For the weak, the hopelessness of life is more terrible than death.
Literature is immortal, so that everyone can meet in fate.
We know from the phone that some people have left, some are still here, some are rich, and some are still struggling. We know that whether people are here, rich or poor, life is moving forward. No one knows where it will go next.
Time is like a running horse, running nonstop, running through spring, summer, autumn and winter. Everything lags behind it, and only sudden misfortune is faster than it.
Life is a spelling.
Peach blossoms bloom as soon as they are said.
A few days ago, it was a small bone flower, and the pink petals were wrapped in a thin leather bag, like a small fist being held, which could not be stretched out. In a few days, they all broke free and were free to have fun on the branches.
There are too many factors that determine fate, some are visible, some are invisible, and the invisible is often sharper than the visible.
Outside my hometown, the newly planted peach trees will bear fruit, and the people who planted peach trees will leave.
Mother began to have white hair, which is the power of time. Life is like a pot, which keeps spinning at the bottom. The world outside the pot does not know her, and she does not know the world outside the pot. The pot is sometimes cold and sometimes hot. Only the people in the pot know whether it is cold or hot.
The so-called mother-child game is just that she opened your life and future for you, and you uncovered the silent loess behind her.
Everyone is insignificant in the face of misfortune. Some people's misfortune comes from the same kind of people.
Only in the face of illness and pain, people are equal, and there is no hierarchy.
This is a pair of hands that have held the hoe handle for 30 years. Countless days and lives are caught by it and leaked through the fingers. Her youth was scattered by these hands and blown away by the wind when it was uncertain.
The world and life never panic, but everyone who is escorted by them is flustered.
Nonsense is also a good thing, which is more practical than many physical objects and supports the transmission of Lantern Festival in spring, summer, autumn and winter.
For many people, life is just a bunch of nonsense.
There is wind in early spring, and the wind in pear blossom season is a real spring breeze, wet and cold, mixed with countless dust particles wandering in the air. Asako poured some into his stomach, so his stomach soon swelled up.
The river is the only thing in the world that can't be hidden, even if it is small, it will be unobstructed.
Days are like running water, sometimes magnificent, and more often silent, as if they have never been here. The story is drifting away, just like running water, without many waves and traces, small and chaotic. In this logical world, this is a group of people without logic.
This is not good or bad, just like visible or invisible running water, which disappears on the boundless land and flows unreasonably.
All literature is essentially an elegy, retaining the sunset in the west and the precipitation in the east.