Still explaining what?

The explanation of the word still is: Still réngrán .( 1)Still, still-indicating that a certain situation persists; Also modifies verbs and adjectives. It is often used as "harmony" in written and spoken language. (2) restitution; Here we go again.

The explanation of the word still is: Still réngrán .( 1)Still, still-indicating that a certain situation persists; Also modifies verbs and adjectives. It is often used as "harmony" in written and spoken language. (2) restitution; Here we go again. The part of speech is: adverb. The structure is: static (left and right structure) and natural (up and down structure). The phonetic notation is: ㄖㄥㄖㄢ _. The pinyin is: réngrán n.

What is the specific explanation? We will introduce you through the following aspects:

First, list and explain the details of this house viewing plan.

The situation remains the same or reverts to its original state. Quote Ba Jin's Autumn Preface: "But I still said what I said two years ago." Week after week, the first part of Morning in Shanghai 4: "Tang Fuhai was opened, and there was still no calling voice on his face." Yang Shuo collects dust: "The car is still crawling forward like a snail."

Second, the national language dictionary

Still, still. Word translation is still in English, while German is immernoch, Dennoch, Nachwiewor French encore, Toujours, Commeautrefois, Commeauparavant, Quandmê me, touttemême.

Third, the network interpretation

Still Still: Chinese word still: song still: poem still written by Lin: song still (Chinese word) sung by Shen Yicheng is still a Chinese word, pronounced as réngán, just like "still". Indicates that the situation remains the same or returns to the original state. Synonyms are the same, the same, the same, the same, or, antonyms are no longer.

Synonyms about still

Still, still, still, still.

On the antonym of still

Never, not anymore, not yet.

Poetry about stillness

still

Poetry about stillness

They insisted on going to the scene in person. If the heart is a sinking ship, the mouse that is biting its own body and trying to escape to the shore is a screaming poem. Nouns and adjectives have endangered traffic. They voluntarily chose non-hero exile. You left your hat on the flagship. Chapter 3 Who lifted the neon wine in the city and tried to clink glasses with the red sunset at the end of the century, causing an epoch-making blackout? Quietly approaching the sunset. The old metaphor is that the farmer who lit the pipe squatted in the field, thinking that his heart was always interrupted by frogs. Who is blacker? It is said that the 20-story building where he lives is built on the back of a floating whale. Rape flowers don't know the danger of pile drivers. Beekeepers are naive, romantic and blind. The last honey source air conditioner was pushed out with his back in the city. The body temperature is in balance with the machine, and he feels hot and dry. What he missed was a sunflower fan or a mint leaf stuck on the forehead of a poem. When being taken to the execution ground by chemical fertilizers and pesticides, the fields were flooded. The extra money was hidden in the canyon. Italian toilets in front of the house have white walls, Chinese rose flowers are planted behind the house, beggars are hired to take care of fat geese, and burglarproof sheds are built for Crown cars. The rest of the time is spent on art, and the city stretches the bleeding pipe network, leaving a fence in the countryside. When the wind blows away, dogs and old people can't help but reach out and straighten the beard of the smoke painter on the roof of their hometown. The beard is getting longer and longer, and the clothes are ragged and stuck in the photo frame. Beggars smoked the owner's Marlboro, tore a picture, wiped the table, and held a group of fried geese in the countryside to exchange lovers through contracts. The observation deck was carefully folded. Who did Huang Shoupa wave to? Chapter four watching the wind for too long. Tears dried up. I took off my sore eyes and stood on tiptoe on a totally blind record. The original yearning for the north is because a kapok tree, no matter how far it rotates, its red lips can't touch the shoulder of the oak tree. This is the last feather of the dream. You can hold it for a while, but you can't build a house all your life. The spirit of solitary smoke in the desert always calls for the short bamboo needles in the south to roll to the north. We drifted in the Yuanmingyuan of the Yellow River, covered with frost, and Erguotou was wet with smoke. We rode in skirts on the windy Chang 'an Avenue and learned a lot of tongue rolling. They spun silk everywhere and still went back to the south to make cocoons. My south is still bigger than the rain forest behind the house in the south of Fujian, and it is not too wet. Every year, the monsoon knocks over several hot nests and splashes down ever-changing dialects. The thirst for hard soil can't change southerners' thinking of using air roots. When they reach the south, the trees in the north wind will no longer shed their leaves, but evergreen snow will still fill their spirits and shrug their coats, and waist potatoes will hoard in sadness and rely on the anxiety of exile. They dried themselves and sucked the chests of the Yangtze River and the Yellow River in the background of dripping water, which was rich in milk, corn murals, skulls and emperors. After this moment, there has been an unfinished sentence in the ancient and simple time, like the running water at night is the moonlight on the mountains and seas, which repeatedly makes my weak heart look forward to never finding a place to live, and at this time you use silence. The silent voice of the scenery completed it, but I found in the uncontrollable tears that after this moment, my youth was finally gone and I never returned to the mountain road. I seem to promise to walk up that beautiful mountain road with you. You said that the hillside was full of new tea and good acacia. I seem to have promised you. Tonight, on a distant spring afternoon, I combed my first strand of white hair under the lamp, and suddenly remembered some unfulfilled promises and some inexplicable sadness. Are you still waiting for me on that mountain road? Looking around, drinking wine and singing a toast to love. When it comes, all I can do is meet it. It's that incredible smell that disappears when it's blown. How to describe who will believe in a toast to love? When it left, it was the only thing I could do. In the season of abundance, I cried because of loneliness and your looking back, but suddenly, a Kubinashi song was sung because of the curtain, and the lights were on, only because of everyone's applause. Now my song turns out to be a brilliant temptation in this play, and I finally know what temptation is in this autumn when the leaves are about to fall. But the fate I can't accept or refuse will always appear in a beautiful posture, and no matter which choice will make me cry, I deeply regret that a woman's dream will spring back on the day when the leaves finally fall, but she can't go back, even though it is still the month of that night, the new buds of street trees of the same color have come. I can't go back when I earn it. When all the questions can't be asked, it's useless to give me beautiful answers. Please understand my helplessness from my reserved smile and the slight pain and sadness in my heart every spring. So bow your head and say goodbye. Which rivers in the world can really turn back? Just like the grassland meets and withers in autumn, let's meet and hate each other late. Only the wild wind always refuses to stop, always anxiously in the forest, on the roadside of strange streets. The horn swept through my mottled heart. Those memories falling like autumn leaves, please don't cry There are no poems in my world, no flying flowers and no drizzle in the dusty seasons. Please don't cry. But the embers of love have gone out and returned to the world. I suddenly realized that thousands of paths are known, and I smiled and drifted to the end. Please try to forget my fragile heart. Please stop crying. When spring comes again, the forgotten wild lily is still there. However, we will grow up in the same valley under the shadow of ferns, and still have the fragrance of the past, but no one will remember the joys and sorrows we spent with us. Over time, there are only a few anonymous poems and a faint sunset, just like ancient primitive knots, which are tied one after another. Let us repeatedly touch and trace the clues that are important to me in the dark cave alone, and suddenly find that I am in the same morning as primitive people before sunset. The knot I tied for you is still gently in the heart that is gradually roughened by life. When spring comes, when the fragrance is released in an orderly way, some distant and imprisoned dreams will come again, such as those words that have not been said and promises that have not been fulfilled. There is a feeling that there is nowhere to put it in a very light color. On such a cold rainy night, at the corner of such a dark long street, there is always someone holding an old black umbrella. After the rain, I washed my back white, as if the years were woven into pages of gray poems. I always feel that you are still waiting for me quietly somewhere. At the corner of every muddy long street, I have to slow down gradually and look back at the deep-seated problem of rain. My question is how to keep a memory of water and wine in my life. How can I repeat the wind, the clouds and the sound of streams flowing in the grass when I raise my glass to the past? How can I get a little drunk every time and allow myself to cry in front of the bottle? The difficulty is really not in this missed life. My question is how to get lost in cold and fiery emotions forever after saying goodbye. The worries of many years ago have been thrown away in a panic when they hit the rocks on the seabed. Please don't come back to explore. Don't come back after 1000 years and ask why you hit the rocks. All the traces are annihilated, and all the clues have already rusted. Only that stays on the last page. Before abandoning the ship, I tearfully wrote "The moonlight is like practice tonight". Cliff chrysanthemum is as white as snow and fierce as fire, winding to the deepest valley bottom. My hidden wish is the definition of the growth of the last blooming cliff chrysanthemum in autumn. What can I give you if I meet you again? Everything is forbidden. Strictly speaking, life is like a ladder, with symbols and marks of barren years. For all the roses that eventually withered, I finally couldn't hold on.

On static words

yettenvethelsexist stillnonethelsallthesame

On static idioms

Frequent floods and droughts are still taken for granted, but sudden death causes great pain, conflicts are still frequent, and it is natural that cocoa causes great pain.

About the word still

I still take it for granted that I still have great pain, frequent floods and droughts, and humble attacks. I'm still in pain and often in conflict.

About still making sentences

1. Now, there are still fortune tellers lying in the street.

Although she is in a turbulent world, she still keeps a jade figure.

Old ideas still bind some people's thoughts.

Although far behind, he still insisted on running the whole course, which made him respect.

The general still sat calmly and commanded when he was besieged and isolated by the enemy.

Click here to see more details about Still.