美人
不知道从哪里记下来的一句话:
“美人以花为貌，以月为神，以鸟为声，以柳为态，以玉为骨，以冰雪为肤，以秋水为姿，以诗词为心。”
Of all the qualities mentioned a crucial one is missing. Youth. Without that it's tough to be a 美人 by any standard. You could achieve all of that and create a moment of eternity in your life, a picture of beautiful and wisdom, the fuzzy and frozen picture that always appears in your dream. But then you'll have to end yourself, or even eternity melts into air.
After getting its inevitable dose of soaking in rain, my organizer subsequently suffered spillings of milk and soup on itself. Now it smells like "Chinese food" (If you live in US, say those 2 words to yourself and imagine the aroma they give rise to.).
Here I am in Stanford, using an organizer and living a newish scary sort of life among people whom I've never known. How could it be that after two cycles of twelve years I've only just started to feel inadequate, insecure and stressed for the first time? Or is it strange that I should think so? All these activities might be taking me away from or bringing me closer towards building my picture of eternity. I have no way of telling...
“美人以花为貌，以月为神，以鸟为声，以柳为态，以玉为骨，以冰雪为肤，以秋水为姿，以诗词为心。”
Of all the qualities mentioned a crucial one is missing. Youth. Without that it's tough to be a 美人 by any standard. You could achieve all of that and create a moment of eternity in your life, a picture of beautiful and wisdom, the fuzzy and frozen picture that always appears in your dream. But then you'll have to end yourself, or even eternity melts into air.
After getting its inevitable dose of soaking in rain, my organizer subsequently suffered spillings of milk and soup on itself. Now it smells like "Chinese food" (If you live in US, say those 2 words to yourself and imagine the aroma they give rise to.).
Here I am in Stanford, using an organizer and living a newish scary sort of life among people whom I've never known. How could it be that after two cycles of twelve years I've only just started to feel inadequate, insecure and stressed for the first time? Or is it strange that I should think so? All these activities might be taking me away from or bringing me closer towards building my picture of eternity. I have no way of telling...
posted by Azzurra | 12:03 AM
3 Comments:
Hihi. Let me share a poem too. hehe... to thank you for all your encouraging comments on my blog.
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YOUTH
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 sixty more than a body of twenty. 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 sixty or sixteen, there is in every human being's heart the lure of wonder, the unfailing child-like appetite of 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, cheer, courage and power from men and from the Infinite, so long are you young.
When the aerials are down, and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicism and the ice of pessimism, then you are grown old, even at twenty, but as long as your aerials are up, to catch the waves of optimism, there is hope you may die young at eighty.
Samuel Ullman
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Hope you like it! =))
Another one. =)
Hmm.. suddenly realize that poems are very meaningful.
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Life
LIFE, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily
Enjoy them as they fly!
What though Death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope, a heavy sway?
Yet Hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell;
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfully, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell despair!
Charlotte Bronte
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Well said! =) Long live the preservation of purity and youth and ideals and dreams!
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