A sad passage in a novel

1.-lovers know the truth, drunkards know the wine. -hazy figure, shrouded in the hazy night, with a little starlight, silently watching you sing with the nightingale in the distance, telling my endless lovesickness in the slow evening breeze. I miss you so much. Facing the bright moon, chewing the past alone and looking back on the past days, the network met in a hurry in the ocean of the network. You turned to my heart, accompanied by the network, and you could not leave me. It is a permanent legend for me, always condensing my eyes with colorful world and beautiful scenery. I can't divert my mind any more. When you look at me with burning eyes, my heart beats for you for a moment. Your affectionate call always touches my dim heart gently. Even though I know that wandering in the internet is a temptation, I still stubbornly harass people's acacia waves. I salvage my lingering feelings in the tide of life. I know that a lover knows the weight, and I also know the drunk wine. When I sit alone and meditate, I often wonder how many deep days it will take to fill the gap of missing, how long it will take to wipe away the tears of lovesickness on my face, and how much strength it will take to summon up the courage to confess to you. Acacia's tears are happy, and acacia's feelings are lasting. Although it is doomed to be separated, I have had you in my life, which is enough to pray for the night sky and give my blessing to the moonlight outside the afterlife window. I dare not touch it, for fear of knocking the warmth to the ground. In this way, I feel like water in the watery night. . . You don't know the truth until you love, and you don't know the wine until you are drunk. The story of snow with ice is coming. . . The association of snow is so full of thoughts, burning with ice and fire on the night of Yuan Dynasty. Snow is not only the symbol of winter, but also the messenger of spring, the bud of summer, the cradle of autumn and the dormant undercurrent of life. Nothing can stop it from combining rigidity with softness, crossing seasons, transcending time and space, and rushing downstream to the vast sea at the source of a poem. Don't ask me where I come from. I am the orchid in the valley. Smell is a girl's shy feeling. Passion is the beauty of youth. Looking up is the courage to bear the frost knife and wind sword. Bowing your head is a sober meditation. Don't ask me where I am going. I am a symphony of ups and downs of fate. The black and white hotkeys of youth climb the stairs, ups and downs, and leap into the air. Perhaps it is the brilliance of fireworks flying in an instant, or it may be the melting of fragrance and death. Snow, you know that I am intoxicated with you day and night, obsessed with you, white-haired for you, concerned about you, concerned about acacia. Winter is sad because of the beautiful story of snow, and also because of the beauty of snow. Winter is full of kindness and nostalgia in my eyes. Winter is romantic and light because of the flowing snow, and the crystal fairy tale world is filled with transparent thoughts and blessings. This is a season of affection. Under the eaves of forests and farmhouses in northern Shan Ye, a series of ice stories have been produced. The scenery in the story is the tranquility of the hut, the poem in the fog and the snowy night. The elegant rhyme of clear words is like silver, and the fragrance of Qiongrui hanging on the branches is so quiet and beautiful, full of children's playful scenes, childlike and full of fun. How can a person walking in the snow in Xun Mei refuse this poetic teasing? The pen is a harp deeply attached to a snowy girl in the winter snow valley, which is full of charm in the snowy jungle. The story of snow comes with ice, the love story of snow falls in the sky, and the thoughts of seasons are swept up by the wind. On the ship of time, I travel day and night. The story of who you are, will it spread in my mind this winter, and the whisper of who I am will float out of your window. When the silk thread of memory is strung in the wind, the amorous feelings of snow dance, my mind will fly. On this winter night, people are quiet and lonely. Loneliness is like snow. Snow falls silently. You can't hear crying. Who will accompany you to laugh? Deep sadness, accumulated tenderness, a pot of ice and snow will make you feel lonely. It's hard to get into your throat, and the snow melts. Only the story of snow floats at night, floats across the broken bridge and falls behind the western hills. It's a long way to go. Xiu Yuan clouds over the Great Wall, and falling leaves will lead you into the snow tonight. In that not brilliant sunshine, six snowflakes, dancing with beautiful snow wheels, are spinning in the air, as if to show their original charm, one by one, two by three ... constantly spinning, slowly cutting the quiet air and drawing beautiful curves in the air. In the world of snowflakes, the curvaceous beauty of snowflakes is a kind of natural beauty. Standing in the snow and looking carefully, you will find that the trajectory of snowflakes flying is actually a natural curve, and the beauty of snowflakes can be displayed incisively and vividly without artificial powder thrush. The beauty of snowflakes is not limited to these. If you feel it more carefully, you will find that in the natural and unrestrained process, snowflakes don't just care about their own intoxication and display, but dress up this huge sky with their beautiful posture, making the colorless and tasteless sky romantic in white and lively, and clear rain and dew in the unrestrained dance of snowflakes. Under the snowy sky, everything is white, bright and happy. Listen, the earth laughs, the river laughs, the mountain forest laughs, the grassland laughs, the wheat field laughs, and the children who like to have snowball fights also laugh; You see, the fields are wet, the city is clean, and people's hearts are gradually relieved, clear and quiet in the white silver world. Under the snowy sky, everything is quiet again, and life and reproduction begin again. Some people say that this is the tranquility of life, which contains the most primitive creation of nature and human beings-in the winter snow, all life is stored and bred in winter. Some people say that this is the tranquility of returning to nature, which contains the infinite mystery of natural change. In any case, in this quiet, life has been recuperated and gave birth to new life. 3. Do you know? Air-dried roses will bloom the last beauty ... Some people say that when tears fall on roses, they will bloom more beautifully. Dance gracefully until the last tear is shed and the last drop of blood is spilled. Pale petals slowly fall among roses like butterflies. People will hold the most beautiful dreams and eternal vows and whisper the name of the white rose. White roses are Cupid's blood, tears in ancient Greek mythology. From the crystal of the last century to the shock of today, it involves people's most painful expectations and feelings. Gorgeous petals, the water began to dry up and the color became dim. It seems to be the emotion represented by the material itself, and proper nursing is the key to maintain it. Put the dried rose petals into a transparent and sealed bottle, perhaps the feelings can be preserved in this way ... Take out some rose petals and put them into the tea, and the faint fragrance of flowers comes to the nose and fills the whole air. Drinking rose tea, the refreshing taste, from the outside to the inside. Looking at the petals preserved in the bottle, they are blooming and in bud, as if each piece is a story-sweet, sad and biting. People go in and out of their feelings, and some people treat their feelings as a career, and finally lose money or make money. How much to give up is a concession, how much to retreat is a foundation, and how many feelings can go deep into the bone marrow in life. The city lost the noise of the night, and the night light became gentle and supple. Turn the human body into an exciting river, trickling around the mountains. The floating hills are surrounded by streams, and the green grass is in the faint canyon. Clusters of roses in the grass contain dew, and pale pink petals are hung with faint white marks, which extend from the flower core and are dotted with tassels, swaying gently in the bushes. The towering Shan Ye is surrounded by streams and green grass is everywhere. Look up and feel the breeze blowing, whistling and dancing with the wind. After the storm, a clear blue sky appeared, and everything was silent in an instant, as if there was only a world of mortals left between heaven and earth. Isolation for a long time, the feeling of dizziness came, my head sank, and I fell to the depths of green. Scattered with the clouds and gone with the flowing water ... The grass brushed its pale face, as if afraid of falling asleep and never waking up. Open your hazy eyes, as if you were a lifetime ago. The sky is still so blue, the clouds are still so white, the mountains are still so green, the water is still so bright, the wind is still so light, the grass is still so green and the roses are still so beautiful. Smelling the fragrance of roses and chewing the astringency of roses, I was cut by the sharpness of rose thorns. I don't feel pain, but I feel blood pouring out of my heart, taking time out of everything. Although the finger was stabbed again and again, the wound healed again and again. Why do you see tears in your eyes when the green grass is gradually rendered into a delicate rose by bright red blood? Why is there pain in my heart? The coming of emotion is silence, but it controls everything. Out of reach, but above everything else. Do you want to escape? That's impossible. It is a psychological reaction that cannot be abandoned. It keeps you in some kind of prejudice. However, without this special prejudice, human beings will lose the meaning of living. There are two kinds of emotions, one is in the mouth and the other is in the heart. The feeling on the lips is more like a transaction. I buy your feelings with my feelings. When the feelings of each other sink, there is no novelty, and the transaction does not exist. The feelings in my heart are a blunt knife, which is cut slowly, gently and constantly. Leave a series of scars, then expose this scabbed scar and watch it rot a little. Like a withered rose, it is discarded or air-dried for preservation. Not everyone can feel the emotion that goes deep into the bone marrow, otherwise there won't be so many beautiful, painful, nostalgic and cherished moving stories. Is there anyone in this world who doesn't want it? But not everyone. Do you know that?/You know what? The air-dried roses will bloom the last beauty …