Life is a goose's journey, in the flow of the season in a hurry to rush, in the shore of the flow of the year leisurely.
In the lonesome to seek prosperity, and in the bright to seek calm; in the lonesome to seek lively, in the hustle and bustle in the yearning for tranquility.
Life is a banishment, from the beautiful flowers and reds all over, to the red leaves stained all over the green hills; from the town of water and smoke, to the city of glittering splendor; from the freshly dressed teenagers, to the frost and dust of the vicissitudes of life.
The spring breeze blows green a tree of linden, and the frost dyes red a tree of fire maple. Each season has its own story, and each leaf, has its own flow of years.
Fading is the final destination of every leaf, the inevitable result of the cycle of time.
Seasons in the round-trip, grass and trees a year a dry glory; story in the repetition, life walk through the fragment is always déjà vu.
Kingdom of Wei: You see this year's flower on the tree, not last year's flower on the branch.
Although the peach blossom is thankful, there is a time to open again, but it will not be the same as last year; although the willow is withered, there is a time to be green again, but it is no longer the last year's leaves.
Each flower, each leaf, is a unique existence, all have their own story.
In the spring of March grow into a clear and elegant face, in the summer of prosperity sway a wind, in the light of the autumn wind to dance the splendor of life.
Autumn's face, is colorful, is the style of the city; autumn's soul, is the light clouds, dustless autumn water, as well as idle white clouds; and the mood of autumn, is that poetic leaves.
Leaves, after the precipitation of time, after the baptism of the wind and rain, before the fall of the introverted and radiant.
Life, through the taste of the world of the floating and sinking, will only wind and smoke are clean, renounce the pomp and strife, in the quiet place, people light as a chrysanthemum.
Leaves, experienced the warmth of spring, summer abundance, autumn cold, before the red leaves stained all over the green hills of intoxication.
Life, experienced the world's cool, only to drink up the melancholy of the red dust, to see the age of the mountains and rivers roaming the magnificent.
Linger in the red dust, the cycle of seasons, look back in an instant, who's time, eyebrows like a picture. Returning to the still, return to the light, dust and smoke fall, calm, pure.
Silent autumn leaves, with the dust settled, time brimming with beauty.
Quietly counting the turns of time, each leaf, have walked through their own years. In every vein, the rhyme of time is written.
Leaves fall together, yesterday has long been transformed into a scene of light rain and smoke.
The flow of young ferry, that a place of fading, sadness, whose years like water.
Time does not speak, once involved in your life, gradually distant and remote.
Four seasons of warm and cold, must personally walk through, only to know its cold; spring winds and autumn rain, must personally pass through, only to know the beauty of the seasonal flow.
The first thing you need to do is to take a look at the color of the skin and the texture of the skin, and then you can see the color of the skin.
Time is warm and merciless, it gives us the warmth of spring and hire Ting, it gives us the summer of the abundance and voluminous, it gives us the autumn of the lonesome and bleak, give us the winter of the depression and bleak.
Each leaf, in its own season, spitting fragrance, each Shu its rhyme. In the gentle spring breeze danced through a magnificent, and in appendicular autumn rain book through a ink spring and autumn.
The swallow under the eaves will always leave on time, the lotus on the pool will always fade out, the mountain leaves silently withered, and life, always have to fall.
The fireworks are easy to cold, easy to split the personnel, easy to hurt the years, one day, wash out the lead, the prosperity of the end, the river and mountains to an eternal silence.
The building is far away, in the rain, heaven and earth, the lake in the ripples with the years, the distant mountains gathered scattered years of cold and heavy.
Take advantage of the fact that things are just right, take advantage of the lotus breeze, take advantage of the clarity of the autumn water, take advantage of the cold plums can be, go to the appointment of time, sealed in the depths of the years. Even if the river and mountains are silent, even if the years are old, even if the beauty of the barren, but also to drink life.
Life will be poetic because of a tree flowers, life will be a piece of green and volatile, the mind will be quiet because of a fallen leaf.
Pick a piece of fragrant petals, the beauty of the red dust; to a curtain of cool autumn rain, wash away all the way to the wind and frost.
The world is full of things, each with its own spring and fall, the wind warms the linden green, the frost stains the green mountain red.
The year of the fallen flowers, I do not know where the wind blew to the water, the old green brick , wet tile?
The sycamore of that year, I don't know in whose old wall, cooled the red dust, shocked the old dream.
The back of that year, I do not know where the fireworks wandering, negative years, buried the rest of life.