I am the wind, the gentle wind; I am the clouds, the slow, drifting clouds; I am the water, the silent water; I am the mountains, the boundless mountains… If you so want, I will be the gentle wind that will wrap around your lonely spirit! If you so desire, I will be the slow, drifting clouds that will unquestioningly be your support! If you so wish, I will be that silent water, without a murmur, protecting you by your side. If you so will, I will love you unrelentingly, just like those boundless, unbroken mountain ranges and valleys! But, I regret I am not the wind and not able to take care of you. I hate that I am not the clouds and not able to bring you warmth; I pity myself that I am not the water and not able to be so pure; I am angry that I am not the mountains and not able to have my love will be as immovable as I would like. I can only be myself this time, my mortal, earthly self, my only self, the only self that I can ever hope to be. I thirst for love but I do not understand her deep mystery. I strive for transcendence but I would rather be silent and nameless. I want to be mature but I would rather remain innocent. I would like that she love me, but I do not know even if I truly love her! Endless searching, thirsting, striving, pursuing-where are my goals? Where is my future? In this mundane world, I am one lonely speck; in this universe I am a powerless particle of dust. My love, thought beautiful, is nothing great in itself. And so, I ask only to live as well as I can. In truth, there is no need to live one‘s life basking in glory, rising above men—— so long as one’s life has some value, has some security… Fearless and capricious, love will cause me great pain. Youth, transient and inconstant, will bring me loneliness. Work, busy and mindless, will make me lost. I am just searching for and waiting for some of that which shines, that which is radiant in life…

  我是风,轻轻的风;我是云,缓缓的云;我是水,静静的水;我是山,连绵的山…… 如果你愿意,我愿做那轻轻的风抚慰着你寂寞的心灵!如果你愿意,我就是那缓缓的云从容地让你依偎!如果你愿意,我来做你身边静静的水默默地将你守护!如果你愿意,我将会不懈地爱你就象那连绵不断的山川! 我悔我不是风,因为我不够体贴;我恨我不是云,因为我不够温柔;我怨我不是水,因为我不够清澈;我怒我不是山,因为我的爱不够坚定…… 我只能做回自己,平凡的自己,唯一的自己,寻求中的自己。我渴望爱情但是却不懂她的深奥,我向往不平凡但是却甘愿默默无名。我追求成熟但是我宁愿单纯。我但愿她能喜欢我,但是我又不知道我是否喜欢她。寻求,渴望,向往,追求,哪里是我的目标和未来…… 俗世间我是孤独的一粒,宇宙间我是无为的尘埃,我的爱虽然美好,但并不伟大…… 所以我只是想好好的活着…… 其实人生未必要过的轰轰烈烈,出人头地,。只要过的有价值,活的很踏实…… 无畏的爱,会让我很痛苦;悸动的青春,会让我很寂寞;忙碌的工作,会让我容易迷茫…… 我只是在寻找,我亦是在等待。生命中的璀璨光辉……


  Love Your Life (热爱生活)

  However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names.It is not so bad as you are.

  It looks poorest when you are richest.The fault-finder will find faults in paradise. Love your life, poor as it is.

  You may perhaps have some pleasant, thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poor-house. The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the alms-house as brightly as from the rich man's abode; the snow melts before its door as early in the spring. I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contentedly there, and have as cheering thoughts, as in a palace.

  The town's poor seem to me often to live the most independent lives of any. Maybe they are simply great enough to receive without misgiving. Most think that they are above being supported by the town; but it often happens that they are not above supporting themselves by dishonest means. which should be more disreputable.

  Cultivate poverty like a garden herb, like sage.Do not trouble yourself much to get new things, whether clothes or friends. Turn the old, return to them.

  Things do not change; we change. Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts.










  Youth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind; it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees; it is a matter of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions; it is the freshness of the deep springs of life.

  Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over the love of ease. This often exists in a man of 60 more than a boy of 20. Nobody grows old merely by a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals.

  Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Worry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart and turns the spirit back to dust.

  Whether 60 or 16, there is in every human being’s heart the lure of wonders, the unfailing appetite for what’s next and the joy of the game of living. In the center of your heart and my heart, there is a wireless station; so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, courage and power from man and from the infinite, so long as you are young.

  When your aerials are down, and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicism and the ice of pessimism, then you’ve grown old, even at 20; but as long as your aerials are up, to catch waves of optimism, there’s hope you may die young at 80.


  Companionship of Books

  A man may usually be known by the books he reads as well as by the company he keeps; for there is a companionship of books as well as of men; and one should always live in the best company, whether it be of books or of men.

  A good book may be among the best of friends. It is the same today that it always was, and it will never change. It is the most patient and cheerful of companions. It does not turn its back upon us in times of adversity or distress. It always receives us with the same kindness; amusing and instructing us in youth, and comforting and consoling us in age.

  Men often discover their affinity to each other by the mutual love they have for a book just as two persons sometimes discover a friend by the admiration which both entertain for a third. There is an old proverb, ‘Love me, love my dog.” But there is more wisdom in this:” Love me, love my book.” The book is a truer and higher bond of union. Men can think, feel, and sympathize with each other through their favorite author. They live in him together, and he in them.

  A good book is often the best urn of a life enshrining the best that life could think out; for the world of a man’s life is, for the most part, but the world of his thoughts. Thus the best books are treasuries of good words, the golden thoughts, which, remembered and cherished, become our constant companions and comforters.

  Books possess an essence of immortality. They are by far the most lasting products of human effort. Temples and statues decay, but books survive. Time is of no account with great thoughts, which are as fresh today as when they first passed through their author’s minds, ages ago. What was then said and thought still speaks to us as vividly as ever from the printed page. The only effect of time have been to sift out the bad products; for nothing in literature can long survive e but what is really good.

  Books introduce us into the best society; they bring us into the presence of the greatest minds that have ever lived. We hear what they said and did; we see the as if they were really alive; we sympathize with them, enjoy with them, grieve with them; their experience becomes ours, and we feel as if we were in a measure actors with them in the scenes which they describe.

  The great and good do not die, even in this world. Embalmed in books, their spirits walk abroad. The book is a living voice. It is an intellect to which on still listens.