After they are always so: a word, she said on the last part, he will naturally pick out the next half. PEN after they returned to their respective cities, but still with the phone and postman, Wen said about poetry, and talked, and then falling in love, the end of As - Tanhunlunjia.
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Also remember that kid wrote an essay is about the love of the mother-child, I remember my composition titled "drunk drip maternal love" article, but read our language teacher and rehearse. I remember after the teacher finished, ask the other students in our class, write, do not write out this good article, Alas, when we mood is not just happy and pleased to describe it!
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A few days ago, I mail to the home a letter and said I might be transferred to the Propaganda Department of the Military District work. Unexpectedly, the father received my letter, hurried over. To the letter of the family, my intention is to try to comfort the father of sinking a lot of heart for my father no longer worry about me. Father to the troops, it is beyond my expectations. Especially with two bottles of Wuliangye. Father's alcohol, the kind of special feelings of the father of the wine, similar to a monk of Buddhist worship. The father had said: in this life is to drink a bottle of Wuliangye dead also peace of mind.

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Second angered people hate the bookcase. Their age are already half a century, some antique, has not understand exactly what the large Zhuanzi above. Which I have no bad feelings, bad, do not handle many bookcases, the original may not be such a "device" (to talk about the importance of that does not mean), making it difficult to switch off when aligned with tenon shut after no longer open not open, each had to only use a screwdriver (that also have to look for a half-day). Some doors, however, is too loose, bow to bow down to find the following cabinet in the book, the door suddenly fall snapped the hit on the head, really beaten faint.
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"Everything on your forehead that says it." Said my tears. At that time, I came to realize that, despite all the woman has a mother, but only a few lucky woman to do a real daughter. I once again embrace the mother, said: "There is no daughters do not know." Childhood I was an awkward child. According to the parents to tell, I was born not cry, coming a few days after the father slap "wow" called out loud: other people's children will walk, but I only along the edge of the table reluctantly embarked a few steps, then fell in his mother's arms. My childhood to become the comparative object of someone's home. Neighbor's cousin, three months younger than me to go to school than me early, learn something than I often hear coming from the neighbor's courtyard cousin uniform steady recite Tang poetry sound when the father's face on always put live is always a Shuaimen and endless disappointment wrestling in the resounding success of the world.
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