In daily study, work and life, we often see the figure of composition, which can be divided into primary school composition, middle school composition and college composition (paper). There are many points for attention in composition. Are you sure you can write? The following are six excellent compositions of Grade 8 that I compiled. Welcome to read the collection.

I think I must write a beautiful composition for my most beautiful sister, so use this composition to commemorate our (A Xiaomou, Xiao Aya) lost memories.

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Little Aya, remember? We have just been assigned to Class 1, Grade 2, and I found you wearing a pink princess dress in the classroom with neat bangs. You are holding the lollipop that your father just bought you, and you are smiling happily. I came up to you and pulled your pigtails. You didn't resist, but you stuffed your beloved lollipop into my hand. Since then, we have become good friends, and the fate between us is doomed.

One day in fifth grade, I don't know why, Sister Dong said I stole from her. I felt that everyone didn't believe me, so I got angry and got into a fight with Sister Dong. Someone told the old class (head teacher) about it and invited me to tea. I went in a daze that day, only to hear the teacher say, "You disappoint me so much!" " "

In just half an hour, I lost the trust of my classmates and the recognition of my teacher, and suddenly I felt that the sky was falling. I think Aya is the only person I care about. I thought you would come to comfort me as soon as I got back to work, but I didn't find you and Sister Dong talking and laughing until I got to work, and I didn't have time to pay attention to me, a wronged "thief".

I didn't go home with you after school at noon as usual. I thought you went home with Dong Mei. To be honest, I'm jealous.

I suffered from severe insomnia at noon and locked myself in my room without lunch. I cried all noon, and my eyes were swollen like peaches, but I didn't care.

When I was at school, I saw you standing alone in front of the shop. I said to myself with a smell of vinegar: You wait for Sister Dong. Of course, I am deceiving myself.

When I passed the store door, I walked in a straight line without looking back. You may be transfixed. It took a few seconds to stop me. I looked back, you came running, touched my head and said:

"Girl, why are you ignoring me?" You pretend to be angry.

"I ... I didn't see you ..." I lied and turned a little red.

"Oh, really? Silly girl, you must have missed lunch. Are you hungry? You are so cute now that you are fat. Why do you lose weight when you have nothing to do? Besides, you are too hungry to eat. This was left to us by our ancestors. I don't like you being so disobedient ... but I know I know you best. Look at the delicious food I bought for you ~ "You said a lot in one breath, and I was moved.

I rudely grabbed my "love lunch" and stammered. Don't forget to say "Ya Ya, I won't have lunch every day. Will you bring me a loving lunch every day? " Of course I'm joking.

In the afternoon, Sister Dong apologized to me for the first time. We are back to the way we used to be, as if nothing had happened before.

It was not until graduation that Sister Dong mentioned this matter again, saying that she envied me having such a good sister as Xiaoya. I smiled and asked why. She told me everything that day.

I cried, hugged you and cried, and said something I don't know if you heard:

"Why don't you treat me like a friend? You can explain it to Sister Dong. Why are you joking? I thought you didn't want me. Why can't you do this? "

You didn't talk, I kept talking and talking. ...

Now we are in different schools and different places, but I miss you, you who want to wipe my tears, you who want to explain my misunderstanding, you who want to send me a loving lunch, and you are incomparable. ...

This is our memory, the lost memory.

The wind is blowing. In the endless fields, golden ears of rice are swaying in the wind, making a salad sound. The wind blew a burst of fragrant rice, and it was autumn harvest time again. There are many people on the edge of the venue. They are talking and laughing when they are busy. Sunlight dyed the western sky red, sunset filled the sky, and beautiful clouds reflected people's faces.

The sun slowly set and dusk enveloped the whole field. People who are busy with the autumn harvest get together and have a simple dinner, and then they go back to work.

Night has come, there is neither a bright moon nor stars all over the sky. But the night can't stop people's enthusiasm for harvesting. At night, people are still busy Look, the harvester has driven into a paddy field again. The host is busy greeting the rice delivery people to have tea and snacks, so how hard it is to ask them.

The rice delivery man answered loudly, and his sonorous voice was full of promises. Now is really a busy and hard time for them, and it is also the time when they earn the most money. Lao Feng is an old worker in his sixties, and he is also a member of this group. In rural areas, almost every household needs several people to help carry rice during the autumn harvest. Because they are not only afraid of frost at night, so that rice can't be sold at a good price when it is wet, but also afraid of being stolen by "rats". However, it is precisely because every household is busy farming that no one can find it. Landless "city people" like Lao Feng were organized to transport rice with harvesters. These people not only want low wages, but also do things in a very authentic way and don't need anyone to watch them.

But carrying rice is really hard.

Some people only find out when it is the harvester's turn to cut rice in the middle of the night, which also means that the rice truck has to work at night. Today, Lao Feng and two other rice carriers are standing in the field, waiting quietly. Soon, several wrapped rice bags were pushed off the machine, and Lao Feng hurried to Tanaka, shouldered a bag of rice and left. The harvester was harvesting, and the rice gurgled into the pocket, and bags of rice were pushed down from the harvester. The rice carrier is carrying bags of rice and can't stay for a moment ... The wind is blowing and it's going to rain. The harvester seems to be at full power and can harvest before the heavy rain comes. Bags of rice fell, and the ground was as bare as a haircut. Lao Feng's enthusiasm seems to have increased. They carry rice, move rice, get on the bus and transport it back non-stop. Only three people and a scooter need to transport nearly one thousand kilograms of rice to the host's house, and we have to hurry. I saw Lao Feng bending down slowly and hugging the rice bag with his arms sideways. Suddenly, he suddenly leaned in. 100 kilograms of rice pressed on his thin body. He stumbled to the car, slowly put it down and put it neatly in the car. He didn't rest, turned and walked along the field again. ...

The wind didn't stop, but it got worse. The harvester sailed to another rice field again. This paddy field gradually quieted down, and the electric lights at the head of the field became more and more hazy.

There are only a few porters in the bare field, and their shouts and gasps are particularly loud in the silent night.

When the east wind blows gradually, when the sun melts the cold, when the warmth begins to spread, the bare branches finally show new green. Looking at the vibrant branches, my thoughts can't help flying to the time when the leaves begin to wither.

The autumn wind blows, and I can't help shivering every time I ride through the wind. It's late autumn, not only the sky is high and the clouds are light, the air is cool, but the rain keeps falling.

Often at ten o'clock in the evening, my eyes just stare at the slowly falling orange leaves, like a boat, sinking gradually. In spring, they look forward to the world with their new green, showing their immature and bright green prosperity; In summer, they are mature and charming, giving shade and water to the world, cool and deep. These withered leaves have been bathed in the sun, dreaming in the moonlight, and marveling at their light on the ground and by the river. Now I am sighing that the years are flying, struggling in the wind and reluctant to give up.

The wind shook the branches badly, as if to say to the leaves, "Let's go, there will be new leaves next year, which is your achievement and hope." "The leaves are puzzled, as if they have met hope, and they still seem to be nostalgic." "It's time to leave," I thought. There will be new green branches next year. "

The wind began to blow, and the roaring wind seemed to pour out some feelings, like an unfortunate life without support, pouring out all the dissatisfaction and anger against nature. The northwest wind is blowing, sadness mixed with anger, and it keeps growling and growling. There is not only the roar of the north wind outside the house, but also the cry for help and shouts when the leaves fall. I fell asleep in this gust of wind. The next morning, when I opened the door, a biting cold wind almost tripped me. When I settled down, I found a thin layer of frost on the branches and roof. The trees in front of the door are just bare twigs, and they all have a sense of vicissitudes. Yesterday's dead leaves, perhaps with a hope, an aging face and lost youth, left the branches and their beloved homes all their lives, and the branches that once placed many hopes and beliefs slept forever between the soil and frost.

"Falling red is not heartless, but turning into spring mud is more protective of flowers." I can't help but go forward, push aside a thin layer of frost, pick up a dead leaf and study it carefully. That pulse seems to record its past, and its glory and sadness are helpless. Perhaps, although it has declined, its heart is not old. It will be a beautiful dream, a beautiful hope, and itself, buried deep in the soil.

Finally, I stopped thinking and looked up to see the new green spit out by the branches, which seemed more vivid and beautiful than last year. They don't know the heroic spirit in front of them. It was their ancestors who planted beautiful dreams like nature on the land under their feet. This is not another cycle of life-there is no parting between life and death, but it is like a never-ending song. I can't finish it.

The new green of the branches is another new beginning of the life cycle. Perhaps the dreams and hopes of those dead leaves have finally become a beautiful reality.

Which piece of new green doesn't grow where the dead leaves once left? Which piece of new green has not absorbed the nutrients of dead leaves?

The lost youth, the rotating rings, are like a stubborn epiphyllum seed, knowing that it will bloom, but the beauty of that moment must persist in breaking ground and grow sturdily in the face of wind and rain.

Only when the wheel of life runs over the memory, leaving a kiss of years, do you know that life is like a big wave washing sand, and it has gone. The laughter of my former friends and the hardships of * * * only left me and my fragmented memories and looming expectations for the future.

Suddenly one day, we found that when we grew up, we lost the innocence of childhood, the pure happiness, the happiness and persistence. Sometimes, we are in a daze silently and find that people around us don't know ourselves and don't want to say anything to our friends, so we have to choose to escape. Every day, we are doing things we never thought of, and we ask ourselves if we really want to do it.

Sometimes, I suddenly want to escape from life and all this, because sometimes I can't cry if I want to. I feel that I have nothing to do and have been abandoned by the world. I will always feel lonely. When I hear a song, I will think of a person and a thing! All this has shown that we have grown up, and every time we chat on QQ, we are writing about our future. There may not be gorgeous language, but we have our own inspiration and inspiration for future life. We are melancholy about the future together, planning our lives, and we describe the new youth to each other. Since then, we have erased yesterday's footprints and lit up new youth. Every discussion is inseparable from youth, life and even the desire for the future.

Each of us is an idealist, trying to be the best of ourselves. The real society is always full of contradictions and many unfairness, but there is no way. We are just ordinary people. We must accept the reality.

In the real society, there are no friends without money. The heartless moonlight gave us endless sadness. No matter how many times you fail, how many times you cry. In real life, we are such a mess.

Life is like a meteor, illuminating a short journey for dreams. It's up to you whether it's calm or stormy.

When I grow up, whenever I can't keep going, I will tell myself that you once had a dream, but how can you choose to let it go now? From yesterday to today, it's just a dream.

Gradually, I lost some impulses and learned to be polite to everyone. This may be what the old man said about life.

Everyone can't be perfect, but we will be. Whenever I do something wrong, I always face contempt, but what's the harm? The glory of Live high may not care about the eyes of others. Now maybe if you see someone who doesn't like you, you can find some brothers to beat him. Even if you quarrel with your colleagues in the future, you can only choose "forbearance".

Therefore, youth wastes the wheel of time, the years and everything. ...

Friends! Cherish the youth you have now, just be a classmate and teenager. In the prime of life, give youth a perfect ending and dedicate her best days to youth. When you become a mature man from a naive teenager, don't go back, regain your youth, grasp the present day and night, and dedicate youth to the motherland, so that youth is full of vitality and sunrise.

Youth is infinite, and great love is transmitted.

He is an angel with broken wings, and God gave him lower limb paralysis when he was born. The doctor said he wouldn't live for a week; A week later, the doctor said that he would not live for a month; A month later, the doctor asserted that he would not live for a year. Inspired by the love of his parents in his early years, he lived and studied with superhuman perseverance. Although he was diagnosed with cancer, he always faced life with a positive attitude and discriminated against others when he grew up ... He lived like a soldier every day.

The edge of the sword comes from sharpening, and the fragrance of plum blossoms comes from bitter cold. With wings broken by God, he made a series of achievements that surprised normal people: Australian disabled tennis champion, honorary member of Australian cricket team, and got a driver's license ... He is John Curtis, the most famous disabled speaker in the world at present.

Some people can fly so high with broken wings; And some people have sound "wings", but they are unwilling to fly.

Parents create good conditions for some people to get the best education, wear the best clothes and hope to give them the best things, but he never knows how to cherish them. He always wants to get rid of the shackles of school, go home and be a flower in the greenhouse, tighten his wings and hug himself. Obviously, as long as you work hard, you can have the capital to make yourself proud, but you have to believe in yourself, hide yourself in a dark corner, and let the tears wet your wings, but you don't know that you will never fly like this. As his friend, I always want to spread his curly wings a little bit, so that he can confidently face this fierce and cruel world. "Fly with the wings you gave me. I know it's not sadness. No matter how high you are, you won't be tired. We all agreed to fly with the wings you gave me. I feel enough comfort. There are no more dark clouds, and we don't cry anymore. ...

In recent years, we will fly together, fly over the mountains together, fly to the peak of life, and see the road we flew together, we will feel that life is wonderful! What a rare plant Saussurea involucrata is. It only blooms on steep ice cliffs. We also want to be a unique snow lotus, not afraid of wind and rain. Emit its own unique fragrance.

Look at the memories. Clouds are floating one by one. If you want to turn around, you can't fly. ...

The sixth excellent composition of the eighth grade was replaced … commented … wrong! Try again, the fine sweat that is still wrong oozes from my forehead. I have worked out a math problem for more than ten times, but I always feel that the more I calculate it, the more chaotic it is, and the farther away it is from the correct result. I was so flustered that I reached out and crumpled up the draft paper.

"Stop-"Mom's voice rang out at the door, gesturing with her fingers that I crumpled up and threw the draft paper all over the floor.

"What's the matter?" I just got upset and asked grumpily.

"Come out."

"I'm only halfway there."

"Nothing, come out, you will like it." Mother smiled confidently. I can't help wondering what this is.

On the coffee table in the living room, there is a paved ink stone. "How long have you been practicing?" Mom looked at me with a smile.

"Mom, please let me finish that problem first. I just can't catch it." When I said this, these things in front of me have already made my hands ready to move. Since I was in the third grade, I have become more and more distant from my previous hobbies. Flute, calligraphy ... almost no time to take care of.

"I'll go and see, you practice for a while first." Mom said and walked to the corridor. As soon as my mother left, I couldn't wait to jump on the coffee table.

As soon as the ink cartridge is opened, the familiar smell of ink comes to the nose. Since I was four or five years old, this smell has been with me for nearly ten years. I picked up a brush and dipped it in ink. The snow-white pen turned black in an instant. Pen, pen, I held my breath and stared at the milky rice paper in front of me with rapt attention. In a short time, the word "static" jumped on the paper.

About twenty minutes passed, and I only wrote a few words, but I never had that concentration. Mom came over and looked at my handwriting and nodded with satisfaction: "I read your question, not the kind I wouldn't." Go ahead, try again, if not, ask me. "

I put down my pen, quietly walked back to my room and sat at the table. Once again, pick up the pen to examine the questions, habitually sketch them, and gradually write them down along your own ideas. I feel my heart is calm as never before, as calm as a lake, and there is no wind blowing. In a blink of an eye, the answer I have calculated for a long time has been unconsciously displayed in front of me in my pen. I can't believe that the core got it right and finally got it right. I breathed a sigh of relief and was about to tell my mother. When I turned around, my mother was standing by the door, smiling at me. I laughed too.

Sometimes, persistence is not the best way. Stop occasionally, let yourself put aside your distractions and feel like a mirror, and the problem will be solved naturally.