Man has his own world, and then, hiding in it, lives a life that has little to do with others.
I said that I didn't like it much, but I didn't feel bored, like an old dress that had been washed and faded for a long time.
Although there is less glamorousness and anger, in the end the casual thoughtfulness, familiar taste, as if the spring flowers will bloom, counting the winter solstice, it is the New Year.
It's just, unobtainable, thought. I've got it, and I want more. I thought that the doors and windows were wide open, and I was wandering around in the wilderness, and I could fight the sword to the end of the world.
Small world, can not close the ambition, desire will howl to break free, all day and all night, let you rest peacefully.
He was frustrated, hit the wall, and reluctantly covered the window and closed the door, but he could keep himself, but he couldn't control others.
That box is the same as its own past, coaxing you to sing and I appear, boiling and boiling, and then come and go.
"The empty door refuses to come out, and the window is also stupid." A hundred years of drilling paper, when the sun rises. "After changing the mountain spring water, the tea will also be meaningful, gradually mellow and long."
Compared with satisfaction, contentment appears to be more measured, identity, attackable, retreatable, and self-talking.
Not to add some disgust to people, or to say a short-sighted, undisputed decent, thoughtful.
But I liked the comfort of satisfaction, did not seek others, did not seek myself, and the next moment a bottle of a bowl of water and a thousand mountains did not come, a touch of new sunshine, no longer awakened by the world, and there was no complaint.
Contentment, some of the fall is not steadfast enough, obviously want, but also clearly afraid of hands and feet, first of all to convince themselves, from the inside to the outside, are biased towards calculation.
I am a somewhat calculating person, but I am also the most unscaled virtue, choose to be satisfied, and fall asleep on my head.
No nightmares, no worries, wake up early there is still another room to live in, a pot of water, a cup of tea, a room of lights and warm in a few pages of idle books.
Occasionally, when you will get what you want, or laugh at it, or smear it, the words inside and outside the book, will slowly emerge some faces and figures,
The shadow of the sword and light sword has long been hidden, the drums and horns are arguing, but the paper windows of the tile house, the red sleeves are wiped, and the tea fragrance is scattered like a rain of flowers...
Or when you are tired of sitting, you will lie on your side and pull the quilt to cover some light coolness.
Whatever you want and wish, you can do whatever you want, and if there is anything unsatisfied, you will drink two cups of wine, and suddenly some things will jump out of your heart, or there will be some things.
There is indeed more in life than the dead, and it is as desired that the hope is broken. But it should never be defined by others, and it must not be approved by others.
Otherwise, what is said, done, written, and done, not only loses oneself, but once one cannot see the faces of others, life will be like losing its value support.
It's like the last few dead leaves on the high treetops in the late autumn sky, who cares if it falls or flutters. Passive pity, the most unworthy.
The days go on, north, cold, cold, healing every moment. When people are right, the world is right.
In "The Story of Time", there are not only memories, but also tributes, to the past, beautiful, or unbearable.
There are songs, poems, joys and sorrows in life, but more is still a burden, with hands, feet, shoulders, and hearts.
One by one, one by one, silent. Silence breeds all things, nourishes the years, and nourishes the thickness of life. Thinking of Jiangnan, the vision of a pot of tea, I would like to believe that this side is icy and snowy, nourishing and satisfying.