Sometimes, life is like a book, reading all the prosperity, reading the time, reading the years, reading others, but the most rare thing is to be able to read yourself. From opening the yellowed title page to carefully reading each paragraph, just like according to the sunshine of life, fading away the lead, in a concise and clear beginning, re-examining the original self.

Time can bring everything in the world back to its original indifference. Perhaps it is only in that natural calm that we can get a peace that we have never had before. No matter what kind of experience, when you look back on it, it is just the color of your life.

On the road of life, walk simply, the fragrance of the year, in the quiet of the years, cherish a bright spring; The heaviness of the dust, gracefully passing, in the calm of the heart like water, the elegance of time, cherish the initial blankness.

Between the cause and effect of the dust, you may not get the result you want, but what you get must be a smile and relief for the choice you made without regrets. The vicissitudes of the years, in addition to the coldness of the wind and rain, but also in the impermanence of the world, I learned to use a shallow smile to wait for the sunshine at the next intersection.

Prosperous like smoke, time flies by, the washing of the years, let a shallow simplicity, according to a pure heart, in the silence of time, depending on each other. Gradually, I no longer cherish empty things, but only like to hold those ordinary things in my palm, or reminisce in my heart. The deeper the years, the less extravagant hopes there are, a simple meal, a glass of water, is the warmest fireworks in the world.

For those incomplete memories, the strange roads that were pieced together passed gently in a calm smile. The years give not only troubles and sorrows, but more about the splendor of the trees and flowers that I saw after turning around.

The wonder of life is always from the bustle and hustle and bustle to the silence and loneliness. Don't let the glitz and glamour weigh on your otherwise easy itinerary. Leave half of the joy for yourself at the right time, leave half of the loneliness, let a calm, in the rhythm of time like water, encounter the quiet, natural tranquility.

Whether it is the wind or the rain, I have been looking for the shadow of the passing years in the falling flowers, but finally in the ink, I have fallen a note and gazed at it. Perhaps in addition to life, this world seems to be about the soul beyond the mortal, and the scene flying out of these brushstrokes still sheds a peaceful and serene tranquility from the shallowness of the years.

There is no phase in the world, and all are fate. The red dust is flashy, and the disturbance is in the heart. There is nothing saddest in the world than that I have come, but you have already left. The most difficult thing in the world is a love word, which cannot be kept together, only by letting go, can the time that has been there be in the long time, in the longevity of the years, give birth to an indifferent dark fragrance.

Rolling red dust, quietly staying on the edge of the dream, no words, an understanding, is the true feelings that reside in the heart. A meeting, a little tenderness, a little wind and rain, planted a happy thought, and opened an inner regret. Between the clouds and water, the light boat that rowed to the other side of the leaf is already in the ebb and flow of the tide, full of acacia years.

The deepening of the years has deepened the summer vegetation. And time is always gentle with me. In the agarwood over the years, Mo Ruo handed over the vicissitudes of life to the years to forget. In those times that have been walked together, they are still in the warmth that lingers in their hearts, and they are guarding the plain peace.

The tea of time, the old wine of the years, or an old song, after a long time, in the end, it is all a bland taste. In the wind and dust, I just want to be a plain person, with a shallow, in a simple calm, to guard the scenery in my heart.

In the old years, the pen fell into a period of youth without regrets, and the youthful time is also a warm thought in the most beautiful years. The time is old, but it is getting softer and softer, so an understanding in those years is like years of lovesickness, and once again between the distant eyebrows and eyes, a watery encounter.

Time has passed, the years have passed, and dreams seem to have faded. In the lonely time, I am no longer obsessed with the weight and vicissitudes of life, but only turn the simple days into the fragrance of flowers and the indifference of a state of mind; The fireworks of firewood, rice, oil and salt, in the simple time, flow into the companionship of a long stream of water; Or read a beautiful text into a quiet warmth in the shallow joy.