论文部分内容阅读
时光的双脚一抬,我便从曾经的少年走向了青年,我的脚步也从老家走出了一千多里。为了荣耀或前途,或者最后什么都不是,像一只猫儿,开始我自己的流浪,从西北走向东南,从陆地走向海洋,如同秋天落叶般潇洒与凄凉。没有选择,便没有进步。她的一句话,足以让我的心疼痛许久,如同一个婴儿信赖自己的母亲,只有今天才是真实,现实才是那艺术的源泉。我曾无数次想象明天,如同文艺只不过是文艺,是写在纸上的文字,照亮人的灵魂深处。
Time’s legs lift, I will be from a young boy to a youth, my footsteps have come from home more than a thousand miles. For glory or future, or in the end nothing, like a cat, start my own wandering, from northwest to southeast, from land to sea, as autumn and fall like chic and desolate. No choice, no progress. Her sentence, enough to make my heart a long time pain, as a baby trust their mother, only today is true, reality is the source of that art. I have imagined tomorrow many times, just as literature and art is nothing more than literature and art. It is written on paper and illuminates people’s soul.