Standing at the door of the old house, the low wooden house was only covered with a layer of gray tiles, and time eroded the door of the old house. And I wandered at the door, thinking about those ordinary little things. Grandpa used to guard the old house. He likes to sit at the door and smoke one cigarette after another. And every time he choked, his face turned red. Let me rub his back quickly. This scene has been repeated for several years. In my impression, the sunset in front of the old house fell and rose, and fell and fell. Inadvertently, grandpa disappeared. The old group guessed that the door of the house creaked in the wind, and only a sad heartache came out. After all, there is no one sitting in front of the old house. Later, she moved to a new house, but grandma insisted on living in that old house. She didn't explain, just sat in silence like grandpa, and no one could disobey her. But a little more sensible, I think, the door of this old house carries too much. When I come home from school, I like doing my homework on the small bench in front of the old house. On the one hand, it's quiet there. On the other hand, I can stay with my grandmother. Grandma likes to nag about the past that I am curious about. Occasionally, old women in twos and threes gather at the door of the old house to talk about who will be buried first. As usual, it is like pulling a family. But occasionally I heard grandma complain that the bad old man went too early. At that time, I didn't know whether grandma leaned against the door or the door leaned against grandma. A person, with tears in his eyes, listened to her sobbing, but couldn't cry. After a long time, the old house has also become a crumbling dangerous house. People in the village advised my father to tear down the house, but I refused. Of course, my father insisted on not agreeing. I remember him walking with me to the padlock door of the old house and listening to him muttering, "When I get old, I will still live in this house." I think I understand: my grandparents are here, and my father thought he saw them at the door; And when people are near middle age, they also think of their home. At that time, I naively replied: "Dad, I will live in this house when I am old." Dad said nothing, touched the small wooden door and turned away. I think he doesn't want to cry at the door of the old house, for fear that his grandparents will be sad when they see it. Now, I am standing at the door of the old house, unwilling to push it away, for fear of touching those dusty past events. But some things, like the door of an old house, have gone through too much, but they are still silent. I dare not disturb the silence and vicissitudes of this year, but I think there may be only one door between today and tomorrow, and we all stand at the door of the years, remembering those past events and people. I stood at the door of the old house, thinking about those ordinary little things. The door of the old house was locked with age. This is a lyrical prose with beautiful artistic conception, rich feelings and far-reaching implications. Based on the collapse of the old house, the author traces the past and recalls the people and things related to the old house. In chronological order, the author reproduces the typical scene of grandpa smoking in front of the door, grandma leaning against the door to meditate, dad sticking to the old house and I standing at the door lamenting the years with sparse freehand brushwork. Although the picture is ordinary and trivial, it shows the extraordinary rise in the ordinary and the true feelings in the sparse. Here, there are both heavy sighs about things being wrong and vicissitudes of life, as well as deep feelings about the same strain and the pursuit of Zong Huaiyuan, which can be described as a blend of scenes. Starting with The Door of an Old House, this paper tries to establish an image. With the deepening of feelings and experiences, it comes down to "the doorway of years", which has far-reaching influence. Excellent composition 2: Standing at the door of literature, the green hills are faint and the green waters are far away. I stood at the door of literature and caught a glimpse of what was circulating in that door, which was the fragrance of pen and ink and outlined the charm of the cool breeze and bright moon; Indus drizzle, red candle in the west window, I stood at the door of literature, I caught a glimpse of the deep sadness and long affection flowing in that door. Standing at the door of literature, I can already hear the music in the door, the sigh in the door, the flute in the door, the beautiful scenery in the door and the swaying thoughts in my heart, all of which have turned into a spring water and flowed into the world inside the door. Standing at the door of literature, I listened to the songs of those noble souls with awe, stopped to watch the spiritual flowers hidden behind the words, and gained a sunrise ideal and lofty yearning. In the twilight, Yi Deng is like a bean and a book is like a sail, sending me to the door of literature. The heroic generation of Jieshi in the East, drinking near the river and writing poems, can still sing the unyielding voice of "an old horse riding high, aiming at a thousand miles, a martyr dying and marching forward", and that vigorous spirit often makes me applaud. A poetical woman who drifted and sank in troubled times spun her hatred for the country into willow smoke and blew the plum flute with sadness. Even if there are more people than yellow flowers in the west wind, she will still leave a strong and colorful stroke with her weak talent in the realm of extinction. Those sonorous or soft words splashed down in the long river of history, stirring out distant voices. The soul and life that have been artistized by literature are forever solidified in the palace of literature. When I stood at the door of the imitation, I was deeply infected by the lofty spirit, and tears full of joys and sorrows soaked me. They existed in the sight of history in the form of literature, captured me easily, and stopped my steps with the words forged by their noble souls, refusing to be idle foxes and rabbits on earth again. Standing at the door of literature, the philosophy of life floating in that door, like bright stars in the night, lit up my life journey. Shi Tiesheng, who laughs at himself that "occupation is illness, and writing is amateur", deeply touched me by his thinking about life in his words, and his persistence made me calm and calm when I encountered bumps. Bing Xin's deep sea and holy maternal love also made me stop to observe the love that filled my life during the rush. After reading How Steel was Tempered, I was moved by Paul's iron will. After reading Robinson Crusoe, I appreciate the harmony between life and nature ... The life style and attitude of literature, such as drizzle and flying flowers, have soaked the poetic years of life. When I stood at the door of literature, the rain at dusk and the morning breeze came, which made me strong and poetic. Standing at the door of literature, after all, I just appreciate different kinds of literature. I know that one day, I will walk into the palace of literature and outline a different life style with my own pen. Comment and appreciate different kinds of Gan Kun in literature, and listen, watch and gain with awe; Wandering in the ocean of literature, I can appreciate the soul and life of art and the philosophy of life scattered from my works, so that I can walk strongly and poetically in the journey of life, calmly and calmly. The author turned his thoughts into a river of spring water, which flowed into the world at the gate of literature. He was free, indulged and truly realized, and was brilliant in the discussion. The article has profound accumulation, clear thinking, elegant language and beautiful writing. Judging from the author's love for literature and Chinese accomplishment, entering the literary palace is just around the corner! Excellent composition 3: standing at the gate of the station, a stage where parting and gathering are constantly staged. The owner of this parting and gathering scene is always changing. What remains unchanged is that this is the same platform. The protagonist of the play is changing. One day, I became the protagonist of the play. A chilly spring day, a season full of joy and vitality, and at the same time, in my eyes, it is also a season of frustration. One day, my parents got up early in the morning and were busy packing. I was still in the transition zone between fantasy and reality, and suddenly I vaguely heard a little sobbing. I opened my sleepy eyes, and in the dim light, I found my dear mother with some tears on her face and a sad face. I climbed into my mother's arms and asked her what was wrong. She didn't speak. However, my father, who has always been silent, said: we are going to work in other provinces today, and we may only come back once a year ... I cried at that time because I didn't want my parents to leave. But these are useless. Grandma pulled me with tears on my face and stood at the gate of the station, saying goodbye to mom and dad. Then I watched them get on the bus. The car started slowly, gradually became a little bit, and gradually disappeared in the foggy morning, leaving only my grandmother and I standing at the gate of the station ... Since then, this station has remained in my memory. I will stand at the gate of the station from time to time, hoping that the distant car can bring my blessing to my parents, and the returning car can bring me news from my parents. I will stand at the gate of the station and continue the drama of the station where I left and looked forward to meeting. Leaves are green and yellow. When they become Huang Shi, they will fall off and then they will grow again. The world has been changing, but the play on the platform has not changed. It's still on. It's still just the owner who changes. I became a person who left more than ten years ago, and my parents who left more than ten years ago became people who have left now. Every morning when I go back to school, my mother always gets up as early as in the past, packs my bag, prepares breakfast for me, and sends me to the station to continue this drama with no ending. A thousand exhortations: study hard, pay attention to your health, eat more and drink less cold water ... There is always endless "nagging", a nagging that warms your heart. The car drove away, and through the window, although the light outside was very dark, I clearly saw the sadness and tears in my mother's eyes. Leaving is infinite disappointment and nostalgia; When I came back, my eyes were ecstatic. But my eyes are always wet when I leave or come back. Standing at the gate of the station, I wish people in the distance a safe journey; Standing at the gate of the station, waiting for the missing person to return safely. There is a station in my heart, a station where parting and gathering are constantly staged. I will always stand at the gate of the station, saying goodbye, blessing, waiting and meeting. Comment on ecstasy, just don't. Parting is the eternal state of life. The author chose a special scene-the station to express the real feeling of parting in life, and used this kind of parting to show the love of ordinary families. I bid farewell to my parents in order to make a living; For studying, my parents send me now. More importantly, the details of parting, such as psychology and movements, are written in a real and delicate way, which makes people feel really excited. Excellent composition 4: Standing at the door of your hometown

Inadvertently, I walked to the door of my hometown, and the years faded away from the door god wallpaper, the scarlet door paint and the hanging eaves. The hand knocking at the door stopped in the air, not knowing whether to go in or go away. Along the way, questions popped up one after another, and childhood pictures poured in. Is our Hutong Courtyard still there? That tall locust tree is still waiting for me to come home from school! That old wall is anxiously waiting for my love letter! I close my eyes. With a creak, the door opened, crossed the high threshold, stepped in, and hung up, as if falling into an ancient dream. The sound of "creaking" is like an ancient ballad. Finger tapping on the ancient wall makes a "pop" sound, as dull and gentle as a piano key. Moss swept over the mottled face of the ancient wall, adding some wrinkles. When I was away, the ancient wall used mossy hands to write words of missing for me. I remember when I was a child, laughter splashed your face, the petals of Sophora japonica fell rustling, and the pale yellow stamens fell to the ground. I always like to pick them up and stick them on your old face. Turn around and turn into the yard, Gu Huai is still there. In a trance, I saw grandma still holding the soles of her shoes peacefully under the tree. I always felt that grandma's soles were stained with the fragrance of Sophora japonica, and I always loved to wear them and refused to take them off. Seeing my mother looking around the room in ecstasy, I was thinking that the playful baby forgot to go home again today! Seeing my father bend down, put the bucket into the well, carry a full moon, and then carry it into the house rhythmically, it's time for the moon to come into my house! In a trance, I saw myself jumping on the flagstone road in sandals after school on a rainy day, one step at a time ... Then a paper seal stuck to my eyes, and it was rumored in the village that my superiors had ordered me to transform the village and turn the old courtyard into a commercial street. At that time, grandma panicked and walked around the yard, but she didn't speak, just like the old swallow who couldn't find its nest among the branches before, flying from branch to branch. Lonely and melancholy. At that time, the children also panicked, bowed their heads and passed by, and laughter passed. They can no longer eat the sugar birds made by the old sugar man in the ancient garden. You can't eat Sophora japonica cake anymore. Later, everything changed. The ancient town is like an old woman with makeup, walking on the runway of the times, but it is not unexpected. I shed tears, and so did the ancient courtyard. The river crossing the courtyard rises quickly. It's not water, it's tears from the ancient courtyard! One or two drops of ... furious laughter came and woke up my dream. I still stand in situ, standing at the door of my hometown, unwilling to enter, but even more unwilling to enter, afraid to enter. It's like being afraid to look at your first lover in an old photo. Is the ancient wall still there? Is the old pagoda tree in the alley still there? Are the pale yellow feathers still there? Forget it, forget it, let's go, let's turn all our childhood memories into a glass of wine, drink it and be intoxicated with the harmonious and beautiful picture forever; Turn all the beautiful reality into Sophora cake, hide it in the depths of memory, be silent ... suddenly look back, leaving a rustling pale yellow flower shadow ... turn around and look back. Then turn around and walk away silently, and tears turn into poems. The author of the review is full of affectionate pen and ink, which vividly reproduces the past personnel and today's changes in the small courtyard. Careful observation, delicate words, sincere feelings, all the scenery is affectionate. Proper use of parallelism and figurative rhetoric can make language infectious. The main part of the article is like dream a dream, but it is also virtual and real, with spatial transformation, time passing and orderly levels. Ending with "Tears into Poetry" is intended to point out that "Memories are always beautiful". Due to age, common sense and other reasons, the article also has defects. It is not accurate to say that grandma is like an old swallow who couldn't find her nest in the past. Excellent composition 5: Standing at the gate of eighteen, youth is a string of wind chimes. I saw it hanging at the door of eighteen, jingling in the wind and waving to me. I know that when I cross this door, I will bid farewell to that young boy and move towards my mature life. My birthday happens to be in July, so it should be different to greet my eighteenth birthday across the college entrance examination, because after more than ten years of study and the baptism of the college entrance examination, this rite of passage is more calm and wise. Standing at the gate of eighteen, looking back, eighteen years of life is so beautiful. I have gained affection, and here my parents take care of me in every possible way, teaching me from babbling to toddler to independent thinking. I gained friendship, from my childhood playmates to my classmates' girlfriends. Their innocent smiles and countless encouragements have left warm memories in my heart forever. I gained knowledge. For eighteen years, I swam around in the ocean of knowledge like a hungry fish. Literary classics have inspired me with wisdom and given me the motivation to move forward. They are the rain and dew that moistens my dry heart, and they are my mentor and friend when I am lonely and desperate. Natural science makes me feel the wonder and beauty of the world more truly, and stimulates my desire to explore the world. I gained national pride. As a yellow-skinned China native, I am very happy to witness the progress and glory of my motherland. I am very happy to walk with such a nation! Thanks to the life of 18 years old, I feel the truth, goodness and beauty of the world and make me more clear about my life ideals and goals! Standing at the gate of eighteen, I looked at the beautiful wind chimes and told myself: wave goodbye to the past full of ups and downs! Now, I will summon up courage and prepare for my next voyage. Perhaps, like all my friends who are about to grow up, I am full of nostalgia, hesitation and hope. It is a true and shy germination, a passion and desire to manipulate life! Standing at the gate of eighteen, I am looking forward to a journey full of unknowns. Unknown success, unknown failure, unknown joy, unknown troubles, will I be at a loss? Will it be overwhelmed by difficulties? Oh, when I looked up, it was my parents' affirmative eyes, my friend's kind wave and my teacher's beautiful smile. Oh, I'm surrounded by China people, China people who will always be strong and unyielding. I will not be afraid to keep company with them and inherit the hard work and wisdom of the people of China for 5,000 years. I think I can. Standing at the gate of eighteen, looking at the sea of life, I thought: leave the sails to the wind, the oars to the waves, and leave the position of captain to me! This article has many highlights. As the title is pressing: Reviewing the past, facing the reality and looking forward to the future, the choice of expression forms of lyric prose gives the author a platform to show his talents, so that we can see his youthful elegance and ideal talents at the "gate of eighteen". Such as emotion: from life to study to thinking to consciousness, from teenager to youth to adulthood, from individual to times to home and country, all of them are emotional and moving. Such as image: rationality lies in narration, and philosophical thinking embodies images, such as wind chimes like the sea, sails and winds, paddles and waves, like captains. It is commendable to write such an article in that exam atmosphere. Excellent Composition 6: Standing at the door of Jixiangxuan, I love Jixiangxuan, and love stand is at the door of Jixiangxuan. Love her half of the country under the bright moon, love her peace on the night of March 5, love her narrowness and simplicity. Every time I open a Chinese book full of books, I see a low but practical Xiao Xuan. Mr. Zhenchuan, who pursues peace and tranquility, lives here, and a calm and carefree soul blooms here. Standing at the door of Ji Xiangxuan, my mind was cultivated by this quiet breath, and my impetuousness disappeared. Therefore, I only dare to stand at the door of Xiao Xuan, looking up at him who is not tall but very tall, looking at everything here and listening to the music played by nature. Standing at the entrance of the porch, thinking about the scene of borrowing books, listening to crazy songs, feeling the happiness of being crowded with books, and then recalling the sad but beautiful and sweet past, recalling the sweet smiles of parents, friends, classmates and teachers, immersed in the happiness of memories that everyone has but gradually forgets! Then cry gently and laugh gently! Standing at the entrance of the porch, thinking about the expression of sitting quietly, in front of the lonely court, the girl who learned to eat, smoothed her sleeves, waved her hand and sprinkled millet, attracting birds that that person could not walk. Then stand there quietly watching, watching, blending into this quiet but pulsating courtyard color, waiting for the faint and dark twilight, waiting for the moment when the sun sets and the flowers bloom in front of the courtyard. Then, the lovely expression of the bird comes to mind, and learn to enjoy the harmony from nature in the beating melody. No wonder Mr. Zhenchuan loves this decadent but long-lived Xiao Xuan alone. No wonder Mr. Zhenchuan can think of the everlasting love under the bright moon in front of the court. No wonder Mr. Zhenchuan has such a delicate mind to write such a delicate article. This love, this touch, this delicacy comes from that sweet memory, from that harmony of nature, from that sense of security and carefree in my heart! Standing at the door of Xiang, looking at the rising moon, looking at the hazy, thinking castle in the air in the moonlight, thinking about Zhu Ziqing's lotus pond moonlight, is not the castle in the air that my heart pursues, nor the lotus pond moonlight that I appreciate. This tranquility, this harmony! Standing at the entrance of the porch, standing on the axis of memory, standing on the strings of nature, standing next to the chime of my heart! Literary works criticism has infinite charm, which can nourish people's body and mind and involve people's soul. Kong listened to the whistle, but he didn't know the taste of March meat. Young students taste the beautiful composition, their hearts are touched, their sentiments are cultivated, their imagination is stimulated, and a beautiful essay in the examination room is also achieved. Isn't this the ideal state pursued by reading? For middle school students who complain about the lack of direct life experience, isn't it one of the ways to make rational use of the indirect life gained as text reading?