I found only lately how sweet is to sleep. Is there any more sweet word than goodnight?
I said to my friend that I must live at any cost till seventy years old, perhaps ninety years old or perhaps one hundred twenty years old. It was only yesterday I used to say I must not live to be more than twenty five, better still, not more than twenty years. How beautiful is Life! How the sun shines, how flowers bloom, how the river runs, how the birds fly, and above all, how grasses keep green!
I think that the best writing of the English language seems to mean to be read, while the best style of Chinese writing to be looked at.
Oh how I wish to write my poetry to be smelled!
Nobody has told me how it was when I was born. But I have a clear, though faint enough, memory of when my little sister was born; it was the hot summer night when the mist-purple canopy of the sky was studded with
