What does the world look like? What is life like? In my feeling, except for the long and ubiquitous wind, the rest is dust. We rush around in it, trying to stand firm, but most of the time we stagger around and can't help ourselves.

For the weak, the hopelessness of living is more terrifying than death.

Literature is immortal and allows everyone to meet in destiny.

From the phone call, we learned that some people are gone and some are still there, some are rich and some are still struggling. We know that no matter whether people are here or not, whether they are rich or poor, life is there. Go forward. And where it will go next, no one knows.

Time is like a galloping horse, running non-stop, running through spring and running through winter. Everything falls behind it, only sudden misfortunes move faster than it.

Human life is a spelling.

The peach blossoms bloom as soon as they are told.

A few days ago, it was still a small bone flower, with pink petals wrapped in a thin layer of skin, like a small fist being grasped and unable to open. Within a few days, they all broke free, were free, and were having fun on the branches.

There are too many factors that determine destiny, some are visible, some are invisible, and the invisible is often sharper than the visible.

Outside the courtyard of my hometown, the newly planted peach tree should be bearing fruit, and the person who planted the peach tree is about to leave.

My mother’s hair began to turn gray, which is the power of time. Life is like a pot, and she keeps spinning at the bottom of the pot. The world outside the pot doesn't know her, and she doesn't know the world outside the pot. Sometimes the pot is cold and sometimes it is hot. Only the person in the pot knows whether it is hot or cold.

The so-called mother-child relationship is just that she opens up your life and future for you, and you uncover the silent loess behind her.

In the face of misfortune, everyone is small. Part of human misfortune comes from the same kind of people.

Only in the face of disease and pain, people are equal and there is no superiority or inferiority.

This is a pair of hands that has held a hoe handle for thirty years. Countless days and lives have been caught by it and slipped through the fingers. Her youth was scattered by these hands in the ebb and flow of time, and was blown away by the wind.

The world and life never panic, but everyone who is escorted by the world and life panics.

Nonsense is also a good thing. It is more practical than many real objects and supports the spring, summer, autumn and winter like a revolving door.

For many people, life is just a piece of nonsense.

Early spring is windy, and the wind in the pear blossom season is a real spring breeze, carrying moisture and chill, mixed with countless dust particles of all things floating in the air. Chaozi also poured some of them into his stomach, so his belly quickly bulged.

The river is the only thing in the world that is not covered up, no matter how small it is, it can be seen at a glance.

The days are like running water, occasionally magnificent, but more often silent, as if they have never been here. The story gradually fades away, just like flowing water. There are not many waves and not many traces. It is small and chaotic. In this logical world, this is a group of people without logic.

This is neither good nor bad, just like the water that can be seen or invisible, disappearing and flowing through the vast land for no reason.

In essence, all literature is an elegy, retaining the sunset that sets in the west and the sand that moves eastward.