Brew a pot of tea, moisturize my heart,
Read a book and calm my heart.
Listen to a falling rain, flat my heart,
Admire the falling flowers and place my heart.
Zhao Puchu wrote in a poem that seven bowls are tasted, and one pot is really interesting. Empty holding a hundred thousand, it is better to eat tea.
In the afternoon, lazily leaning in a corner, unbridled, a pot of tea on the desk, the aroma of tea overflowing the whole room.
Tea, is a habit, not to smell, not to ask, not to argue, as long as there is a moment of tranquility, give me to think.
On the day of tea, there is a kind of comfort, hidden in the tea water; there is a kind of resonance, which arises between the sinking and floating; there is a kind of quiet elegance, which is oriented to the fragrance; there is a kind of understanding, perceiving when it is cold and warm. If the heart is in the tea, the tea does not live up to people.
In this way, a cup of tea moisturizes a state of mind and achieves a way of life that I have longed for for a long time.
Sanmao once said that the more he reads, the more his face changes.
Don't think that the books you have read have become too much to remember, in fact, they are still potential. In temperament, in speech, in the endlessness of the mind, of course, it may also be revealed in life and words.
Making books the norm of life is the best habit of life.
If you have a pleasant book at hand, at the table, or at the head of the bed, it is a blessing in your life. Books are left and right, or idly flipped through, or carefully read, or smiled and read, or repeatedly appreciated, fragrant mouth, full of afterscent.
From the spring flower to the autumn moon, from the night snow to the morning glow, in the silent alternation of spring and autumn, in the silent operation of the years. The soul is weeping because of the book, sometimes slightly happy, sometimes frosted to the bone, sometimes breezy...
Twists and turns, hundreds of turns, in the ups and downs, or to realize the truth of life, or to sigh the desolation of the world, do not lose the happiness of life.
Zhang Ailing said: The sound of rain is babbling, like living by the stream, I would rather it rain every day, thinking that you are not coming because of the rain. Some people are sad because of the rain, some people are happy because of the rain, in fact, if it does not rain, they must love themselves well.
Rain knocked on the window and woke me up from my slumber.
Through the inky color of the night silence, the ticks fell on the windowsill.
There is rain knocking on the window, but the heart is as still as water.
In the jianghu, there is always a soft corner in the heart.
At this moment, it is not only the sound of rain that flows slowly, but also those stable moods. The thoughts that have not been stranded are awakened at this moment.
Suddenly, the bits and pieces that come and go are all wonderful gifts from time to time.
Some of the past will always be settled and gripping.
Some touches will always be dark incense, filling the atrium.
The wind blows and the flowers fall, and the prosperity eventually becomes empty.
The flowers of youth blossom and blossom, the years come and go in a hurry; the rain and snow of the four seasons, the stops and goings of the journey, and many things pass with time.
The flowers fall again in the spring of a year, but I don't see the Yi people who stood under the falling flowers last year, and the spring hatred is heavy, for the falling flowers, for the Yi people.
There are countless green mountains, and the flowers fall like rain, one after another, covering the road when coming. There are countless mountains, red as rain, and I don't remember the time and road.
The cultivation of a person's life lies in tasting loneliness and enjoying loneliness. Actually, that's right. Just like falling flowers, thanking the spring red, all the beauty seems so hurried in the end.
The heart is as simple as simplicity, suitable for tranquility, folding a faint fragrance, blooming in front of the quiet window, poetry is also wine, tea is also painted.
On a moonlit night with a breeze, I sat in the quiet courtyard, pulling my finger and counting the stars in the sky, one, two, three—leisurely, smelling lotus, and chewing tea.
A rain, a state of mind, a heart, singing and chanting on the edge of samsara.
Red lotus white lotus green lotus leaves, chickens in the rain to paint the sunset. Cooking smoke in the morning and evening, listening to the pond frogs in the quiet night. A glass of wine, half a pot of tea. Fishing rods fish alone in the slanting sun, idle to remove the light yarn.
Tea tasting: Tasting tea, quiet is the heart, enlightenment is life, purification is the soul.
Reading: It's not about the smoke, it's about your own state of mind.
Listen to the rain: life in the world, seek light and elegant beauty, light name, light profit, no dispute, no seizure.
Flower appreciation: all nature, all unworldly, all into the beautiful and distant artistic conception.
Looking for a courtyard, the mind is quiet only because the heart is in the Zen room, the rain is falling, reading an idle book, watching the beauty of the leaves, listening to the sound of flowers.
Time never answers, and life never hustles. A cup of tea, a generation of tea, tea never speaks, tranquility to sublimation.
For the time being, be a leisure guest and watch the flowing water send flying flowers.
Rich and noble floating grass on the frost, you must know the truth in the smoke.
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