There is a belief, through time and space. There is a faith that grows stronger with age.
Who was the first to write with a knot, who carved a totem on the bones? Who is the heart of history, who is the pen and ink dance? Literature -- This interconnected and indivisible human civilization flows from its ancient origins to our feet, to our pens, and to our hearts. It is the light of wisdom, the flame of the spirit, but also believe in her our hearts rolling waves of heat.
Years flow passage, there is always a kind of belief, such as god in clay figurine back on the back, and strong, that is our common belief that literature, it is “into the garden of the chamber, as from fang”, it is “the dead husband, thereby generate” refers to sigh, it is “I will search up and down” a dream of eternal.
When the keyboard instead of a pen on the paper of dance, when binding books to page click on web pages, ancient bells sound changes of shiny discs, we believe that the literature of the Great Wall is solid, its winding, from everlasting extends far into the distance, it is because there has always been a group of loyal persistent builder.
Because of this faith, so that we do not lose ourselves in the rush; Because of the unconstrained literati, we can stick to the pursuit when the material desire is rampant. Infiltrate between the lines of blood and tears, let us each other heart hand grip, let us each other tacit understanding speechless.
This is our belief and our dream. When the first drop of literary nectar moistens our dried-up hearts, every seed is buried deep there, waiting for spring and autumn fruits, and greeting the years.
I want this to be a bridge, above the sky; I hope this is a stage, wide and infinite; I hope this is a lighthouse, all night not go out - XuanHan middle school in sichuan province from zero run, perhaps it is just at the foot of the leaf of a boat on the river, double side, muddy hand a little orange lamp, but we believe that even the boat can carry us from sea to shining sea, and even the ground can show our moving dance, even little orange lamp can lead us from darkness to the next dawn! Penholder mountain xia for paper, painting diffuse volume neon clothes. Langyuan in the cloud white flowers, hedge edge open graceful, under the moon drunk Yang just.
This is a place where we can sing freely, and the new life as an individual stands among us, a landscape that will never fade. Let us, then, in our common faith, take this leaf boat, step on this square, and carry this orange lamp -- from zero! Let‘s go!
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