3 selections of beautiful ancient prose

The beautiful ancient prose pieces are like shining pearls in the Chinese cultural corridor. Below I bring you 3 selected pieces of ancient beautiful prose. I hope it will be useful to you. Selected Chapter 1 of Ancient Beautiful Prose: Looking back at the bleak and ordinary way

Young people don’t know the feeling of sadness and fall in love with the upper floors. Falling in love with the upper floors, I force myself to express my sorrow in order to compose new words.

Now that I know all the sorrow, I can’t stop talking. I wanted to give it up, but I said it was a cool autumn.

Xin Qiji's "Picking Mulberries on the Middle Wall of Shubo Mountain Road"

The long pavilion is shining in the evening, and the mountain road is blocked for a long time. Lan Zhiyu Dai, Xiaolin Hongshang. Climb high and lean on the railing, looking far into the distance. The water and sky are the same color, and the sparkling waves suddenly condense. Vague memories of the past, bits and pieces of articles.

Full of thoughts, turned into the bleak autumn wind, drifting away through the long drizzle.

A brief taste of the wind and rain, in the quiet place of love and water, recalling a poem written on red leaves, crossing the unfamiliar loneliness. Since ancient times, there has been so much emotion but no room for hatred. At that time, it was just a matter of vicissitudes of life.

The insignificant past has also disappeared in this charming scene without leaving a trace.

Use a soft sigh to send away the confusion, and let the belated night carry a twist of the lingering fragrance into dreams.

Rise and fall according to your heart, ups and downs as you like, regard the coming and going of life as a necessary journey. All gains and losses are ultimately an illusion of flowers in the mirror, water in the moon, and shadows of flying geese.

Life is filled with resentment, with low eyebrows and bitter thoughts. In the torrent of autumn tide going east, I look for the years when I dismissed Fang Qiu. My mind is desolate, chewing on the past, and only the eyes are full of indifference.

There is a slight frost on the temples in autumn, and I drink wine alone and cry. A life of melancholy, broken mountains and rivers filled with dust. Where can people go in the eternal night? The sound of a string breaks the heart.

Hate for you is not like the moon in the heart of the river. It pulses in the south and wanders in the north. It rises in the east and worries about things, and sheds tears in the west. The destiny of the ebb and flow of clouds and sunshine is reflected in the soft light of Jiang Feng, blurred and gradually faded...

The end and beginning of the world have long been destined.

No matter how beautiful the flowers are, they will eventually wither and return to dust, becoming dull and boring.

No matter how beautiful the dream is, you will eventually wake up and lose everything.

No matter how wonderful the drama is, it will end quietly and in a cold way.

No matter how ups and downs life is, it will eventually gather and separate, and the clouds will appear in the morning.

The experienced vicissitudes of life, the sad sighs, the feeling of loneliness, and the depressed melancholy are all resolved with a wry smile. There are still traces of tears on the remaining lines on the corners of the lips.

The moonlight at night is sultry, and the autumn colors enter the heart. The forests are all dyed, and the microwave is flat. Floating light, quiet shadows, and affectionate vegetation. The chill hit me slightly, and I pulled up my clothes slightly.

Looking for the path back through the weak light, the sadness will end tonight, and the hope will be left to tomorrow. The road ahead is another dawn... Selected Part 2 of Ancient Beautiful Prose: Ode to Beauty

At the beginning of late spring, in March, my friend and I were wandering in a quiet garden. The green grass is like grass, the breeze is like milk, the filthy air is gone, the filth is dodged, everything is beautiful!

So I walked through the green grass and talked. A wisp of breeze passed by quickly, carrying the fragrance and slight grease, quenched and smooth, refreshing the heart and mind. I looked closer and saw a woman walking lightly, with lotus steps and a graceful figure. Wrapped up in a cool dress, she lightly purses her red lips and smiles; she is casual and elegant, looks like a fairy, and looks like a Bodhisattva; her eyes are flowing, looking forward to the brilliance, her natural beauty is amazing, and she is astonished by the heavens; she looks at it and analyzes it, but when she looks at it, she accepts it. Capturing the heart and soul.

Later on, I would get drunk when I first came into contact with people of the same level. Over time, I was stuck in a trap that I couldn’t get out of.

The words are dry and it is difficult to describe; the pen and ink are limited and cannot be described. The sunken fish and the fallen geese have become commonplace, the moon is closed and the flowers are too mediocre, and the country and the city are limited. There are no words in the world to describe her!

Qiu Shui’s eyes are deep, touching the heartstrings invisible; delicate red lips are dripping, sultry and unintentional; the willow flowers on the waist are charming, capturing the heart and soul naturally; Her eyebrows are beautiful and intoxicating. The nose is like jade, the brilliance is difficult to contain; the black silk is like a waterfall, flowing thousands of miles; the arms are like mutton fat, shiny and smooth; the ice muscles and jade bones are elegant, the elegant face is greasy, and the beauty is overwhelming. In laughter, all things shine, auspicious energy transpires, and the water hibiscus withers; in anger, ice and frost are merciless, the sun and moon have no light, and Chang'e is dejected in the moon.

His every smile, every frown, every joy and every anger, are all changing, and his beauty is fully displayed. If you have a broad heart, you will die without any regrets. Selected Chapter 3 of Beautiful Ancient Prose: A Corner of Peace

The drizzle fell softly and silently, disturbing the green branches in the garden. A moment of peace, a moment of hustle and bustle, the dots and dots intertwined, weaving a lingering broken web, which continued to be cut and the order remained chaotic.

It was foggy after the rain, and the shadows of the trees were dim. In the distance, there were two figures walking side by side, passing each other, like the back figures of each other in the past. They could not speak, but in the blink of an eye, things were changed. People are different and things are separated from each other. The leaves trembled, a trace of clear beads dripped, and the heart was filled with fragments.

The late flowers have withered, with a few residual reds, and the shadows of the branches follow each other. On that day, the flowers were blooming, the flowers were dancing, the flowers were hugging each other, the birds were singing softly, whispering affectionately, and the time was quiet. Nowadays, the ground is full of red, the years are trampling silently, and the romantic flower clusters wither in the nameless past. No one can call it by name and make it look back with a smile.

The blue waves in the pool rise and fall one after another. The attachment and reluctance turn into ripples, broken and remade again and again. Youth has passed away, and the gentle green waves have long since dried up in my hands. When I touched it again, it was heavier, deeper, cooler, and no longer the same. The ends of grass and trees grow and die in spring and autumn, and flourish and wither for a while, but they are similar year after year. At the end of a person's life, there is a dream of Spring and Autumn, and one suddenly doesn't know whether he is drunk or awake. It changes year by year, and the water flows eastward.

Wild paths, sparse human figures, crumbling fences, a few defeated peonies in the garden, a clump of blue iris, and growing weeds. The phoenix flower is in full bloom in the garden, and its color can no longer be seen. Huddled under the Phoenix tree, there was no news.

Stopping in a peaceful corner, wandering in the unfamiliar rain, flowers bloom and fall, ups and downs, knowing the warmth and coldness.