算使了次小性子，挣到花店，捧回不起眼的小束雏菊，精心收拾了，放在公用厅里。翌日，却发现花下多了幅字条：

    陋室四月中
   
      黄花玻瓶生
     
    劳人深夜入
   
      欣然嗅春风

    再仔细读了读，暖意突袭……
    劳人深夜入，原来这大千花花里不只有我这个被忽视的小角色为了生计而放弃喜好，放弃骄傲去埋没在文件堆里，奔波于都市的街巷。这群人，也在身边。几句小诗，本是欣慰，却带出了无奈和疲累。而我，因这小诗，和写它粘贴它的他而无比欣慰。因生计而搁置的文绉绉也侵袭了过来，挡也不住。
   

  总是在感叹，时间过得快。08年到了，转眼就是09年，不久会发现自己又开始感叹2010年了...无聊而永恒的话题。
今年的第一天，13点起床，开电脑，吃饭，回寝室，看XMAN，看康熙。
  吃饭的时候顺便把men又BS了一番。
  自以为什么都懂的我，也迷糊了，呵呵，或者是懒得花那么多精力去分析去应对。爱杂杂地。
  这算是邋遢吧。08年了，奥运在北京，那与我无关；考专8了，只有3个月，过不了得丢多大的脸啊；22了，还有门禁，还像12一样被父母看待，还得保持多远的距离；发现更多龌龊的事，去BS他都觉得没品，希望尽快把他忘掉，完全BS自己浸染记忆这么好；有很多路给自己，选哪个呢？
  08年了，没什么大不了，长得越大知道得越多，知道得越多愤恨就越多，愤恨得越多老得越快，老得越快时间就越短，时间越短就发现虚度了那么多时间去愤恨。

  这样暖暖的画面，突然涌进了乱糟糟乌漆漆的思绪。像20岁才有的漂泊和安定，就只用一个肩膀。我没有那么强大,当然我知道，你也没有那样的承受能力。我们只需要这样相互偎依着，看着腾腾的热气模糊了车窗。或许是因为我从没经历过流浪吧,竟希望有这样的一次远足,承受着属于小小年纪的负担,微笑着成长。火车出发了，带着一个执着的梦，去向了未知了城市，遇到陌生的面孔，经历单纯的磨难。
  在心里的某个小小的角落，怀着不褪色的向往，或者只是这样的画面，温暖着心。只要想着这样的旅途，便置身于孤立的小世界里了。
  车窗外，是狰狞的好单位、供房、供车、交际圈子、人情世故挥舞的魔爪，撕心裂肺的嚎叫着。

By Bryan Dyson人生的5个球

    Imagine life as a game in which you are juggling some five balls in the air.You name them:Work,amily,Health,Friends,Spirit.And you're keeping all of these in the air.You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball.If you drop it,It will bouncw back.But the other four balls-family,health,friends and spirit are made of glass.If you drop one o these,it will be irrevocably scuffed,marked,nicked,damaged or even shattered.They will nerver be the same.You must understand that and strive for balance in you life.
    How?
    Don't undermine your worth by comparing yoursel to others.It is because we are difrernt that each o us is special.
    Don't set your goals by what other people deem important.Only you know what is best for you.
    Don't take for granted the things closest to your heart.Cling to then as you would to your lie,or without them,life is meaningless.
    Don't let your life slip through your fingers by living in the past or for the future.By living your life one day at a time,you live all the days of your life.
    Don't give up when you still have something to give.Nothing is really over until the moment you stop trying.
    Don't be afraid to admit that you are less than perfect.It is this fragile thread that binds us each together.
    Don't be afraid to encounter risks.It is by taking chances that we learn how to be brave.
    Don't shut love out of your life by saying it's impossible to find.The quickest way to receive love is to give;the fastest way to lose love is to hold it too tightly;and the best way to keep love is to give it wings.
    Don't run through life so fast that you forget not only where you've been,but also where you are going.
    Don't forget,a person's greatest emotional need is to feel appreciated.
    Don't be afraid to learn.Knowledge is weightless,a treasure you can always carry easily.
    Don;t use time or words carelessly.Neither can be retrieved.
    Life is not a race,but a journey to be savored each step of the way.
    Yesterday is history,Tomorrow is a mystery and Today is a gift:taht's whay we call it"The Present".

By Samuel Ullman青春

    Youth is not entirely a time of life;it is a state of mind;it is not a matter of rosy cheeks,red lips and supple knees;it is a temper of the will,a quality of the imagination,a vigor o the emotions;it is the freshness of the deeo springs of life.

    Youth means the temperamental predominance of courage over timidity,of the appetite of adventure over the love of ease.This often exists in a man o sixty more than in a boy of twenty.Nobody grows old by merely living a number of years.We grow old by deserting our ideals.

    Years may wrinkle the skin,but to give up enthusiam wrinkles the soul.Worry,doubt,self-distrust,fear and despair--thses bow the heart and turn the spirit back to dust.

    Whether sixty or sixteen,there is in every human being's heart the love of wonder,the sweet amazement at the stars and the star like things,the undaunted challenge of events,the unfailing child-like appetite for what-next,and the joy of the game of living.

    You are as young as your faith,as old as your doubt;as young as your sel-confidence,as old as your fear;as young as your hope,courage,grandeur and power from the earth,from man and from the Infinite,soo long are you young.

    When the wires are all down,and all the central places o your heart are covered with the snows of pessimism and the ice o cynicism,then,and only then,are you grown old indeed.

By Robert Lynd无知常乐

    The average man who uses a telephone could not explain how a telephone works.He takes for granted the telephone,the railway train,the linotype,the airplane.He neither questions nor understands them.It is as though each of us investigated and made his own only a tiny circle of facts.Knowledge outside the day's work is regarded by most men as a gewgaw.Still we are contantly in reaction against our ignorance.We rouse ourselves at intervals and speculate.We revel in speculations about anything at all--about lie after death or about such questions as that which is said to have puzzled Aristotle,"Why sneezing rom noon to midnight was good,but from night to noon unlucky."One of the greatest joys known to man is to take such a light into ignorance in search of knowledge.The great pleasure of answering,is, after all,the pleasure of asking questions.The man who has lost his pleasure of answering,is down to the study of physiology in his sixties.Most o us have lost the sense of our squirrel's hoard of knowledge and regard increasing age itself as a school of omiscience.We forget that Socrates was famed for wisdom not because he was omniscient but because he realized at the age of seventy that he still knew nothing.

By Samuel Smiles

    Aman may usually be known by the books he reads as well as by the company he keeps;for there is a companionship of books as well as of men;and one should always lived in the best company,whether it be books or of men.

    A good book may be among the best of friends.It is the same today that it always was,and it will never change.It is the most patient and cheerful o companions.It does not turn its back upon us in times of adversity or distress.It always receives us with the same kindness,amusing and instructing us in youth,and comforting and consoling us in age.

    Men often discover their affinity to each other by the love they have each for a book.The book is a truer and higher bond of union.Men can think,feel ,and symoathize with each other through their favorite author.They live in him together and he,in them.

    A good book is often the best urn of life enshrining the best that life could think out;for the world of man's life is,for the most part,but the world of his thoughts.Thus the best books are treasuries of good words,the golden thoughts,which,remembered and cherished,become our constant companions and comforters.

    Books possess an essence of immortality.They are by far the most lasting products of human effort.Temples and statues decay,but books survive.Time is of no account with great thoughts,which are as fresh today as when they irst passed through their author's minds,ages ago.What was then said and thought still speaks to us as vividly as ever from the printed page.The only effct of time has been to sift out the bad products;for nothing in literature can long survive but what is really good.

    Books introduce us into the best society,they bring us into the presence of the greatest minds that have ever live.We have what they said and did;we see them as if they were really alive;we sympathize with them,enjoy with them,grieve with them;their experience becomes ours,and we feel as if we were in a measure actors with them in the scenes which they describe.

By Willian Somerset Maugham河之歌
   
    You hear it all along the river.You hear it,loud and strong,from the rowers as they urge the junk with its high stem,the mast lashed alongside,down the swift running stream.You hear it from the trackers,a more breathless chant,as they pull desperately against the current,half a dozen of them perhaps if they are taking up a sampan,a couple of hundred if they are hauling a splendid junk,its square sail set,over a repid.On the junk a man stands amidships beating a drum incressantly to guide their eforts,and they pull with all their strengh,like men possessed,bent double;and somethimes in the extremity of their travail they crawl on the ground,on all fours,like the beasts of the field.They straun ,straun fiercely,against the pitiless might of the stream.The leader goes up and down the line and when he sees one who is not putting all his will into the task he brings down his split bamboo on the naked back.Each one must do his utmost or the labour of all is vain.And still they sing a vehement,eager chant,the chant of the turbulent waters.I do not know how words can describe what there is in it of effort.It serves to express the straining heart,the breaking muscles,and at the same time the indomitable spirit of man which overcomes the pitiless force of nature.Though the rope may part and the great junk swing back,in the end the rapid will be passed;and at the close o the weary day there is the hearty meal.

    Life is too hard,too cruel,and this is final despairing protest.That is the song of the river.

By John Ruskin

    Painting,or art generally,as such,with all its technicalities,difficulties,and particular ends,is nothing but a noble and expressive language,invaluable as the vehicle of thought,but by itself nothing.He who has learned what is commonly considered the whole art of painting,that is,the art of representing any natural object faithfully,has as yet only learned the language by which his thoughts are to be expressed.He has done just as much towards being that which we ought to respect as a great painter,as a man who has learnt how to express himself grammatically and melodiousky has towards being a great poet.The language is,indeed,more difficult of acquirement in the one case than in the other,and possesses more power of delighting the sense,while it speaks to the intellect;but it is,nevertheless,nothing more than language,and all those excellences which are peculiar to the painter as such,are merely what rhythm,melody,precision,and force are in the words of the orator and the poet,necessary to their greatness,but by what is represented and said,that the respective either of the painter or the writer is to be finally determined.

    So that,if I say that the greatest picture is that which conveys to the mind of the spectator thr greatest number of the greatest ideas,I have a definition which will include as subjects of comparison every pleasure which art is capable of conveying.If I were to say,on the contrary,that the best picture was that which most closely imitated nature,I should assume that art could only pleas by imitating nature;and I should cast out of the pale of criticism those parts of works of art which are not imitative,that is to say,intrinsic beauties of color and form,and those works of art wholly,which,like the Arabesques of Raffaelle in the Loggias,are not imitative at all.Now,I want a definition of art wide enough to include all its warieties of aim.I do not say,therefore,that the art is greatest which gives most pleasure,because perhaps there is some art whose end is to teach,and not to please.I do not say that the art is greatest which teaches us most,because there is some art whose end is please,and not to teach.I do not say that the art is greatest which imitates best,because perhaps there is some art whose end is to create and not to imitate.But I say that the art is greatest which conveys to the mind of the spectator,by any means whatsoever,the greatest number of the greatest ideas;and I call an idea great in proportion as it is received by a higher faculty of the mind,and as it mere fully occupies,and in occupying,exercises and exalts,the faculty by which it is received.

    If this,then,be the definition of great art,that of a great artist naturally ollows.He is the greatest artist who has embodied,in the sum of his works,the greatest number of the greatest ideas.

Anonymous

    One day a young man was standing in the middle o the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley.A large gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect.There was not a mark or a flaw in it.Yes,they all agreed it truly was the most beautiful heart they had ever seen.The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about his beautiful heart.
 
    Suddenly,an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said,"Your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine."The crowd and the young man looked at the old man's heart.It was beating strongly,but full of scars,it had places where pieces had removed and other pieces put in,but they didn't fit quite right and there were several jagged edges.In fact,in some places there were deep gouges where whole pieces were missing.

    The people stared--how can he say his heart is more beautiful?The young man looked at the old man's heart and saw its state and laughed."You must be joking,"he said,"Compare your heart with mine,mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears."

    "Yes,"said the old man,"Yours is perect looking but I would never trade with you.You see,every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love--I tear out a piece o my heart and give it to them,and often they give me a piece of their heart which fit into the empty place in my heart,but because the pieces aren't exact,I have some rough edges,which I cherish,because they remind me of the love we shared.Sometimes I have given pieces o my heart away,and the other person hasn't returned a piece of his heart to me.These are the empty gouges--giving love is taking a chance.Although these gouges are painul,they stay open,reminding me of the love I have for these people too,and I hope someday they may return and fill the space in my heart.So now do you see what rtue beauty is?"

    The old man took his offering,placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man's heart.It fit,but not perfectly,as there were some jagged edges.The young man looked at his heart,not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever,since love from the old man's heart flowed into his.They embraced and walked away side by side.