Don't flatter yourself.

One day behind the world, there are people on the earth. Humility is an attitude, but also a cultivation.

There is a rag that thinks highly of itself. Although it is dirty and wrinkled, it still wants to clean the table, and boasts that as long as it goes, the table will be "dirty" again.

However, if you really dry it, you can't clean it, and even the more you wipe it, the dirtier it gets.

Finally, it bounced the black beads of sweat and fell to the ground and said, "What a dirty table!" " "

The table retorted, "If you want to clean others, you must clean yourself first!" " "

Put your position right, your body is your own, and being a man is long-lasting.

Sometimes, we always look up at other people's scenery and envy their Excellence. Bow your head, lament your poverty, lament your commonness. You know, other people's scenery cannot be their own beauty. Instead of raising your head, lower your head and run yourself well! In fact, every flower, grass, tree and leaf in the world has its own characteristics and is irreplaceable. So do people. Although everyone is an accident between heaven and earth, they are all irreplaceable life individuals and have unrepeatable life processes. The same love as Mao Jose. San Mao wrote in The Story of the Sahara: Every time I miss you, a grain of sand falls from the sky, thus forming the Sahara. Every time I miss you, a drop of water falls from the sky, thus forming the Pacific Ocean. Their love is like an oasis in the desert. There is no rich material foundation, only love is immortal. In front of him, San Mao can be as headstrong as a child. He loves her, understands her, cherishes her and tolerates her. So is she. Going around, youth is far away, and wandering dreams are drifting away. I settled in a corner of the Central Plains, twisted a wisp of tea fragrance, exiled myself in the world of words, looking for a poetic dwelling place. On a quiet summer afternoon, I opened the book Youth Binding. The yellow title page is so deeply bound by fate. Youth is a book that is too hasty. Too late to open it, it has been dusty by years. It's too late to read, and the handwriting is mottled and blurred. Youth, drifting away, gradually losing interest. The trees were quiet, the wind stopped and the fog dispersed. The night was dim, and I went to the west wing alone, drinking with memories and drinking my youth into a hangover. He just looked at us. Then, the first wolf came first. Then, the rest slowly walked up the mountain and disappeared into the pine forest ... After reading it, he couldn't bear to think: Even fierce wolves know how to repay kindness. Should we reflect on ourselves? Claiming to be "the primate of all things", should we make this world full of love?

Before blaming others for their mistakes, check whether you are wrong or not. If you only criticize others and evade your responsibilities everywhere, how can you be respected by others?