Time flows like a river. You can never touch the same water twice, for the water that has passed will never return. Cherish every moment of life! Be grateful to those who offer advice, for they help you mature; be grateful to those who make you strong. It is possible to be content, yet my heart remains clear. Home is a warm word; a place where one can regain confidence and courage; a safe harbor for those who have weathered great storms. Others are always right and I am always wrong, so there is no room for worry. If you want to make progress, you must be willing to look back. A complete soul is defined not by the richness of words, but by the depth of content, rather than a mask of pride. It requires more reading and more communication—something you and I are doing, so I feel fulfilled. When you face things with anxiety, you may feel everything is karma and the world becomes ugly and hateful. Knowledge is mastered, intelligence is applied, and creativity is transcended. Therefore, creativity is higher than wisdom, and wisdom is higher than knowledge. A creative person will always achieve more success than one who merely possesses knowledge. If you know the ending of a story, you must either tell it or pretend you do not know; in either case, do not stop. Sometimes, silence causes more pain than the truth when dealing with others. The footsteps of the returning student are hurried, as even the chilly evening breeze cannot catch up with the heart longing for home. The evening breeze brushes over the last ripples on the river, and the setting sun gathers its final glow. Autumn frost watches the last returning goose as I stand in silence, pondering deeply. My gaze drifts toward the door of memory, and as I chase and reflect, scenes of running flash before my eyes; in an instant, I reach enlightenment. Romantically escaping on Sunset Boulevard, with no one else knowing but you. At this moment, is my mother watching from under the large poplar at the village entrance, or is she sitting by the stove preparing dinner for her son? Is it the evening breeze ruffling her gray hair, or the firelight reddening her wrinkled cheeks? Ah, in just another hour, I can be her obedient son again, even though I am already a father of two... Whoosh—the evening breeze brushes through my hair and into my heart.
