The most beautiful lie gives a fragile heart the wings of an angel. My heart learned to fly and flew to the sacred heaven, only to find that the God in the temple was the one who weaved beautiful lies like fairy tales.

I love words, because of something, maybe it is inexplicable. I love to use silence and words to record the far-off sadness, and I also love to use words to accompany me to spend the time quietly when I am sad. So I fell in love with books.

I am used to turning the pages of books in an old-fashioned and low-key way, and then staying on the title page for a long time. I stared at the large blank space and meditated, trying to understand the thoughts behind the paper. Accompanied by the faint fragrance of tea, I settled on things that seemed to only be found in books. Then write a sentence in the margin. Afterwards, close the book and pray to God sincerely that the ending of the unfinished story will not be too bad.

I like broken trees, residual branches, withered leaves and dry branches. I also like old taros and rusty bells. I like a patch of autumn grass in the depths of the courtyard, the slanted stone steps and the creases in the jade railings. I also like the cold clouds, stars and falling moon. The roots and stems are missing, the willows are dying and the flowers are dying. Because the moment when Zhang Ailing and the words fell into my heart, it was like the silence after the rose quietly bloomed in April, so the sadness arose in my heart, and along with her tone, it might be called a kind of sadness! Or maybe it’s because I’m used to seeing beautiful flowers and a full moon with another lasting charm.

Human life may have a shape, just like the one depicted in the Sahara by Three Kings. So I am afraid that my life will be shattered and lose its inherent shape. Cherish it. Be careful.

Loving and hurting. I love Zhang Ailing's gorgeous and cold words, and that kind of shocking melancholy, and I will read it deeply when the waves of silence come. However, it also stung those forbidden areas that seemed about emotion. So it hurts. But also awake.

Words make the heart grow old, and make the years grow yellow in the wandering world. I am not happy when I hear the love, but I am not hurt by separation. The slightly curled corner of the book seems to be interpreting a transformation.

"The most beautiful lie gives the fragile soul the wings of an angel. The heart learns to fly, and flies to the temple of the saint, only to find that the God in the temple is the one who weaves the beauty of a fairy tale. ”

Close the book. Be devoted and devoted.