I saw her writing with her right hand, and sometimes she meditated and lowered her eyebrows, as if there was something puzzling, and sometimes she burst into a charming smile. There seems to be something very interesting in this book. After a while, she looked serious again and drew here and there with a pen.
A little girl with a tall ponytail, with her chin in her right hand, stared at the book with relish. Sometimes I frown and think about something; Liu Haier sometimes hangs down to his forehead; Sometimes I hold glasses that slide down the bridge of my nose. Look at that look, as if completely immersed in an interesting story.
In the library, students are immersed in the sea of books. A boy student is sitting at his desk writing a book. Is he thinking with a frown?
In the classroom with bright windows, students sit straight at their desks and read books. The classroom is very quiet, and occasionally they can be heard turning pages. They look different, some frown slightly, as if they have puzzled doubts; Some smile lightly, as if feeling the happiness brought by knowledge; Some students' eyelashes trembled slightly and their eyes froze between the lines. It turned out that he had been there, and the whole person was immersed in the book.
I saw his face flushed, his eyebrows twisted into a knot, and even the veins stood out on his arm could be seen clearly. After seeing the problem, the teacher frowned and habitually put the thumb of his left hand on his lips and moved back and forth, thinking.
In one class, I wrote a complete composition. Xiaohong just sat facing the window, and the afternoon sun shone on her round face, making her cheeks more rosy; She holds her chin with a pen, her eyes are wide open, her bright eyes are swimming slowly, and her plump chin is slightly upturned-this is the expression that the math teacher is familiar with and loves whenever she thinks of a more ingenious way to solve a math problem. He always walks with his hands behind his back and his head down, and his expression seems to be thinking about the future and destiny of all mankind.
He opened his diary with a sad face and wrote for several hours before stopping writing. He poured out all his unhappiness and smiled.
The little boy was absorbed in writing under the street lamp, and the trees beside him swayed gently and rustled softly, for fear of disturbing him.
He writes very carefully, and every stroke follows the rules and strives for perfection. His handwriting is both correct and spiritual, like rows of well-dressed soldiers standing guard.
Holding chalk in his hand, he stood on tiptoe and barely reached the top of the blackboard. After some efforts, he finally wrote "Nothing is difficult in the world, as long as you are willing to climb".
She listened to the teacher carefully and took notes in her notebook while listening. The dense notes filled all the blanks in the book. There was really no blank space, so she wrote the words very small and wrote them in the gap between the printed words. She was very careful when taking notes, so by the time the teacher finished class, she had almost mastered new knowledge.
She was absorbed in writing, and many beautiful and moving pictures appeared in her mind, which were continuous like movies. Her pen followed her train of thought and kept writing on paper. With these photos, there are still many feelings in her mind, as if she could never finish writing.
He tore a page from the draft book and thought for a long time before he started writing. When he finished writing, he was very dissatisfied. He crumpled up the paper and threw it into the trash can. So he wrote and threw, threw and wrote, and wrote more than ten pages in a row, but he didn't finish it. He found it more difficult to write this apology note than to ask him to write a thousand-word composition.
He may be so tired that he dozed off with his eyes open and closed, and his pen was still writing intermittently. I don't know how long it took before he woke up and couldn't help but stare big eyes. What kind of writing is this? Obviously, it is the trace of earthworm crawling. He frowned, snapped off the page and wrote it again on the next brand-new piece of paper.
He opened the book with a clash, thought for a moment, and began to write it silently, as if he were fighting with someone. After a while, he has written many books. He breathed a long sigh of relief, threw away the pen and handed the exercise book to the teacher amid the admiration of everyone.