A pot of tea, with the warm fragrance of the years, has many different tea flavors because of the preciousness of time.
Time is like tea, a simple cup gives us endless aftertaste.
Life is tea cooked in spring, fresh and distant, elegant and fragrant.
At any time, I have fragrant teas in my hands and my heart is as simple as tea.
When the kettle sings on the stove, when the steam in the kettle boils, make a cup of green tea.
I don't want to miss the gesture of every leaf rolling in boiling water. I have been paying attention for a long time, and my heart unconsciously becomes silent.
Drinking tea is nothing more than two actions, picking up and putting down.
Life is like the taste of tea, and the ups and downs are self-evident.
Tea has a memory, recording the time story between tight knots.
The tea leaves rolled by boiling water slowly sank to the bottom of the cup, releasing a faint tea fragrance. Seemingly light tea can bear all the cold and warm.