Color Version 60 Essays That Will Influence Middle School Students' Lives

Author: Zhu Ziqing, Kahlil Gibran
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-09-01
Features:
Selection Reason: One of Zhu Ziqing's representative prose works, a classic prose in the history of modern Chinese literature that laments the passage of time, has a profound influence and is widely circulated.
Author Introduction: Zhu Ziqing (1898–1948), styled Peiyuan, was a native of Yangzhou, Jiangsu, a modern Chinese writer and scholar. During his studies at Peking University, he participated in the May Fourth Movement, was involved in founding the "Chinese New Poetry Society" and establishing the monthly magazine "Xu," and was an early member of the Literary Research Society. After the victory in the War of Resistance, he joined the anti-Jiang and anti-American struggle. He refused to accept American relief grain and died of poverty and illness. His main works include the poetry collections "Snow Dawn" and "Traces," and the prose collections "The Shadow of My Father," "Notes on a European Journey," and others. His prose is fresh in style and elegant in tone, pioneering the tradition of modern Chinese prose creation.
Swallows have gone, yet they will return; willows have withered, yet they will turn green again; peach blossoms have fallen, yet they will bloom once more. But oh, wise one, tell me why our days return no more? — Is it because someone has stolen them? Who? Where are they hidden? Or have they run away themselves? Where are they now? I do not know how many days they have given me, but my hands are indeed growing empty. In silence, I count, and over eight thousand days have slipped from my grasp. Like a drop of water from a needle tip falling into the vast sea, my days fall into the stream of time, unheard and unseen. I cannot help but feel a cold sweat and tears streaming down my face.
They go, and they come; in the space between, how swiftly do they pass? When I rise in the morning, slanting sunbeams pierce the small room. The sun has feet, it moves quietly and shifts. I follow it, lost in thought. Then—when I wash my hands, the days pass from the basin; when I eat, they pass from my bowl; in silence, they slip past my eyes. I realize how swiftly they go, and when I stretch out my hand to stop them, they slip past my grasp. When night falls, I lie in bed, and they stride over me, flying past my feet. When I open my eyes to see the sun again, it is another day that has slipped away. I cover my face and sigh. Yet the shadows of new days begin to flicker through my sighs.
In the days that flee like the wind, in this world of countless doors and windows, what can I do? Only to linger, only to rush. In the rush of over eight thousand days, what is left but wandering? I ask myself, what traces have I left behind? Have I ever left behind threads as fleeting as those of a silkworm? I came into this world bare, and shall I return the same way in the blink of an eye? But what cannot be settled is why I must walk this path in vain. Oh, wise one, tell me why our days return no more?
Appreciation of the Beauty of Literature: "The Rush of Time" was written in March 1922. At that time, the May Fourth Movement had entered a low ebb, and the author was in deep turmoil of thought, wandering at the crossroads of life, melancholic and confused, yet unwilling to waste his years. "The Rush of Time" expresses the author's such state of mind. In the text, the author first uses a series of images—swallows, willows, peach blossoms—to contrast and lament repeatedly, conveying an infinite longing and sorrow for the passage of time.
Next, the author employs metaphors and personification, fully unleashing imagination, using everyday scenes like "washing hands," "eating," "contemplating," and "sleeping" to transform the abstract concept of time into vivid, concrete images, creating a unique atmosphere that strikes readers with a powerful emotional impact.
Finally, through a series of rhetorical questions, the author expresses his unwillingness to waste his years, elevating the article to a philosophical depth on the level of aesthetic beauty, prompting deep reflection. In just over a thousand words, with a delicate and meticulous brushstroke, the author portrays the elusive nature of time with vivid realism, making it lasting and profound, demonstrating his extraordinary insight into life and profound literary prowess.
P10-11