In every pond, there lingers the breath of the ocean.

In every stone, there hides the shadow of the desert.

That is why poets say: A single clover, paired with my imagination, becomes a boundless grassland.

Walking through autumn moonlit fields, I recall a poet’s challenge to the venerable Tolstoy: "Must all that ripens bow its head?"

Indeed, every step we take will fade into the past—be it joyful reunions or painful farewells. But rest assured: no song we’ve ever sung vanishes instantly. As Rosa Luxemburg (1871–1919) declared: "Wherever I go, as long as I live, the sky, the clouds, and the beauty of life shall dwell within me!"

A narrow, selfish heart can forge its own hell,

While an expansive, generous spirit builds heaven for others.

Hell and heaven are separated by but a thin veil.

And every flame of jealousy ignites first by consuming the self.

An aged writer once told me: "How much time have your feet worn away? Yet regret nothing—so long as your steps were true. Every journey bears footprints both deep and shallow."

When you finally hold the bouquet of success,

Do you not long for the crossroads of yesteryear?

As you rebuild success in gilded halls,

Do you not yearn for the humble timber of the past?