Famous sentences about rain

Falling Flowers Independent, Swift Qi Fei.

Misty rain enveloped Wu's day overnight; Send you in the morning, lonely and sad in Chushan!

Clouds are darkened by rain, and streams are pale by fog.

Sunrise in the east and rain in the west, the road is sunny but sunny.

The dance floor was still there, but the heroes had already gone with the passage of time.

Angry, leaning against the railing, resting in the drizzle.

Twilight arrival, plum blossom is helpless, exhausted, and has to withstand the wind and rain.

The lamp on the bead curtain shook my lonely heart and went home. There were two red mansions facing the cold and hiding in the rain.

In Ming Dynasty, Xiao Lou listened to the spring rain and sold apricot flowers.

When you ask about the return date, it's hard to say, evening rain, Manqiuchi. When * * * cut the candle at the west window, but talk about the rain at night.

Weicheng rainy city is clear of dust, and the guest house is green and willow.

Yesterday, I left, and the willows were reluctant; The road is muddy and difficult to walk, and people are thirsty and hungry.

The valley came quickly and fiercely, with dark clouds and heavy rain.

The night will be over, I lie in bed listening to the sound of wind and rain, in a daze in my dream, riding an armored horse across the frozen river to the northern battlefield.

There is a lot of silk in the sky above the avenue, which is as delicate and moist as butter. The grass is vaguely connected in the distance, but it looks sparse in the near future.

Living in a small building and listening to the falling spring rain, you will hear the sound of selling apricots in the depths of the alley early in the morning.

In late autumn, a thousand rains fall on the curtain, and the balcony plays the flute at sunset.

An old man in the bank, wearing a green bamboo hat raincoat and a green raincoat, braved the wind and rain and fished leisurely. He was fascinated by the beautiful spring scenery and didn't even go home in the rain.

Just don't forget that this time, the dusk and spring rain crossed the Maple Bridge.

Wind and rain are evil, tireless thatched cottage is low.

After the rain, the grass is in the sunset, and the apricot blossoms are fragrant.

It was windy and rainy last night. Deep sleep won't leave a hangover. Ask the shutter man, Haitang is still there. Do you know that?/You know what? Do you know that?/You know what? It should be green, fat and red.

Indus is raining in Mao Mao, dripping at dusk. This time, what a sad sentence.

Sycamore tree, night rain. If you don't leave your feelings, you will suffer. A leaf, a sound, empty footsteps fall into the light.

The spring tide brought the rain late and urgent, and there was no boat on the wild crossing.

March storm, closing at dusk, not planning to stay in spring.

The empty mountains are bathed in a new rain, and feel the early autumn at night.

Cherish the spring to go, when to rush the rain.

There is no chapter all day, and tears are pouring down.

Hanging down the curtain, Shuang Yan returned to the drizzle.

It rains at home in Huangmei season, and frogs are everywhere in the grass pond. ...

Tears fell from her sad white face, and pear blossoms brought spring rain.

If you ask how much free time you have. Yichuan tobacco is full of wind. It rains when plums are yellow.

Wind and rain send spring home, flying snow welcomes spring. The cliff is already a hundred feet of ice, and there are beautiful flowers.

Jiang Yu is decadent.

The hazy mountains presented a rare sight in the rain and fog.

The gale before the storm.

After the rain, the blue clouds dispersed.

When will I hear your voice again, all night in the rain?

The heavy rain fell on you Yan.

White rain and beads jumped into the boat.

Spend a life covered with straw in fog and rain.

Rain or shine, I will realize my wish.

Wine is warm in spring flowers, chess is cold in bamboo. (Don Xu Hun, Caotang)

Dreams break outside Jiangting Hill, and poems become light and shadow in the rain. (Song Luyou "Nostalgia")

More than 480 ancient temples were left in the Southern Dynasties, and countless pagodas were shrouded in wind and rain. (Tang Du Mu's "Jiangnan Spring")

This is the best time for a beautiful new rain, and everything is beautiful when it is about to open. (Don Zheng Gu's "Haitang")

Sunrise in the east and rain in the west, the road is ruthless but sunny. (Liu Tang Yuxi's "Zhe Zhi Ci")

Heaven and earth alone, Shan Yu Hugh, how many students can get plum blossoms. (Song Xie Fangde's Wuyishan)

I have been too scared to sleep. I heard the rain, but I didn't know I was as confused as bloom. (Don Li Shangyin's Left in the Central Plains)

On the ferry, the light rain sprinkled cold plums, and the snow melted into the clouds. (Don Liu Yuxi's Pine Nuts Crossing the Gorge)

The wind in the east wind, the rain in the wind, the rain in the wind, the sound of light thunder came from the other side outside the lotus pond. (Don Li Shangyin's Untitled)

Mao Heng was silent all day, lying there listening to the rain beating banana. (Song Luyou, "The Rain in Wen Zhai Zhong")

The ears of wheat are yellow and heavy, and the leaf-eating silkworms sound white rain. (Song April 1st)

Every year, on the cross road, in the drizzle, long-distance ships are on the shore of An Shu. (Song Fan Chengda's "Hengtang")

Three glasses of peach and plum spring breeze wine, one night rain boat. (Yuan Ni Zan's "Ghost")

White hair can be drunk in spring, and drizzle is not cold. (Song Lin Jingxi's "Spring Scenes")

Return with the newspaper, apricot blossoms and misty rain are in Jiangnan. (Yuan Yuji, "La Ri Occasionally")

It is spring breeze, spring rain and spring flowers; I look at Jiangnan, and I look at Jiangbei. I see waves in the sky. (Huang Songting Sword "The Second Rhyme Waiting for You in the Rain"/Yu Guangzhong

Waiting for you in the rain,

In the rain that makes rainbows

The cicada falls and the frog rises.

A pool of red lotus is like a red flame.

in the rain

It doesn't matter whether you come or not,

Feel unexpectedly

Every lotus is like you.

Especially at dusk,

Through this drizzle

Eternity, instant, instant, eternity

Waiting for you outside of time,

In the end,

Waiting for you, in an instant, in eternity.

If your hand is in my hand,

At the moment, if your qingfen

In my nostrils,

I'll say, honey

No, this hand should pick lotus flowers.

In Wugong

This hand should hold a handful of cinnamon pulp,

On Mulan boat

A star hangs on the cornice of the science museum.

Hanging like an eardrop

The Swiss watch says it's seven o'clock.

Suddenly you came.

Red lotus after the rain,

Dancing,

You come.

Like a poem.

You come from a love story.

In the words of Jiang Baishi,

With the rhythm, you came. What is the rain saying all night?

The lamp upstairs asked the tree outside the window.

The tree outside the window asked the car at the corner.

What is the sound of rain all night?

Cars at the corner of the driveway ask for directions in the distance.

The road in the distance asks the bridge upstream.

What is the sound of rain all night?

The bridge upstream needs an umbrella for several hours.

Hours of umbrellas asking about lost shoes.

What is the sound of rain all night?

Leaked shoes asked the screaming frog.

The barking frog asked about the fog around him.

Say what? A night of rain?

The fog around asked the lights upstairs.

The lamp upstairs asked the man under it.

The man under the lamp looked up and said

Why hasn't it stopped?

From legend to the present

From rain to surging

From eaves to rivers and seas

Let me ask you something, stupid moss.

What is the sound of rain all night?

Yujing

My beloved rain scene is also very rich;

The patter and spring dream in front of the spring night window;

The sound of sharp raindrops hitting banana leaves;

Fog usually blows rain on the face;

Thunderstorms splashed by lightning—

But when it rains, I like it best.

It is gray, but transparent;

It contains a silent expectation.

From the clouds, I don't know where,

There was a clear birdsong.

Rain Lane (Dai Wangshu)

Holding an oil-paper umbrella, wandering alone in the long

Lonely rain lane,

I hope to see

A girl with a lilac knot.

She does.

Clove-like color,

Lilac-like fragrance,

Sad as cloves,

Sorrow in the rain, sorrow and hesitation;

She lingers in this lonely rain lane,

Holding an oil-paper umbrella, like me,

Silently like me.

Cold, sadness and melancholy.

She silently approached, approached and threw.

Sighing eyes

She drifted by like a dream,

As sad and confused as a dream.

Like a lilac garden in a dream,

I passed this girl by;

She left silently, left,

Arrived at the decadent wall and walked into this rainy alley. Listen to the cold rain

Yu Guangzhong

After the shock, the cold in spring intensified. First the material is steep, then the rainy season begins, sometimes it is dripping, and sometimes the sky is wet. Even in the dream, it seems to be holding an umbrella. With an umbrella, you can avoid a cold rain and the whole rainy season. Even my thoughts are wet. Going home every day, it is a dream to walk into the rain and wind from Jinmen Street to Xiamen Street. It's sad to think of Taipei like this. This is a completely black-and-white movie. I think the whole history of China and China is nothing more than a black-and-white movie. It rained like this from beginning to end. I wonder if this feeling comes from antonioni. But that land is strange. Twenty-five years, a quarter of a century, even if it rains, Qian Shan is full of water and umbrellas. For twenty-five years, everything has been broken, only the climate and only the weather forecast are still involved. A huge cold current rolled in from that land, and this coolness was shared with the ancient continent. You can't jump into her arms and be swept by her skirt, which is also a comfort to the child.

When I think so, I feel a little warm in the cold. In this way, he hopes that these narrow alleys will extend forever, and his thinking can also be extended, not from Jinmen Street to Xiamen Street, but from Jinmen to Xiamen. He is from Xiamen, at least in a broad sense. For twenty years, he has been living in Xiamen Street instead of Xiamen, which is a mockery and a comfort. But in a broad sense, he is also a Jiangnan native, a Changzhou native, a Nanjing native, a Chuanwaer, and a teenager in a broad sense. The apricot blossom and spring rain in the south of the Yangtze River was his boyhood. It will be clear in half a month. Antonioni's lens tossed and turned, tossed and turned. Residual water is like. Heaven and earth are like. There are thousands of people from north to south. Is there porcelain in it? And, of course, China, which will always be China. It's just that the apricot blossom and spring rain are gone, the shepherd boy no longer gives directions, the sword gate is drizzling, and the dust in Weicheng is gone. However, where is the land he dreams of day and night?

Is it in the front page title of the newspaper? Or is it a rumor in Hong Kong? Or Fu Cong's black keys white key Ma Sicong's jump bow plucking strings? Or is it the hope of antonioni's mirror-ending horse week? Or, in the walls and glass cabinets of the Palace Museum, in the rhyme of Taibai Dongpo in the sound of gongs and drums in Beijing Opera?

Apricot flowers. Spring rain in Jiangnan. Liuge, maybe that piece of soil is in it. Whether it is Chixian, Shenzhou or China, it is changing. As long as Cang Xie's inspiration persists and his beautiful China is not old, his image and magnetic centripetal force will inevitably grow. Because a square character is a world. At the beginning, there were words, so they pinned the hearts of the Han people and the memories and hopes of their ancestors. For example, write a word "rain" out of thin air, dribs and drabs, torrential rain, intermittent rain, all love and rain, and that's it. What can satisfy this aesthetic feeling visually? Jin Mu, like fire and water, has become the world by itself. When you enter the "Rain" Department, the ancient China is ever-changing, and you will notice that beautiful frost, snow, clouds and terrible thunder and hail only show God's good temper and bad temper, and the Meteorological Observatory takes pains to read an encyclopedia that laymen can't understand.

Listen, the cold rain. Look at that cold rain. Smell it, cold rain, lick it, cold rain. The rain fell on his umbrella, on the umbrellas, raincoats, houses and antennas of millions of people in this city. It's raining in Keelung Port, on the breakwater, on the boat in the channel, and it's raining this season. Rain is a woman and should be the most emotional. The rain and dew are ethereal and psychedelic, smelling carefully, refreshing, with a little mint fragrance. When it is thick, it gives off a faint earthy smell unique to grass trees after soaking their hair. Maybe it's actually the smell of earthworm and snail. After all, this is a shock. Maybe it's life on the ground and underground, maybe it's the silly crawling of China's ancient memories, maybe it's the subconscious and dreams of plants, and that smell is fishy.

I went to America for the third time and lived in the high Denver Mountain for two years. The western United States is mountainous and desert, and it is dry for thousands of miles. The sky is as blue as Anglo-Saxon eyes; The ground is as red as Indian skin; Cloud is a rare Bai Niao. There are few clouds on the dazzling snow peaks in the Rocky Mountains. One is high, the other is dry, and the third is above the forest line, and fir and cypress also stop. "Clouds Wangfu interest? Free and easy in my chest "or" Yellow Rain in Shang Lue "in China's poems is an ugly landscape in the Rocky Mountains. The victory of the Rocky Mountains lies in stones and snow. Those jagged rocks overlap and depend on each other, creating a thrilling sculpture exhibition for the sun and wind thousands of miles away. White and illusory snow, cold and clear, endless momentum makes people feel hard to breathe, cold and sour. However, to appreciate the realm of "clouds, when I look back, just behind me, fog, when I entered them, it was gone", you still have to go back to China. The humidity in Taiwan Province Province is very high, which can best accommodate the misty and rainy mood. I stayed at the head of the stream for two nights. The trees were fragrant and the cold hit my elbow at night. I slept like a fairy, resting on overlapping mountain shadows and all the sounds. It rained all night in the mountains and woke up the next morning. In the primitive silence where the rising sun did not rise, I ventured into the secret of the forest, walked all the way up the mountain through the broken branches on the ground and the trickling rain, facing the cold all night. The mountain at the head of the stream is dense with trees and dense fog. The lush water vapor rises from the bottom of the Ran Ran, sometimes thick and sometimes light, and the transpiration changes. It is almost impossible to see the hidden peaks and valleys just from the open space where the fog breaks through the clouds. I have entered the mountain at least twice, and I can only play hide-and-seek with the peaks in Xitou. Back in Taipei, the world asked me, except for smiling and pretending to be mysterious, the actual impression is nothing more than mountains in nothingness. The scenery of China, surrounded by clouds and hidden mountains and water, gives people the charm of Song painting. The world may be Zhao's, but the landscape is rice. But, after all, whether the Mi's father and son painted landscapes like China or China in Song Dynasty. I'm afraid no one can say clearly.

The rain is not only audible, quite heavy, but also audible. Listen to the cold rain. Listening to the rain, as long as it is not a rock-breaking typhoon and rainstorm, will always be an aesthetic feeling of hearing. Autumn in the mainland, whether it is raindrops, phoenix trees or showers hitting lotus leaves, always sounds a little bleak, sad and sad. In today's island aftertaste, in addition to sadness, but also a layer of sadness on the cage. I'll spare you a lot of pride and chivalry, but I'm afraid I can't stand repeated blows and blows. A dozen teenagers are dizzy from listening to the rain. Two dozen middle-aged people listened to the rain, and in the boat, the river was wide and the clouds were low. More than 30 bald heads are listening to the rain under the monk's house. This is the pain of the death of the Song Dynasty, the life of a sensitive soul, strung together with cold rain beads upstairs, by the river and in the temple. Ten years ago, he lost himself in a heartbreaking ghost rain Rain, a drop of wet soul, is calling outside the window.

Rain hits trees and tiles, and the rhythm is crisp and audible. Especially the clang on the roof tiles, belongs to China's ancient music. Wang Yu □ In Huanggang, a big bamboo broken like a rafter is a roof tile. It is said that living in a bamboo building, the sound of rain is like a waterfall, and the sound of dense snow is louder than broken jade. Moreover, the effect of * * * is particularly good, regardless of drum, poetry, chess and pot. Isn't it like living in a bamboo tube? I'm afraid any fragile sound will be doubled and exaggerated, but it will make the ears allergic.

Rainy roof tiles, with wet ribbons, are gray and gentle, with dim sunshine and dim backlight, which is a low-level comfort to vision. As for the rain hitting thousands of scaly tiles, from far and near, it is gentle and heavy, with a trickle flowing down the tile trough and eaves. All kinds of tapping and sliding sounds are closely woven into a net, and whose fingers are massaging the helix. "It's raining." The gentle gray beauty came, and her cold hands fiddled with countless black keys and gray keys on the roof, turning noon into dusk.

On the ancient continent, thousands of families are like this. More than 20 years ago, when I first came to this island, so did the Japanese-style tile houses. First, it was dark, the city was shrouded in huge frosted glass, and the shadows were elongated and deepened indoors. Then the cool water filled the space, and the wind whirled from every corner, feeling that every roof was covered with heavy breathing. Rain is coming, the lightest percussion is beating on the city, and the vast roofs are knocking from far and near. Guqin, with its fine and dense rhythm, has its own softness and kindness in monotony, bit by bit, which seems unreal and true. If the child is in the cradle, a familiar nursery rhyme wobbles and the mother sings. Still in Zeguo Water Town in the south of the Yangtze River, a large basket of green mulberry leaves was chewed by hundreds of silkworms, chewing with mouthparts and mouthparts. When the rain comes, Waer says so, Yier says so, and hundreds of millions of Waers say so, flicking and repeating, knocking slowly, knocking in a rainy season, improvising from fright to Qingming, coldly playing elegies on scattered graves, and hundreds of millions of Waers sing.

Listening to the rain in Japanese-style ancient houses, listening to the endless yellow mildew rain in April, day and night, ten-day months, wet moss has invaded his tongue and heart from the bottom of the stone steps. In July, listening to the typhoon and rain beating blindly on the ancient house all night, Chihiro's boiling heat wave was carried by strong winds, overturning the whole Pacific Ocean just to press heavily on his low eaves, and the whole sea spouted over his volute. Otherwise, it is a thunderstorm night, and the veil of white smoke is full of drums. shanghai dawn, the high-powered electric pipa is very uneasy, and the fright of playing roof tiles is full of excitement. Otherwise, it is the oblique northwest rain, which is brushed on the window glass and whipped on the wide banana leaves on the wall. After a spring rain, autumn will fill Japanese courtyards.

Listen to the rain in Japanese-style ancient houses, listen to the drizzling autumn rain in the spring rain, and listen to the cold rain from youth to middle age. Rain is a kind of monotonous music, whether it is indoor music or outdoor music. Indoor listening, outdoor listening, cold, music. Rain is a music of memory. Listening to the cold rain, I recall that it rained all over the south of the Yangtze River. On bridges, boats, in Sichuan, in rice fields and frog ponds, it enriched the sound of wet cuckoos under the Jialing River. The rain licks the cold rain on the lips under the damp music of the tide.

Because rain is the most primitive percussion music, it starts from the other side of memory. Tile is the lowest musical instrument, and the gray gentleness covers the people who listen to the rain. The umbrella of music supports the tiles. But the apartment era is coming soon. Why did you suddenly grow taller in Taipei? Wa's music became a masterpiece. Ten thousand tiles are flying, and beautiful gray butterflies fly away one after another, flying into the memory of history. It's raining now, on the concrete roof and walls, a rainy season without rhythm. Trees have also been cut down, laurel, maple, willow and huge coconut in the sky, and there are no noisy leaves and flashing wet green light to meet the arrival of rain. Birds chirp less, frogs drown pavilions, and insects chirp less in autumn. Taipei in the 1970s didn't need these, and one band after another was disbanded. If you want to hear a cock crow, you have to look for it in the rhyme of the Book of Songs. Now there is only one black-and-white film, black-and-white silent film.

Just as the carriage era has passed, so has the tricycle era. Once on a rainy night, the tarpaulin of a tricycle was hung up. On the way home, the world in the tent was much smaller and cuter, and she hid outside the jurisdiction of the police. The bigger the raincoat pocket, the better. It can hold a slender hand with one hand. The rainy season in Taiwan Province Province is so long that someone should invent a wide raincoat for two people. Everyone should wear one sleeve, and other parts don't need to be too harsh. No matter how developed the industry is, it seems that umbrellas can't be abandoned for a while. As long as it doesn't rain cats and dogs and the wind doesn't blow sideways, umbrellas in the rain still retain their classical charm. Let the raindrops knock on the black cloth umbrella or transparent plastic umbrella, turn the bone handle, and the raindrops splash in all directions, and the edge of the umbrella becomes a circle of cornices. Playing an umbrella with your girlfriend is a beautiful cooperation. It's best to be first love, a little excited and a little embarrassed. If you are at arm's length, it will rain harder. The real first love, I'm afraid, is so excited that I don't need an umbrella. I ran away hand in hand in the rain, giving my young long hair and skin to the rain all over the sky, and then tasting the cool and sweet rain on each other's lips and cheeks. But it must be very young and passionate, and it can only happen in French trendy movies.

Most umbrellas don't open dates now. After work, after school, on the way back and forth to the food market, realistic umbrellas, gray Wednesday. He held an umbrella and listened to the cold rain beating on it. I wish it were colder, he thought. Just freeze the wet gray rain into dry white rain, and the hexagonal crystal will fall in the windless air. When the man's beard and shoulders are white, he will drop his hand with a wave of his hand. For twenty-five years, I have not been blessed by the white rain in my hometown. Perhaps sending some frost is a disguised form of self-compensation. How many rainy seasons can a hero endure? Was his forehead cut from water rock or igneous rock? How thick is the moss in his heart? The rainy lane of Xiamen street has been walking for 20 years like a memory. A tileless apartment is waiting for him at the bottom of the lane, and a lamp is in the rain window upstairs, waiting for him to go back. Through meditation after dinner, I sort out the memories deep in my hair. The past is across the sea, and the old house is gone.

Listen to the cold rain.

In the lamentation of the rain,

Fade her color, dispel her fragrance,

Dissipate, even her sighing eyes.

Lilac is melancholy.

Holding an oil-paper umbrella, wandering alone in the long

Lonely rain lane,

I hope to float across a lilac.

A girl with a grudge.