Reading beautiful prose can make our mind get cultivated. The following is my collection of reading prose for your study.
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Reading prose in college entrance exam language (a)
It was dark, and the surrounding area was dead silent. I am still walking in the mountains, mountain shadows jagged and interlaced, as if the sword and halberd clanging, reproducing some ancient harsh battle array. I remembered those killings, blood and sad sacrifice, heart crossed the fear and pity. At this time, the stars appeared in order, and soon filled the sky. The view gradually brightened, the mountain shadows became thick and gentle, and the thin mountain paths meandered in the moonlight, like a continuous flow of milk. I felt the mercifulness of the merciless universe in its unconsciousness. In order to a small night walker, the universe even used all of its lighting equipment: the Big Dipper, Vega, Sirius, Scorpio, Lyra, Virgo … … at this time, all of them are working at full capacity for me, the fierce Wolf, but also for me to generate power to illuminate the head of every star, all with a speed of 300,000 kilometers per second, to me! I'm not going to be able to do that, but I'm going to be able to do it.
At this time, I walk in the folds of the mountains, I also walk in the vast providence.
Chop, chop, chop, three consecutive meteors across the sky south of the head, the top of the mountain seems to have been burned by the pain of the clouds, messy floating up. The dogs of the mountain village, barking loudly and furiously, issued persistent questions and queries to the sky. Due to the lack of astronomical knowledge, their questions are obviously no better than those of their ancestors, and still stop at the childishness and naiveté of the pre-epochal period. Though, the meteors created quite a commotion in the heavens, teasing the ignorant dogs with their speculations and inquiries, they did not interrupt in any way the gambling game of the rich and powerful in the summer resort, the sound of the rolling dice, which overpowered the galactic tides, deleting the commotion in the heavens. The shrewd gamblers, well versed in economics, reveled in their astronomical figures, but did not need or care for anything else astronomical, did not need or care to gaze at the sky and ask questions, unless the stars fell and landed for them a lot of gold and huge profits.
I have a little respect for those ignorant dogs who ask questions of the sky: curious questions about earthly and heavenly movements in this mercenary and naive night, dominated by business and economics.
Across a mountain stream, walking on a mountain road, I saw the highway not far away, almost side by side with me. I see a whirring car, a set of whirling tires, I see the speeding modern age, laden with time and desire, abandoning me, abandoning me. I, a man on foot, a man who maintains the ancient way of walking, a man who is uncomfortable with the modern waters, a man who walks slowly with an agricultural stride, politely distances myself from the roaring industry and the galloping modernity, I bypass its fast, I hold on to my slow. They, the roaring irons, the tires, the moderns, abandoned me all the way, and soon all overtook me and left me behind. I simply turned around and folded into a mountain cove, surrounded by boundless dense forests and a vast expanse of blue water between them, when I suddenly realized: the modern has carried modernity far away, and I stayed, stayed in ancient dense forests, stayed in the ancient deep mountains.
Lift my head, I saw the moon in the mountains, by the forest waves and the mountain winds combed with the moon, he is not panicked, roaming in Li Bai's dome, walking in Su Dongpo's mood, carefully caressing the moss on the mountain and leave the ancestor bird claw marks of the basalt rock — — that retains the expression of the time of two hundred million years ago.
It was then that I realized the meaning of the word "white horse".
It was then that I realized that the so-called high-speed modernity is just a program for modernity to quickly delete itself. The modern carries the modern fast away, and eventually can leave behind —— destined to be still the earth, green mountains, the basalt of the ancestor bird and worship of the bright moon.
It is already the latter part of the night, the bright moon is slanting in the west, the sky and the river are gradually falling, and the mountain shadows are hidden. Early birds began to collectively read aloud, the mountain field has the sound of chickens rising. The roadside, a few farmhouse lights on one after another, I stopped in a side yard, the owner is a sixty-year-old man, he said his son and daughter-in-law in the field to work, he and his partner planting, with a grandson in the third grade, but also raised a cow. He said while milking the cow, the mountains are not short of grass, cows eat well, milk. He milked the milk in advance and sold it to milk vendors later, who in turn sold it to milk factories in the city. He said he wanted to earn some money while he was still able to move, to subsidize his family and to prepare some retirement money for himself. I squatted down and watched him milking, the cow stood meekly, it did not care what was flowing into the bucket, it seemed to be intoxicated by the pleasure of release, or, it knew what it was, but it did not want to say it out loud, did not want to care, it only felt that the people who let it loose had been gracious to it, the grass and the stream had been gracious to it, and that what flowed out was not its, it was the sky's, the earth's, and the people's, but it belonged to the body, and was still intact. in it, and this has made it content. The starlight shines on the cow and on the old man, and the old man and the cow sculpted by the starlight are like the gods of the dawn. The bucket is almost full, but the milk is still being pumped in, and the starlight is also pumping in, and the bucket is full, swirling with starlight and milk. Once again, I looked from the old man's spine and the cow's spine to the dome of the sky, and I saw that the Milky Way, which was gradually sinking and darkening, seemed to have offered enough milk to the universe……
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High test language reading prose (two)
My daily business: get up in the morning and look at the wheat stacks. Total*** Five big stacks, lined up in a row. You can leave them alone throughout the day. In the afternoon, before it gets dark, look out into the fields again to see if anything suspicious is moving this way.
The field hides many things. A man, five stacks of wheat, are among the hidden ones, who do not want to let anyone find out. Even the trees, are squatting and long, the trunk curved again and again, the branches prostrate ground stretching. I have never seen a single plant in the wilderness that grows with its head held high and beckoning like a poplar. There is something that presses down on the heads of all things, and on me.
A few afternoons I noticed a dark shadow growing larger on the moor to the west. I couldn't make out what it was, and its lonely crouch kept me awake for a few nights. If something gets smaller and smaller beside you and finally disappears, you probably wouldn't care a bit. But if something suddenly grows bigger and bigger around you and becomes huge, you will feel panic and fear.
In the morning, I got up at the crack of dawn and saw that the black shadow had grown a bit. I was a little worried, and I was carrying the stacks of wheat, which seemed to be much shorter overnight. I was a little worried, carrying a shovel and walking carefully across the wheat field for a while before I could see clearly that it was a tree. An old, dead tree had suddenly sprouted many branches and leaves. I circled the tree. Many of the leaves had only grown last night, and I could feel that its branches and leaves were still growing, and would grow even more fluffy. I think one of the roots of this old tree must have reached a layer of water deep in the land.
Where a tree can grow strong and prosperous, it will also let a person live a decent life. As I walked back, I secretly remembered this place. At the time, I was just beginning to realize, dimly, that I had let myself go to grow as freely as a plant. My arms were too thin, my legs not too thick, my guts not too big, and I needed to grow a lot. For how many years I seemed to have forgotten to grow.
As the rest of the work was done bit by bit, an inexplicable emptiness began to envelop the hayloft. After the work was done, the sickle and shovel were thrown aside. Loneliness became a thing. Loneliness and fear became a big thing.
For the first time, I felt like I was one, and they —— swarmed, streaked, and piled up against me. My swarm was in the village of Taiping Ditch, dozens of miles away. At this moment, my villagers can not help me, friends and relatives can not help me.
My loneliness and fear are brought from the village. Everyone ends up facing the rest of his loneliness and fear alone, whether in a crowd or in the wilderness. It was his alone.
It is like a grain of worm, a blade of grass facing its share of joy and pain alone in its vast swarm. The other worms and grasses do not know.
A tree dies, entering in advance the flowerless, leafless period of dead wood that is longer than life. Other trees are alive and flourishing. The sun shines on green leaves and on a dead tree. We cannot see what a dead tree is growing in the sunlight. Its roots buried deep in the ground are reaching somewhere. What comes after death, we do not know.
A person dies, and we set it aside —— and bury it. We live on down by the grave. Live and let live, and it doesn't feel right. Who left this road, who did that thing, who said this, who loved that woman……
I have been living among the village people for decades, and I've gone through everything, so I won't be able to stay any longer, and there won't be anything new. The rest of the decades I want to spend among the flowers and plants, among the insects and birds and water and soil. I don't know if that's going to work, maybe the village will call me back and let me marry a woman and have children. Let me turn the ground and plant the next year's wheat. They won't let me be idle, and what they must do will inevitably be my business. They will not know that in my mind these things have long been over.
If there is anything left for me to do, it is the business of a blade of grass, of a worm, of a cloud.
I've got about ten days left in the wilderness, maybe more. I happen to be away from the village people, doing something of my own.
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high school language reading prose (three)
121 BC, the famous general of the Western Han Dynasty, Huo Zaiwei, led the army into the Huangshui Valley, on the side of the indigenous grass-roofed houses, built a cantonment of Xiping Pavilion. The history of Xining as a city began from then on.
The city later gave people the expectation that if you want to enjoy more than three kinds of ethnic life scenes and cultural essence in one city in one day, Xining is the first choice.
Xining to the distribution of the most ancient, the most common, the most colorful and quality of the cultural bump in the vast world gathered, so that it has become a blend of ethnicity, the flavor of the three-dimensional condensed version of the adhesion. East of the city's Islamic culture, strong as the holy land of Mecca; south of the city's Tibetan Buddhist culture, native as the ancient Buddha in the world; the city of Confucianism and Taoism culture, as solid as the city wall is indestructible. There are also scattered immigrant culture and modern culture, so that the city has all the characteristics of the humanities present in the ethnic convergence zone. The famous Dongguan Mosque is a fusion of Han-style palaces and Arab temples, while the gilded vases on the ridge tops and the small scripture cylinders on the Mingjing building highlight the classic Tibetan Buddhist style of decoration, a combination that is unique in the world. Xining has two big square, the center of the square and Xinning Square, the big square is the big dance, every morning and evening there are magnificent thousands of collective dance, all nationalities, men and women, young and old, gathered here to dance wildly pot Zhuang. Pot Zhuang is a Tibetan circle dance throughout the Tibetan region, it can eliminate fatigue and worry, produce love and joy. Nowadays, love is still generated, but has crossed the ethnic boundaries, Chinese and Tibetan marriages continue to interpret the story of Songtsen Gampo and Princess Wencheng in a pioneering and fashionable way, and watch their next generation grow up. You will find that it is not just a fusion of ethnicity but a fusion of blood. Tibetans wear Chinese clothes, Chinese speak Tibetan, they greet you with a "chodrub" (hello), and part with a "zazidler" (good luck), and on many occasions you can't tell who's who. I have a friend who lives in Beijing, and he always says, "Qiao De Bao you." Or, "Zhaxi Dele you which." After a long time, even his Tibetan friends followed his example: "Qiaodong you which." In Tibetan areas, the Han Chinese are the "minority", so first of all it is the Tibetanization of the Han Chinese. This is the need to survive, for example, you must get used to drinking milk tea, eat tsampa, must comply with Tibetan customs and beliefs, and so on, followed by Tibetans of the Chinese, Tibetans of the Chinese is a manifestation of progress, is the Tibetan people spontaneous and inevitable trend.
Because of the long winter and short summer, Xining people on the pursuit of green, with the cattle and sheep is the same, with the birds is the same, tenacious and persistent nearly crazy. As long as there is a bit of forest can emerge a tea garden, as long as there is a tea garden can often be full. Drinking tea, eating wine, singing, dancing, the city and the crowd, where the interpretation of the most real meaning, that is, no matter how busy and tired of survival, difficult, people have to create enjoyment, enjoyment incidental to sadness, because has been refused to give up, and the expectation.
Xining's Buddha's hidden scriptures,
Tal Temple's vase, want to rot the liver flower flower pain rotten heart,
look numb a pair of big eyes.
I don't think this is just a love song, Xining people's "big eyes" look farther, they think "hidden in the scripture" is worth "want to rotten" They believe that the "hidden scripture" is the true scripture worth "wanting to rotten" and "pain rotten". Therefore, Xining became the beginning of the Qinghai-Tibet Highway and Qinghai-Tibet Railway.
The Qinghai-Tibetan Highway and Qinghai-Tibetan Railway extend from Xining, like stretching out two strong arms, tightly embracing the Tibet. Qinghai-Tibet Plateau — Qinghai and Tibet, because of the existence of these two lifeblood, so that the ancient and present one of the connection becomes palpable. It is a whole geographic plate, regional plate, ethnic plate, but also a whole flavor plate, cultural plate, economic plate, it is in the sense of indivisible and has never been divided, to become China's faith in the continent, the gospel of the highlands. And Xining is the gateway to the highland, the birthplace of Tsongkhapa, the venerable teacher of successive generations of ___ Lamas and Panchen Living Buddhas, which gave birth to the Gelugpa school of Tibetan Buddhism and grew a Bodhi tree with 100,000 leaves naturally depicting 100,000 images of lions roaring like the Buddha on a piece of blessed land with eight jewels of lotus flowers. Six hundred years ago, Xining people realized that this is a miracle that shocked the world, and after the excitement of running around to calm down, the base of stone slabs, surrounded the tree to build a tower, so there is a Tal Temple.
The Thar Monastery is a beacon of faith, in order to lead all beings to light and peace, nobility and happiness. It is in this sense, Tibetan Buddhism Gelugpa Thar Monastery has never been more than just a sacred place for Tibetans, Han Chinese people's hearts and minds also have most of its attachment and veneration. Once, I picked a handful of Tal monastery big golden tile hall in front of the leaves of the Bodhi tree, to a Han Chinese friend's sick mother, told her that the leaves have to get rid of the role of the disease, which in me is just to give her a kind of psychological comfort. But a month later, my friend told me that since she drank the water made from those leaves, her mother had gradually recovered from her illness. I know that the Han Chinese mother's heart has long been towering over the magical Thar Temple, so the leaves of the Thar Temple is spiritual, is and Tibetans *** with the same beliefs cured her disease, not me or the leaves.