Information about loving life

Life is still whispering repeatedly: love life.

Perhaps after the fierce struggle in life,

I died calmer than the lake.

Please go to the cemetery to look for my inscription.

It still says: Love life.

I am determined: to use pain as a weight,

I am confident: to use life as a scale.

I want to declare the value of a person's life,

I want future generations to follow my example: love life.

Indeed, I cherish mine very much

The winding wild path in the wilderness,

It is through this winding path,

I just realized such a difficult life.

I walked with bare feet like a wandering child.

I deeply felt the hardness of the rocks and corners along the way.

In addition, the clumps of trees The thorns blocking the road left a trail of blood with every step I took.

I walked with my bare back like a beggar,

well aware of the hunger and cold in the wind and snow in winter,

and the scorching heat of the poisonous sun in summer ,

This makes me cherish every trace of warmth a hundred times.

But I have the personality to challenge the old forces.

Although I have experienced setbacks, I will never take it lightly.

I am able to live tenaciously and live until now.

This is because I believe in the future and love life. Agree

24| Comments

2012-4-5 18:42 Enthusiastic netizens

guyyhuhkjm nmkjhjuhhuyhuiyhik b jgjkbkbnjkbjkgbjh Agree

20| Comments

2012-4-6 20:46 Enthusiastic Netizens

Life is a miracle created by God, and the world is colorful because of the flower of life. Appreciating the beauty of life, feeling the wonder of life, and enjoying the fun of life make our life fulfilling and satisfying, beautiful and noble. Where do we come from? Why was it born? How to survive? Think piously about the meaning of life and care passionately about all life, thereby improving the realm of life; this is something that every living person must do. Cherish life. Human piety and pity for life reflect the most basic moral cultivation. Cherishing life should be the cornerstone of all lofty beliefs. The beautiful articles in this topic reflect the care and cherishment of life, and praise the uniqueness and magic of life. Agree

26| Comment

2012-4-7 09:56 Enthusiastic netizen

Love life

——Wang Guozhen

I don’t think about whether I can succeed

Since I have chosen the distance

I just care about the ups and downs

I don’t think about whether I can win love

p>

Since I am in love with roses

I will bravely reveal my sincerity

I will not think about whether there will be cold wind and cold rain behind me

Since The goal is the horizon

What is left to the world is only the back

I don’t think about whether the future will be flat or muddy

As long as I love life

Everything is expected and agreed

21| Comments

2012-4-14 16:47 Enthusiastic netizens

Life is limited, but we You can use your limited life to create infinite value. (Many words are omitted later) Haha! Agree

14| Comments (1)

2012-4-15 13:45 358590003 | Level 1

*** and the country if Hoover employment fee The contract for rug to go to Japan is legal and easier to plan. Managing partner Huang is so good. Huatai United Green's Fairy Tale suddenly hurts and makes people understand. The Queen Mother listened to it for a long time. Today the National Treasury and Bank issued an inspection and quarantine huge loss. You can go home. iLailei Public Response Bureau agrees

12| Comments (4)

2012-4-15 14:03 Enthusiastic netizens

Jack London's " "Love Life" tells the story of a gold digger in the American West who was abandoned by his friends on his way back, and he trekked alone in the vast wilderness. Winter was approaching, and the cold wind was hitting him with snowflakes. He had no food, and his legs were injured, his shoes were torn, and his feet were bleeding. He could only stumble crookedly on the wasteland covered with swamps, hills, and creeks, moving forward with great difficulty. Just when his body was very weak, he met a wolf. He found that the sick wolf was following him, licking his blood and following him. In this way, two dying creatures dragged their dying bodies to hunt each other in the wilderness.

In order to return alive and to defeat the sick wolf that made him sick, man finally won the battle between man and wolf. He bit the wolf to death and drank its blood. Finally he was rescued, and his life radiated with dazzling light.

"Love of Life" is the most famous short story by the American novelist Jack London in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. This novel describes a tragic story with vigorous and rough writing and vividly demonstrates The greatness and strength of human nature. The novel places the characters in an almost cruel and harsh environment, allowing the protagonist to fight against cold, hunger, injury and wild beasts, and in the choice of life and death, it fully demonstrates some shining things in the depths of human nature, vividly It vividly describes the tenacity and tenacity of life, and plays a hymn of life, which has shocking power!

Jack London is good at describing the surrounding environment, shaping the artistic conception through the environment, characters' actions and psychological activities, highlighting the protagonist's suffering and feeling of entering a desperate situation, and then using the artistic conception to set off the protagonist's spiritual quality. . This trick has been tried and true because its causal relationship is impeccable. As long as the author grasps the details well, he can use this method to highlight the protagonist's qualities. The psychological activity here is very real. Although we have not experienced that kind of scene, we can still feel the pressure of that situation. He could only "calm himself down very carefully" and "brace himself up" because he was extremely weak, tired and lonely. Although these real material difficulties were so powerful, he could still "rely on a A strange spiritual effect, and I found a bit of perseverance to row harder." Although he struggled again and again and his consciousness gradually blurred, the perseverance in his heart was still there. That strange psychological effect should be the idea that he must live!

Jack London is a famous American novelist. He created about 50 volumes of works throughout his life, the most famous of which are "The Call of the Wild", "Sea Wolf", "White Teeth", "Martin Eden" and a series of excellent short stories "Old Men's League", "Odyssey of the North", "Mapushi House", etc. Jack London was a child laborer since he was a child, drifting on the sea, trekking in the snowfields, and only achieved success after working part-time and studying. His legendary and romantic short stories often describe the lives of indigenous people and white people in the snowy Pacific Islands and Alaska. Most of them can be said to be the adventures of his short life. The realistic style and multi-dimensional themes in his works, as well as the strongly revealed unique personality of the writer, have been deeply attracting readers of different times and experiences for many years. "Love of Life" was once praised by Lenin, and Lenin still held it in his hand until a few days before his death.

Original reading

Love life

Author: Jack London

All that is left is this——

They have experienced the ups and downs of life;

To be able to reach this point is victory,

even though they lost their gambling capital.

The two of them limped and struggled down the river bank. Once, the one walking in front lost his footing among the rocks.

He staggered. They were tired and exhausted, and their faces had expressions of scowl and gritted teeth due to long-term suffering.

On their shoulders were heavy bundles wrapped in blankets. Finally, the belt around his forehead was still strong and helped to hold the burden. Each of them carried a rifle. They walked hunched over, with their shoulders forward and their heads forward, their eyes always looking at the ground.

"It would be great if we had two or three of those bullets we hid in the cellar," said the man walking behind

His tone was dark, dry, and completely devoid of emotion. He said these words coldly; the one in front just limped toward the white stream that flowed through the rocks and stirred up a foam, without answering a word.

The one behind him followed him. Neither of them took off their shoes and socks, even though the water in the river was freezing cold - it made their ankles ache and their feet numb. Whenever they came to a place where the river water hit their knees, the two of them were unsteady and unsteady

The one following slipped on a smooth round stone and almost fell. , However, he struggled hard and stood firm, while screaming in pain. He seemed a little dizzy, and while shaking, he stretched out his free hand, as if intending to hold something in the air. After standing firm, he walked forward again, but unexpectedly staggered again and almost fell.

So, he stood still and looked at the person in front of him who never looked back.

He stood motionless like this for a full minute, as if he was trying to convince himself. Then, he called out: "Hey, Bill, I sprained my ankle." Bill swayed in the white river. He didn't look back.

The man behind watched him walking like this; although his face was still expressionless, his eyes showed the same look as a wounded deer

.

The man in front limped onto the opposite river bank, without looking back, and just walked forward, while the people in the river watched helplessly

. His lips were trembling a little, so the tangled brown beard on his mouth was visibly trembling. He even unconsciously stuck out his tongue and licked his lips.

"Bill!" he shouted loudly.

This was the cry of a strong man asking for help in times of trouble, but Bill did not look back. His companions stared at him.

They saw him limping strangely, stumbling forward, and staggering up a not-steep slope.

Walk towards the not very bright sky on the top of the short hill. He kept watching him cross the hilltop and disappear. So he turned his eyes

and slowly scanned the circle of the world left to him after Bill left.

The sun near the horizon is like a fireball that is about to go out, almost obscured by the chaotic fog and steam.

It makes you feel like it is some kind of dense fireball. Dense masses, yet vague and elusive. The man rested on one leg

and took out his watch. It was four o'clock now, in this season of late July or early August - he said

The exact date was within a week or two - he knew the sun was approximately in the northwest. He looked to the south and knew that behind those desolate hills was the Great Bear Lake; at the same time, he also knew that in that direction, the boundary of the Arctic Circle's forbidden zone reached deep into the Canadian frozen sea. within the land zone. The place where he stood was a tributary of the Coppermine River, which itself flowed northward, leading to Coronation Bay and the Arctic Ocean. He had never been there, but he had seen it once on a Hudson's Bay Company map.

He scanned the world around him again. This is a sad sight to see. There's a blurry skyline everywhere. The hills are all so low. There were no trees, no bushes, no grass - nothing, just a vast and terrifying wilderness, which quickly gave him a look of fear in his eyes.

"Bill!" he shouted quietly, again and again: "Bill!"

He cowered in the white water, as if the vast world was changing. Squeezing him with overwhelming force,

is cruelly showing off its proud majesty to destroy him. He trembled like a man with malaria, and even the gun in his hand fell into the water with a clatter. This sound finally woke him up. He struggled with fear, tried his best to summon up his energy, groped in the water, and found the gun. He moved the bundle toward his left shoulder to relieve the strain on his sprained ankle. Then, he walked slowly, cautiously, wincing in pain towards the river bank.

He never stopped. He struggled like crazy, ignoring the pain, and hurried up the slope towards the hilltop where his companion had disappeared - compared to the lame and limping companion, His appearance is even more weird and ridiculous. But when we reached the top of the mountain, we saw only a dead, shallow valley with no grass growing on it. He struggled with fear again, overcame it, moved the baggage to his left shoulder, and staggered down the hillside.

The bottom of the valley is humid, with thick moss clinging to the water like a sponge. He took a step, and water splashed out from under his feet

Every time he lifted his feet, it would cause a squeaking sound, because the wet moss always

Sucking on his feet, refusing to let go. He took the good road from one moor to another, and followed Bill's footsteps, passing through piles of small islands that jutted out of this sea of ​​moss. rock.

Although he was alone, he was not lost. He knew that if he went further, he would come to a small lake.

There were many very small and thin dead fir trees there. The local people called it "Tichenichili" ” - meaning

“little stick place”. Moreover, there is a small stream leading to the lake, and the water is not white.

There were rushes on the stream--he remembered that well--but no trees, and he could follow it all the way to the watershed where it ended. He would cross the divide and go to the source of another stream, which flowed westward, and he could follow it to where it emptied into the River Dease, where, Under an overturned canoe, you can find a small pit with many stones piled on top. In this pit were the bullets he needed for his empty gun, as well as fishing hooks, fishing lines and a small fishing net - all the tools for hunting, fishing and finding food. He would also find flour--not much--and a piece of pickled pork and some beans.

Bill would be waiting for him there, and they would paddle south down the Dees River to Big Bear Lake. Then they would paddle south in the lake, all the way to the Mackenzie River. Once there, they have to head south, and continue walking south.

Then winter will never be able to catch up with them. Let the rapids freeze, let the weather become more severe, they will go south

To a warm Hudson Bay Company station, where not only the trees grow tall and lush, but also the food There are too many

.

This is what this person was thinking as he struggled forward. He not only struggled with his physical strength, but also struggled with his brain. He tried his best to think that Bill had not abandoned him, and that Bill would definitely be waiting where he hid his things.

Him.

He had to think this way, otherwise, he wouldn't have to work so hard, he would have laid down and died long ago. When the vague ball-like sun slowly sank to the northwest, he repeatedly thought about how long they would take before winter caught up with him and Bill. Every inch of the way to escape south. He thought repeatedly about the food in the cellar and at the Hudson's Bay Company Station. He had not eaten for two days; and more than two days had he not eaten what he wanted.

He often bent down and picked up the gray-white berries on the swamp, put them in his mouth, chewed them a few times, and then swallowed them.

This bog berry has only a small seed, coated with a little pulpy water. As soon as you import it, the water melts and the seeds are spicy and bitter.

He knew that the berries had no nutrients, but he still chewed them patiently

with a hope that ignored reason and experience.

At nine o'clock, he stumbled on a rock. Due to extreme fatigue and weakness, he staggered and fell

to the ground. For a moment he lay motionless on his side. Then, he got out of the belt that tied the bundle and struggled awkwardly to sit up. At this time, it was not completely dark yet, so he took advantage of the lingering twilight to grope among the rocks, trying to find some dry moss. Later, he collected a bunch of them, lit a fire - a sluggish fire that was smoking black - and put a tin pot of water on it to boil.

The first thing he did when he unpacked his bag was to count his matches. One *** sixty-six. To figure it out, he counted it three times

. He divided them into several parts, wrapped them in oil paper, put one part in his empty tobacco bag, one part in the ring of his old hat, and the last part in the sticker. chest inside the shirt. After finishing, he suddenly felt a panic, so he took them out completely, opened them, and counted them again.

Still sixty-six.

He was drying his wet shoes and socks by the fire. The moccasins were in soggy smithereens. The felt socks were worn out in many places

and the skin on both feet was torn and bleeding. One ankle was so swollen that the veins were throbbing. He checked it. It has swollen to the point of being as thick as my knee. He had two blankets at home, and he tore a long strip from one and tied his ankles tightly.

In addition, he tore off a few strips and wrapped them around his feet instead of moccasins and socks. Then he drank the pitcher of scalding water, wound up his watch, and crawled between the two blankets.

He slept like a dead man. The brief darkness around midnight comes and goes.

The sun rose from the northeast - at least there was dawn in that direction, because the sun was covered by dark clouds

.

At six o'clock, he woke up and lay quietly on his back. He looked up at the gray sky and knew he was hungry. When he turned over on his elbows, a loud grunt startled him, and he saw a buck, which was looking at him with alert and curious eyes. The animal was only fifty feet away from him, and the sight and taste of venison steaks sizzling over the fire immediately appeared in his mind. He unconsciously grabbed the empty gun, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The buck snorted, jumped away, and could only hear the clatter of its hooves as it ran over the rocks.

The man cursed and threw away the empty gun. He grunted loudly as he dragged himself to his feet. This is

a very slow and laborious thing. His joints were like rusty hinges. Their movement in the socket is very slow and the resistance is very high. You have to grit your teeth to bend or extend. Finally, his legs finally stood still, but it took another minute or so to straighten his waist so that he could stand upright like a man.

He slowly climbed onto a hill and looked at the surrounding terrain.

There are neither trees nor groves, nothing

nothing, only endless gray moss, occasional gray rocks, a few small gray lakes, and a few gray stripes

The colorful creek is a little bit of change and embellishment. The sky is gray. There is no sun and no shadow from the sun. He didn't know where north was, and he had forgotten how he got here last night. But he did not lose his way

.

He knows this. Soon he would reach the "little stick patch." He felt that it was somewhere on the left,

and not far away - maybe just over the next hill.

So he returned to where he was, packed his bags, and was ready to set off. He felt clearly that the three packages of matches were still there,

although he did not stop to count them. However, he still hesitated and kept thinking, this time for a thick deerskin bag. The bag is not big. He could cover it completely with two hands. He knew it weighed fifteen pounds - as much as the rest of the bag combined - and the bag worried him. Finally, he put it aside and began to roll up the bundle. However, after rolling it for a while, he stopped and stared at the deerskin pocket. He hurriedly grabbed it in his hand

and looked around with a defiant look, as if the wilderness was trying to snatch it away; when he stood up, he shook

< p>When he staggered into the day's journey, this bag was still wrapped in the bundle on his back.

He turned to the left and walked, stopping now and then to eat berries on the moor. The sprained ankle was already stiff, and he was lame more obviously than before. However, compared with the pain in his stomach, the pain in his feet was nothing. The pain of hunger is severe. They broke out one after another, as if they were gnawing at his stomach. The pain was so painful that he couldn't concentrate on the route he had to take to get to the "little stick place". The berries on the moor did not relieve the severe pain, but the pungent taste made his tongue and mouth feel hot.

He came to a valley where many grouse were flapping their wings from the rocks and moorland. They

make a "cluck-cluck-cluck" sound. He hit them with stones, but missed. He put the bundle on the ground and sneaked over like a cat catching a sparrow. The sharp rocks penetrated his trousers and cut his legs until the knees

The blood flowing out left a trail of blood on the ground; but in the pain of hunger, this pain was nothing. What. He

climbed on the wet moss, making his clothes soaked and his body getting cold. But he didn't feel any of this because he wanted to eat

something so strongly. But the group of grouse always flew up and whirred in front of him. Later, their cries of "cluck-cluck-cluck" became almost opposite. He laughed at them, so he cursed them and shouted at them as they

squeaked.

At one point he crawled up to a grouse that must have been asleep. He didn't see it until it jumped out from the corner of the rock towards his face. He panicked like the grouse taking off. He grabbed a handful and only caught three tail feathers. As he watched it fly away, he hated it very much, as if it had done something wrong to him. Then he returned to where he was and picked up the baggage.

As time gradually passed, he walked into the continuous valley, or swamp, where there were more wild animals. A herd of reindeer passed by, about twenty of them, all within the elusive rifle range. He had a frantic desire to chase them, and he believed that he would be able to catch them. A black fox came towards him with a grouse in its mouth. The man shouted. It was a terrible cry, and the fox ran away, but did not leave the grouse behind.

In the evening, he walked along a small river. The river water, which turned milky white because it contained lime, flowed through the sparse rushes

bush. He grasped the rushes by their roots and pulled up something that looked like a young onion sprout and was only as big as a nail in a shingle. This thing is very tender. When his teeth bite into it, it will make a squeaking sound, as if it tastes very good.

But its fiber is not easy to chew.

It is made up of tiny bits of water-filled fiber: like berries, it has no nutrients at all. He threw away the bag, crawled into the rushes, and began to chew like an ox. He was very tired and always wanted to take a break - to lie down

to get some sleep; but he had to keep struggling forward - but this was not necessarily because he was in a hurry to get there< /p>

"Little Stick Land", it was probably hunger that was forcing him.

He looked for frogs in small puddles, or dug in the soil with his fingernails to look for bugs,

although he also knew that there were neither frogs nor bugs so far north.

He looked at every puddle, but to no avail. Finally, when the long dusk fell, he discovered that there was a unique path in each puddle. A small, minnow-like fish. He lowered his arm to his shoulders, but it slipped away again. So he grabbed it with both hands and muddied the milky white mud at the bottom of the pond. At the tense moment, he fell into the pit and half of his body was soaked. Now, the water was too muddy to see where the fish was, so he had to wait for the mud to settle.

He caught it again until the water became muddy again. But he couldn't wait any longer, so he took off the tin can and scooped out the water in the pit. At first, he scooped like crazy and splashed the water on himself. The water outlet is too close and the water flows into the pit. Later, he scooped more carefully, trying to calm himself down, although his heart was beating hard and his hands were shaking. After half an hour of this, the water in the pit was almost scooped out. There's not even a cup left.

However, there was no fish; only then did he discover that there was a hidden crack in the stone, and the fish had already crawled into it from there.

There was a large connected pit next to it - the pit. He could not drain the water all day and night. If he had known that there was this secret gap, he would have blocked it from the beginning, and the fish would be his. With this thought in mind, he fell weakly onto the wet ground

. At first, he just cried softly, and after a while, he cried loudly at the ruthless wasteland that surrounded him;

Later, he sobbed loudly for a long time.

He lit a fire, drank a few cans of hot water to keep himself warm, and slept on a rock as he did last night

. Finally, he checked to see if the matches were dry and to wind up the watch. The blanket was wet and cold, and his ankles were throbbing with pain. But he only felt hungry. In his restless sleep, he dreamed of tables of banquets and banquets, as well as all kinds of food on the table.

When he woke up, he was cold and uncomfortable. There is no sun in the sky. The gray earth and sky became increasingly gloomy

dark. A biting cold wind blew up, and the first snow covered the top of the mountain. The air around him became thicker and thicker, turning into a vast expanse of white. By this time, he had already lit a fire and boiled another can of boiling water. It was half raining and half snowing, and the snowflakes were large and tidal. At first, it melted as soon as it hit the ground, but then it fell more and more, covering the ground, extinguishing the fire and destroying the dry moss he used as fuel.

This was a warning. He had to pick up the burden and limp forward; as for where to go, he didn't know.

He cared neither for the stick patch nor for the cellar under the overturned canoe on the banks of Bill and Dease. He was completely controlled by the word "eat". He was crazy with hunger. He doesn't care what path he takes, as long as he can get out of this valley. He groped in the wet snow to the wet swamp berries, then uprooted the rushes and made his way forward tentatively. But this stuff is tasteless and doesn't fill my stomach.

Later, he discovered a sour weed and ate all he found, but not much was found,

because it was a vine. Easily buried under several inches of snow. That night he had neither fire nor hot water, so he slept under a blanket and often woke up hungry. By this time, the snow had turned into icy rain. He felt the rain falling on his upturned face, waking him up many times. It's daybreak - another gray day, no sun. The rain has stopped.

The gnawing hunger feeling also disappeared. He had lost the desire to eat food. He only felt a dull pain in his stomach,

but it didn't make him overly sad. His mind was now clearer, and he was once again thinking about "Little Stick Place" and the cellar by the River Dees.

He tore the remaining blanket into strips and wrapped the bloody feet. At the same time, he re-tied his injured ankle

in preparation for the day's trip. When it was time to pack the bag, he thought about the thick deerskin bag for a long time, but finally took it with him.

The snow has been melted by the rain, and only the top of the mountain is still white. The sun came up, and he was finally able to determine the compass position, although he knew he was lost now. During the previous two days of wandering, he might have gone too far to the left.

Therefore, in order to correct himself, he walked to the right in order to take the correct path.

Now, although the pain of hunger was no longer so acute, he felt weak.

When he was picking pulp from the marshes or pulling up rushes, he often had to stop for a while. He felt that his tongue was very dry and very large, as if it was covered with fine hairs, and it felt bitter when held in his mouth. His heart gave him a lot of trouble. Every few minutes he walked, his heart would thump violently for a while, and then it would turn into a painful rapid beating that would force him to pass through.

< p> Gas, I just feel dizzy.

Around noon, he found two minnows in a large puddle. It was impossible to scoop out the water in the pit, but now that he was calmer, he tried to find a way to fish them out in a tin can. They were only as long as his little finger, but he didn't feel particularly hungry right now. The dull pain in my stomach has become more and more numb, and I can't feel it anymore. His stomach almost felt as if he was asleep. He ate the fish raw and chewed it hard, because eating had become a purely rational act. Although he didn't want to eat, he knew that he had to eat in order to survive.

At dusk he caught three more minnows, eating two of them and saving one for the next day's breakfast. The sun had dried the scattered moss, and he was able to boil some hot water to keep himself warm. On this day, he walked less than ten miles; the next day, as long as his heart allowed, he walked forward and only walked more than five miles. But there was no uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It has fallen asleep.

Now, he has arrived in a strange area. There are more and more reindeer and more wolves. The howling sounds of wolves were often heard in the wilderness. Once, he saw three wolves crossing the road in front of him.

Another night passed; in the morning, because his mind was clearer, he untied the leather cord that tied the thick deerskin bag, and poured out a stream of yellow liquid from the mouth of the bag. of coarse gold sand and gold nuggets. He divided the gold into two roughly equal piles, wrapped one pile in a blanket and hid it on a protruding rock, and put the other pile still in his pocket. At the same time, he tore off a few strips from the remaining blanket and used them to wrap his feet.

He still couldn't bear to part with his gun because there were bullets in the cellar by the River Dis.