Life full of confusing and dordering Particular time, a particular location, Do the arranged thing of ten million time in the brain, Step by step , the life hard to avoid delicacy and stiffness No enthusiasm forever, No unexpected happening of surpring and pleasing So, only silently ask myself in mind Next happiness, when will come?
Dark light, just light each other. The responsibility that you and my shoulders take together, the such as one dust covers up. Afraid only afraid the light suddenly put out in theendless dark night and Countless loneliness
Always insting. Use iron scoop too cold; Use porcelain scoop too weak; A wood scoop, engraved veins safely, engraved sky’s wasteland and glebe’s old. Just as happiness born in the years, not insolent, the every act and move blooms quietly
Hope always more expect, engrave a bone a fat lot looked Clear can touch, just don t know where end . Can not find to come to the road of hour, just because of eying foot too very carefully.
Then the wandering soul wild crane stands still the memory river Lten to whtle play tightly ring slowly, Water res a ship to go medium long things of the past. Wait for a ship’s person Wait for one and other, But hesitate always should ascend which ship Msed Had to consign the hope to next time, Finally what to wait for until has no boats and ships to come and go, Sunset west .
Six words really talk to solveeach round to return to bitterness. Heart of lotus opens, body side of genial breezes walks. Constantly, only one pond water. Ripple but have no language, guarded happiness of th pond. Th from cradle to the grave one a life time
Happiness so much simple, on your center of palm, a match a hand can grasp; Happiness also very difficult, before your heel, A thousand mountains and rivers but blunder away because of Doing not turn a head
幸福好简单,就在你手心上,一合手就能握住; 幸福又好难,就在你脚跟前, 千山万水却因没有转头而错失
Never believe, next will be better, Blunder away, never repair return of regret. Even met the god of shining in a dream, Never ask: "Next happiness, when will come?"
Man's youth is a wonderful thing: it is so full of anguish and of magic and he never comes to know it as it is, until it has gone from him forever. It is the thing he cannot bear to lose, it is the thing whose passing he watches with infinite sorrow and regret, it is the thing whose loss with a sad and secret joy, the thing he would never willingly relive again, could it be restored to him by any magic.
Why is this? The reason is that the strange and bitter miracle of life is nowhere else so evident as in our youth. And what is the essence of that strange and bitter miracle of life which we feel so poignant , so unutterable, with such a bitter pain and joy, when we are young? It is this: that being rich, we are so poor; that being mighty, we can yet have nothing; that seeing, breathig, smelling, tasting all around us the impossible wealth and glory of this earth, feeling with an intolerable certitude that the whole structure of the enchanted life – the most fortunate, wealthy, good, and happy life that any man has ever known – is ours – is ours at once, immediately and forever, the moment that we choose to take a step, or stretch a hand, or say a word—— we yet know that we can really keep, hold, take, and possess forever—— nothing. All passes; nothing lasts: the moment that we put our hand upon it , it melts away like smoke, is gone forever, and the snake is eating at our heart again; we see then what we are and what our lives must come to.