Love begins with curiosity and goodwill, no one can hear the gentle footsteps of its arrival, and when it is brewed, it turns into a huge wave in the end.
Almost every poet writes about a girl with a hazy figure, which makes them think day and night, and makes them unable to leave. They are like the hanging moon, like the blooming lily of the valley in spring, nourishing the poet's brush and ink and affecting the poet. of love.
They kissed each other, as fresh as a dragonfly on the morning lotus, as beautiful as the evening breeze caressing the lake.
In everyone's memory, there is a night with heavy clouds and thick fog. Even if the stars burst out, even in that moment, that kind of brilliance is dazzling, and the heart and soul are rippling. If you keep your mouth shut, who will know?
Love is like a pebble thrown into the heart of water. After the waves are calm, is the water still the same as before? The pebbles sink to the bottom, no matter how deep the water hides him.
Their love is not necessarily perfect, just fanaticism.
In the realm of love, happiness has a face good at promises and betrayals.
Death completes the poet's love, they don't have more time to quarrel and hurt by the Cold War, and death forces love to squeeze out the last fragrance.
Sometimes, a moment is eternity, and a waste of time can't last forever.
Death is far more terrifying than parting. You can still hope to meet when you are separated, but where do you go to find the undead when you die?
Just like a flower that blooms in the dust, it is beautiful, but also rooted in the dust and surrounded by easily flying dust. The soft and clean petals are covered with dust, which is dust, but also reveals a shining light.
What suffering can compare to accepting that worldly gaze for a long time. In the eyes of the world, how can love hold up that heavy scale.
He also knew how false it was, but he still said it, and then looked at her, at the haggard but sworn face. Sometimes lies are greater than truth.
Two people who love each other are worthy of love. The love of bluebells in the mountains and wilds.
Falling in love with a poet is like falling in love with a shooting star in the sky. It passes by brilliantly and will not stop for anyone, and the brilliant moment can already make people give up the entire universe.
It is better to be like Lin Huiyin, with Xu Zhimo as his lover, Liang Sicheng as his husband, and Jin Yuelin as his uncomplaining companion.
Love is a rough woolen blanket, and obstacles are the thorns on the ground that pierce the blanket.
The love in life is indeed like this, it is not pure at all. He needs love but love also has a realistic side.
Some people say that love is a luggage. But luggage is just an accessory after all. Rather, love is a bond, an orange light that you don't want to drag down. You still choose to put it aside and use its shimmer to illuminate the way you walk alone.
The name written on the water is like the love written on the clouds.
Good stories have regrets. Helpless is not to have a perfect love.
Maybe the beginning of love is intellectual resonance and appreciation, and the later stage is inexplicable attachment. It's the kind of infatuation that can't be contained and unspeakable.
Three days with you is better than fifty years on earth. He is happy with her.
When love comes quietly, he has too little time left in his life.
Those sweet tortures, throbbing, torment, aftertaste, missing.
Love will not be sad, but heart will.
The heart and the heart have fallen completely. Love and love meet very persistently.
Love can make people sensitive, suspicious and even crazy. Love is the most painful when it wants to be said but not said.
But some things may be repeated, and will not be touched again, and some people can be replaced, but they cannot be forgotten after all.
When we find that waiting has become a memory, how long will the years be after?
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