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Peng Ge: Exotic Flower in the Desert I also like Sanmao’s works. Say “also”, because there are a lot of people have the same reason. But people may like it for different reasons. What I like is her bright personality, which seems to be very weak, but in fact she is very strong. She can write a lot of sad encounters in a vigorous, free and easy way. She is not ignorant of sadness, but there is something stronger than sadness in life. I think, it should be said that her article is good, her heart is better; to the end of the world, it is more polished, there are exotic flowers in the desert. There are also many descriptions of exotic adventures in traditional Chinese literature. “Flowers in the Mirror” may be comparable to Homer’s “Odyssey”, while Lin Zhiyang or Ulysses in the 1970s is a Chinese girl. She crossed the ocean and walked in the desert, vividly describing her experience and feelings of her magnificent journey to the world with the broad sympathy of the Chinese people, the spirit of chivalry, and the humor of Oriental women. She took a pen name of Sanmao, which often made me have a kind of “pitiful” association. I think the reason why Sanmao’s works are moving lies not in the surface of the words, not in the interest of the story, nor in the author’s special life experience, but in the author’s love behind all this. I like her sympathetic observation of the miserable little people she sees, and I appreciate her whipping of the evil side of human nature when she draws a knife to help in the face of injustice. This is rare in our modern prose, and few works can give me such a feeling. Xiaofeng: Raindrops of Implementation I was always moved before I saw her things. What moved me was her person and the dribs and drabs of the past ten years. When I first met her, I was in college, she was in high school,Cold Drawn Steel Tubes, and among the many girls in the church, she was a very special one, white, beautiful, and a little uneasy, as if she had been born to belong to the mysterious and cold existentialism that was popular in those days. More than ten years later, although she did not fall to the ground, she also took root. She became a woman. She could bake cakes,stainless steel tube 304, wash clothes, live in a humble house in the desert as a palace, and paint stones on the Cape as everything. She was still romantic, but she was smoked into a colorful and moving ancient brown by human fireworks. What does the popularity of Sanmao show? It shows that we have all loved the elegant clouds, but finally we fell in love with the rain, low, stick yourself to the earth, stick to a solid drop of rain in life. Hidden Land: Is Sanmao, a Rare Good Play, Just a Strange Woman? Sanmao is a mountain, and its stubbornness and hardness are awe-inspiring. Sanmao is water, which flows through many countries in the north and south of the Yangtze River. Sanmao is a landscape painting, leisurely clouds and wild cranes. Of course, Sanmao is also a book, as long as you read it, side impact beams ,side impact beams, you can forget yourself and sweep away your worries and worries, as if you had said goodbye to the “earthly world” and entered an interesting “cartoon world” and “cartoon kingdom”, so Sanmao is naturally a play, a rare good play in life. Mrs. Wei Wei: People who have lived a real life, people of my age, should not become “Sanmao fans”, because I will not mix dreams with real life. I am fascinated by Sanmao because of her compassion for human nature, her understanding of the true meaning of life, and her free and easy marriage (not casual) in addition to “romantic wandering”. For example, she said, “a man should not be deprived of the pleasure of his friends, even after marriage.”. Who says a husband can only be happy with his wife? Listen, how many wives are so free and easy? Sanmao is a person who has really lived. This is my understanding of Sanmao, so many people love to read her articles, I do not have to say anything more. Silence (1) There were eight of us, two cars, and three tents that had been set up. The last rays of the setting sun had disappeared, and though the sky had lost its glow, there was still a faint pigeon-grey twilight, and a biting cold wind began to blow in the mournful wasteland. The night did not melt quickly, but the small woods behind him could not see anything clearly. In order to set up tents and move cooking utensils, no one went to enjoy the blurred desert dusk. This time, in order to bring women and children, it was too late to set out. Manolin was meditating on one side. He was tall and had a yellow beard that reached his chest. He was wearing an old white shirt that had not changed, and a pair of knee-length shorts underneath. He was barefoot, with a small cap on his head that looked like a Jew’s worship. His eyes were burning, his legs were crossed, his hands were on the ground, and his whole body was half hanging, like an ascetic monk in India. He did not speak. Miguet wore a plaid shirt, washed white clean jeans, thick eyebrows, big eyes, fleshless nose, but with very emotional lips, moderate height, graceful hands, and was constantly fiddling with his expensive camera. No matter how you look at it, you can’t find fault with it. It’s as perfect as a Kodak color advertising photo, but it can’t melt into the surrounding scenery in any way. After all, he is a good companion. He is gregarious, cheerful, cheerful, and has no personality. He talks a lot and speaks very well. It is impossible to quarrel with him. There is always something missing. Jiri had always been shy. This strong young man from the Canary Islands was a fisherman’s child. He was as simple as a thick piece of horse dung paper. His attitude was always restrained. He never spoke directly to me. She was famous for her silence and honesty in the company, but she married a wife named Diao, who used to perm people’s hair in the beauty salon. She married Jirui and reluctantly came to the desert. She seldom talked to other men. At this moment, they were stuffy in their new tent, and the baby Xia Wei’s babbling voice came from time to time. Jose was also wearing a pair of grass-green shorts, a khaki-colored khaki shirt,side impact door beams, high blue sneakers, and a winter woolen flat-tongued cap on his head. The way he bent over to collect firewood was very much like those suffering peasants in old Russian novels. He always looked like an Eastern European foreigner, and there was no taste of Spain at all. Jose is always the one who does the most things. He likes it. cbiesautomotive.com