The first model essay of 202 1 800 words for college entrance examination
Believing in yourself is a kind of faith. It is not like a dream, but like a piece of loose snow. It is because of this belief that we will persist and be confident forever.
Listening to opinions is a kind of tolerance It is not a vast sky, but it is like a sea containing hundreds of rivers. It is precisely because of this tolerance that we will brainstorm and listen to good suggestions.
Isn't it? Believing in yourself does not mean being opinionated; Listening to opinions doesn't mean following suit.
There is no doubt that Emperor Taizong's ability to govern the country freely, but at the same time he accepted Wei Zhi's "Ten Thoughts" and did not have to "think hard instead of thinking".
The King of Qi also has the ability to manage all directions and state affairs, and he will not doubt his talent, but he also accepted Zou Ji's "teachable" and made "Yan Zhao, Han Wei are all equal".
No one will doubt themselves easily, but who can be as good at coaching and listening to others' opinions as their predecessors? Always think that "believing in yourself" and "listening to other people's opinions" are incompatible, always think that you can do anything, or always think that others are invincible. Why? Why can't we believe in ourselves, be confident and open a cigarette case full of friendship at the same time?
Believe in yourself, believe in the future, believe that the earth will fly tomorrow and believe that we will develop in the future.
Trust others, respect others, trust others to think of you, and respect their ideal choices.
Yes, in the journey of life, we will always encounter difficulties and setbacks. They are like roses, stinging your hands and mine. However, the wounds of the soul must be repaired by themselves, and the wounds of the hands must be bandaged by others. We believe that we will overcome difficulties, but we never deny the help of others. No one can live alone without the help of others.
So, don't be stubborn and extreme, and don't do whatever you want. Sometimes other people's advice is like good medicine. Although bitter, it can cure your disease. Sometimes, other people's advice is like poison. Its appearance may be delicious, but it can kill you. Therefore, we let people believe in themselves and treat others' opinions selectively, rationally and wisely. Ok, just bring it here; No, let it go, the spring breeze blows and blows, and the flowers bloom and fall. Can we care that much?
Believe in yourself, have you done it?
Listen to other people's opinions, okay?
The second 202 1 800-word model essay for college entrance examination
The first time I met the bamboo forest, I was in a clear fog.
Great-grandfather's grave is in the deep mountains, and it takes a long mountain road to worship. In the early morning, it was foggy all over the sky, and the scenery a few meters away was very vague. It makes sense to choose this time to go out, because today I will go to several hills to worship my ancestors. I only remember that in the morning, my father walked behind with sacrifices, and I skipped in front, like a caged bird. I still seem to be humming, maybe.
The mountain road winds and stretches, and weeds grow to my chest. We crossed fields, bypassed streams, climbed steep slopes, climbed several hills, and finally came to a canyon. Father shouted softly, "Don't run too fast, there are bamboo forests ahead." I answered, but I kept running into the canyon. Father shook his head at the back and smiled slightly. He knows that I like bamboo very much.
Close the door, close the door. There was a rustling sound in the mountain wind, and I finally saw the bamboo forest around the corner. The green tide has taken root in my life since then and can never be erased.
The leaves above the bamboo forest jump and fall with the wind, making a chilling sound, just like a green torrent, all the leaves are heading in one direction. The slender and green leaves, like boats in the rapids, are advancing rapidly. Standing among thousands of bamboos, I only feel that I have been conquered by green. Tall bamboo soars at the top of the canyon, covering the sky and playing with white clouds. Small bamboos, just emerging from the ground, are as big as my fingers, and clusters of tiny boats splash on the branches and join the struggle in the fog. The shock of green is overwhelming, and thousands of emeralds are swaying in front of me. I stroked bamboo, big and small, and walked around the forest, only feeling that everything was so wonderful.
Father put down the sacrifice on his shoulder and stood in the forest, also a little lost in thought.
There is a clear birdsong in the forest. It's tits, jumping on the green branches and enjoying the breath of heaven and earth. The gurgling sound is a clear spring seeping out of a crack in the rock, as clear as jade. Cold fog seeps water droplets on the bamboo, and some slip down the bamboo seams, leaving traces of streams flowing; Some swayed from the tip of the blade a few times, then swung away playfully and plunged to the ground like a meteor.
Later, perhaps the first ray of sunshine that penetrated the fog in the forest awakened my father. He cut off a thumb-sized bamboo with a small knife and handed it to me. Patted my little head and shouted, "Come on, we still have a lot to go." Maybe he is young, or maybe he is not deep enough for his ancestors. The barren hills and solitary graves always make me feel gloomy. If my father is not around, I can assure you that I will cry. That year, Tomb-Sweeping Day did not leave too many memories about its ancestors, but always remembered the bamboo forest, the green and ethereal world. I also remember the bamboo cut by my father for me, the bamboo cut into a flute on a sunny night, and the bamboo blown on my father's lips. That melodious and deep voice runs through my whole childhood and my whole life.
Yes, and then I grew up. I have read many poems about bamboo, such as "There are three or two peach blossoms outside the bamboo, and there are duck prophets in the spring water heating." Is it Su Shi's? I read that "the sound of bamboo calls the washerwoman to return, and the lotus leaves are collected in front of the fishing boat." This is Wang Wei's. I have read many books and seen many people draw bamboo, such as Zheng Banqiao's, but I always feel lost. There is no poem in that ethereal world, and no brush can replace it. Yes, at least in my heart.
The third 202 1 800-word college entrance examination essay model essay
Leaning against the window, tears rolled down and wet my cheeks. I can't help asking, "Tears, why on earth did you fall?"? Who are you crying to? " It calmly replied: "there will always be places in the world that make us emotional." Won't you cry? "
At night, the wind is blowing and the stars are blinking their charming eyes happily. Tossing and turning in bed, "won't you cry?" Tears echoed in my ears again. So, I decided to solve this mystery. I put on my coat, picked up my wand and looked for tears.
Not long after flying out, the scene in front of me appeared: a lovely little girl snuggled up in front of her mother, and her tears kept falling, wetting her tattered clothes, but her mother couldn't see it, because her mother was always asleep, but she still stubbornly called her mother, which was heartbreaking. I was moved to tears by this tragic scene.
I moved on with tears, only to hear a burst of "earth-shattering" crying. I covered my ears and followed the sound. A baby is crying, but the small house looks so big because of his existence. His hands kept going crazy, as if he were hungry. I just wanted to go in and feed him something. Unexpectedly, I just flew in and bumped into the eaves. Ah, pain, pain, I kept moaning. An elderly grandmother walked slowly into the house with a big bag of garbage on her back. She put it down, lit a fire and boiled water to cook. Finally, when the meal was ready, she tried to blow it up before coming to the baby. The baby is exhausted from hunger. I wonder that the baby cried so loudly, but the grandmother didn't care. Isn't she the legendary old witch? I went to the door and whispered, "grandma, grandma." She still ignores me. I patted my head. "How stupid! Grandma is deaf and she can't hear. " Grandmothers are disabled, but they still have to shoulder the burden of life. Their life is so poor and difficult, but they still persist. I can't hold back my tears any longer. It burst like a flood in an instant. I watched it again, helpless, sad and helpless! After a white light, tears appeared in front of my eyes, and the beautiful and dazzling light set her off more saintly. She smiled at me and asked, "Do you understand why you are crying?" A series of things happened in the evening came to mind again: the little girl's sadness, the grandmother's helplessness, and many people. "Oh, I see!" Suddenly realized that "tears are the pursuit of family, the yearning for friends, and the helplessness of life!" Looking up, tears gradually disappeared in the blue sky.
Yes! They cry for their families, for their families and for their lives. Let the tears flow freely!
Tears, you born to love!
A familiar and unfamiliar sigh came from a distance: "Who are you crying for?"