saved from shipwreck at the last gasp, to be greeted with emoti on by erst indifferent waiters. Yes, a fog gives Londoners a more thorough chang e than going to the Riviera to avoid it. Then it brings out the kindness and che erfulness, which are their prime claim to honour, into strong relief. True, it a lso throws into relief the incomparable egoism of the prosperous among them. Peo ple with no serious cares or worries in the world of course bemoan and upbraid t his trifling inconvenience. But the working, struggling Londoners, cabmen and bu smen, you and I, display our indomitable good humour to advantage. I stayed on top of a bus for half an hour in the block on Monday at Hyde Park Corner and tal ked with the driver. People are often disappointed in a bus driver because they expect a wit and a pretty swearer. They find neither, but they find an overwork ed man of extraordinary cheerfulness, responsive, ready to laugh. He is master o f his business—a fact emphasised by the fog — to a degree refreshing to one whose experience of men professing some practical calling is that the great majo rity, some from mere stupidity, some from over hasty enthusiasm, are quite inco mpetent. When finally I left him, his mate piloted me through wheels and horses to the pavement, and I felt I had been among folk who deserve to live. On Sunday night I walked a mile to my abode, and made a point of asking my whereabouts of every one I met. Not one churlish or even hurried answer: politeness, jokes, re miniscences, laughter. We are a kindly people, and it is worth a fog to know it. Another pleasure of a fog is a mild but extended form of the pleasure we feel when we hear that a millionaire has broken his leg, The too fortunate are sufferi ng a discontent health cannot remove. There was in that block a fat brougham co ntaining an important looking old man who foamed at the mouth, and one reflecte d that there was a temporary equality of fortunes.Such are the pleasures we may take in a London fog.
第4个回答 2013-09-17
再喝一杯,那种酸楚的滋味,才知道原来自己喝下了眼泪。
孤独的醉,我笑着流泪,自责的心扉,任记忆抖得回。
再醉一回,温柔还是那么美,欺骗了自己的爱情,还觉负累。
告诉自己不要再想你，醉了以后心还在哭泣。
告诉自己你早已远去，伤心的分离不是我愿意。本回答被网友采纳