Mo Yan,the winner of 2012 Nobble Prize for Literature(文学)，is very popular around the world. He is famous as one of the greatest writers in china.

 Mo Yan is fifty-nine years old in 2015,and his real name is Guan Moyue.The name of Mo Yan means”Don't speak”.The writer said close the name to remember to close his mouth from getting himself in trouble. Mo Yan began to write in 1970s, and his first novel was”Falling rain on a Spring Night ”,published(发表) in 1981.Then his second and more books were published.including "Red Sorghum”and "Big Breast and Wide Hips.”

 CCTV reporter Dong Qian once said to him,”I always feel that a writer is like a hen,and his works are like eggs. We may not always wonder what the hen looks like while we eat eggs. But this time, it's a golden egg. So naturally, everybody wants to know this hen who laid a golden egg. That's why so many people pay much attention to you .”

 China was celebrating the success of this native son soon after he got the Prize, millions of Chinese expressed pleasure and pride for Mo Yan in their own ways.

    In 1883, an engineer named John Roebling got an idea to build a bridge between New York and Long Island. However, bridge-building experts around the world thought that it was impossible. It had never been done before.

    After much discussion, he made his son Washington, a great engineer, believe that the bridge could be built.

    The project started well, but a few months later, an accident took the life of John Roebling. Washington was badly hurt and he was not able to walk or talk. However, Washington never lost his heart. He still wanted to complete the bridge. But all he could do was to move one finger. So he decided to make the best use of it. By moving his finger, he slowly developed a way of communicating with his wife.

    He touched his wife's arm with his finger, “telling” her that he wanted her to call the engineers again. Then he used the same way to tell the engineers what to do. The project carried on again.

    For 13 years, Washington tapped out (敲出) his instructions with his finger on his wife's arm, until the bridge was finally completed. Today the Brooklyn Bridge stands as a monument(纪念碑) to one man's unbeatable spirit.

    It is also a monument to engineers and their teamwork, and to their faith in a man who was considered crazy by half the world.

    One morning, I was driving my father-in-law to the airport when a plane flew silently over the road like a big bird, about to touch down at the airport.

    "It's magic," my father-in-law said. I looked at him, without knowing what was happening.

    He was a doctor who gave speeches at colleges and had visited more than 100 countries. He understood better than I why a plane can fly in the sky. It, really, wasn't magic. But now, I realize he was at least right in some way.

    Though flying might not be magic, it's certainly magical. What it brings to our real lives is something found in our dreams.

    But too often, we, especially I forget. I read a sentence a few months ago. It said, "You know you're growing-up when you no longer want a window seat."

    Too often in recent years, I've asked for a seat near the exit row, forgetting the wonders of traveling fast. But sometimes, when the Wi-Fi's not working or my computer has no power, I remember to look.

    I think of one time when I was leaving on a family vacation. Moments after take-off, I started working. But a passenger behind me wouldn't stop talking. "The clouds!" he kept saying, "Look at the clouds!"

I turned around, and saw two men, one who appeared to be in his seventies and the other much younger. The chat continued for 20 minutes until, not patiently, I raised my eyes from my computer screen and looked out of the window.

    The clouds!

    He was right. We were floating through big soft balls of cotton, each in different shapes. They seemed easy enough to touch. The afternoon sun provided all kinds of colors, all against a blue sky. I put away my computer and appreciated(欣赏)them for the rest of the flight.

    I don't remember the work I felt like I had to complete that afternoon. I've never forgotten those clouds.