Xiaoguo fortune telling

Aesthetically ancient articles and sentences

Broken bridge, broken snow and broken moon

The breeze and the bright moon, the fragrance disappears and the jade dies, the cold time quietly flows through the face of the years, and the sadness in a poem, I laugh very hard and laugh very hard.

I savor the fallen flowers, and the rustling autumn wound gently caresses the midnight song of the wind chimes! A soothing piano sound rings, and whoever forgets his appearance in his words becomes the frost of vicissitudes. My heart is hidden.

The ends of the earth are all over the swing. In the small courtyard, the flower diameter is fragrant. They say you are thinner than Huanghua, leaving me lonely. The strings were broken all night, accompanied by your melody, butterflies danced on the blue shirt of the bamboo garden, snow stained your clothes, willows swayed on the moon, and we forgot each other. At dusk, I was entrusted to the wings of a crow. Your hometown is Cang Sang, the Jiangnan teenager in my dream.

Who hides the bright moon and hangs it on your willow branches at dusk, south of the Yangtze River, they all say not to go to the south of the Yangtze River, the rainy lane of teenagers, you alone, the feeling of fingers trembling under the drizzle of paper umbrellas, whose shadow flows through the closed window, the fragrance of white walls and green tiles, the legend of thousands of years, your talents are hesitant for my beauty, the face of water and gas waves, and the smoke covers your turning wound and tears.

Where are you going? I am in the middle of the water, and there is no frost under the bright moon. On the lake of the Twenty-four Bridge, the original painting and pipa sound are eternal chapters of the years, the night dew moistens the white clothes fluttering, and the fragrance of your hair dyes my eternal desire. The elegant and clear dress, bright eyes and light dancing are the most beautiful appearance in my dream.

I want to turn to Wan Li next to Jiuqing Mountain, find your sunset glow in the evening, and watch in the distance. The withered strings ring into wounds and wrap around my heart, sighing. The ancient city road, barren hills and flowers are in full bloom, and your azaleas are blooming on my left chest. How long have you been silent, looking around? You're gone, that's the paradise I'm looking for.

I dare not guess the melancholy of your clear sky, so I have to think hard, close my unwilling eyes and open my eyes to whom I will be crazy. My sadness opens in the wilderness of memory, your country is the place I look forward to, and my vision is the warm sunshine in spring, which turns into a wisp of incense, babbles in the wind, flows through Xiao Yi and can't be found anymore.

The faint starry sky, the misty sky, your pear blossom white, the frost dyed on my head, the vicissitudes of my temples, the extravagant hopes of this life, all kinds of attachments and sorrows turn into a net in my corner of my eye, waiting for a fish to swim away.

Time flies, for whom will my song be sung? Holding the yellow in my memory, you said that red-violet's heart is only the last fragrance at the fingertips. I can't find the gentlest time in the south of the Yangtze River. I lock you in the garden and sing softly. Orchids are everywhere. I touch someone's long-lost tears. A drop of rain drenches my afterlife habitat, waiting for you to fall into poetic hesitation, such as fog, and finally become your gentle face, wandering against my youth.

Broken bridge, residual snow, you quietly river without a boat, my wind rustling, whose thoughts fall on the horseshoe, the blue man has left the south of the Yangtze River. I am embedded in the iron, who is playing the sword, singing the frivolous teenager, the night when there are few stars in the moon, and your shadow and dance are messy. I still remember the full moon in the Mid-Autumn Festival that year. Your beauty fascinated me so much.

You smile, wading in the water reflects the cold, and you are as white as a lotus. If you are good at water sports, you will be exhausted. Your flowers will make my lonely garden, pavilions sing late, and the world will be heartbroken. I can only look forward to my life attachment all the way.

In fishing songs, the lotus blooms late and the plum rains are silent.

Broken bridge and falling snow, like flowing water, your dusk buried the warmth of my dawn, so I relaxed you and looked at the pavilion, and the east wind thinned your face. A falling rain will overcome countless lovesickness.

How many cycles? I can't forget yesterday's sadness. On my other shore, who is waiting for a bowl of bitterness cooked by Meng Po? Forget each other in this life, meet each other in the afterlife, and only stay at the moment when we pass by. ......

Endless years, lonely Milky Way, ethereal prophecy, a legendary inch of loess, covered the beauty, and the person who buried the flowers also buried himself in the fallen flowers. You leave in a hurry, you leave in a hurry. In my dream, it was vaguely your face, and I can't forget it. Flowers bloom all over the sky, and Leng Yue sleeps on her pillow.

That night, I had a long dream and slept well. When I wake up, the deep courtyard is full of yellow flowers, and the petals are full of thoughts about you. Time flies, I put on your bright red clothes to commemorate me.

One night is like a thousand years, but … you are still not with me. ......

Without words, people are as pale as chrysanthemums.

Quiet, cold, bright,

It blooms quietly in the corner of the world of mortals. If new tea comes after rain, it is like a thousand-year-old agarwood.

All over the mountains, I live alone on the balcony, with a cup of tea, a piano, a propaganda and a pile of Kun. Stay away from the bright moon and still taste the vicissitudes of life.

I also know that time flies like water, and I sigh that my fingertips are transparent. Only this sandy world, who can see through?

Take up half a silk spring scenery for a lifetime.

As Daiyu said, if you want to play the piano, you must choose a quiet room, Gaozhai. The moon corridor on the top of the mountain is light, burning incense and sitting quietly.

Piano dancing, light tea fragrance, a long finger, plum light cloud light.

Get a quiet peach blossom garden, stay away from worldly troubles, step on the snowy moon, make tea and listen to the flute.

Laughing about the joys and sorrows of the Millennium, wearing a ring under the moon, carrying many old dreams of the former Tang Dynasty, guqin qingquan, crossing for several years.

Plum blossoms are in the valley, but they are not fragrant because no one appreciates them. When the moon passes through the cold pond, they are not desolate because of loneliness.

If the heart is as light as the morning mist, it will be like jasper dew, listening to the source and falling.

The bright moon lasts only because the heart does not increase or decrease. Dream in the spring and autumn, purple bamboo swaying, plum string ethereal around the window lattice.

Xiangmei was finally penetrated by ice and turned into this kind of sand fragrance, flowing through clear water, clear sky and red dust.

Natural hand caresses the piano, and the frost and cold on the moon clear the dust.

Deep pools are filled with water, and the stone moss is slippery, and the fire is scattered and the fragrance remains for another spring.

Sketching clouds and smoke makes me lonely and fleeting.

A touch of sunset, a pot of wine, drunk for a long time;

A fountain pen, a book, a lonely time.

-Inscription/Bright Moon

Years are like new chess.

A sigh in a thousand years, the wind and cloud geometry; The smile in front of the bottle made yesterday have a new dream.

Years, in the next game of chess, wrestling, and hand-to-hand combat, talk about ups and downs and wait for everything to be finalized. In the vast world, under the rolling world of mortals, the imminent existence of every life is to enter the game, and no one can choose or escape, and heading for this fateful disaster is doomed to be a lore.

Facing the black hand that controls the whole world behind invisibility, should we resist or learn to be peaceful? For a moment, my mind was scared, and then I was scared.

Chewing on four books and five classics, Ke Tiandi has no time to see the sea, to study the splendid scenery and to wrench the grand youth. The curtain of the years will be opened unconsciously, so it will pass by in a hurry.

You look at time like a knife, carving Jiangnan mountains and rivers, picturesque; The unique rivers with thousands of walls, full of green, are beautiful; Created a peerless style and fell in love with the countryside; Deduced a generation of arrogance, and the history of history lasts forever; Slim young and ignorant, full of worries; Concentrated survival experience, Bibijin. As we all know, he was defeated by the army.

Sometimes, there are mountains and water. "People are omnipotent, and the word life and death is old. Who can pass? " A famous beauty is old and sick, especially pitiful. "Old buried, what's the use of leaving a name? How much money did you bring? In the meantime, how to care about gains and losses.

A thousand years have passed, and the years are not gone. The four seasons are beautiful, the scenery comes and goes, the book is flourishing and the years are long. A glimpse of the cool autumn turned into a snowy day, and the cold winter woke up with the spring breeze. This is a fleeting time. In a blink of an eye, it is the midsummer of spring.

I can't help sighing that time is like a plate of xinqi and life is like a piece of tissue paper.

Time flies like water.

Holding the ribbon, the dream is the world of mortals. Taste the freshness of dawn, feel the richness of dusk, stay in the corridor of time, watch the wind disperse during the day and listen to the rain at night.

Wandering in the long river of life, the sky of memory is instantly gloomy, and the sad sky is stained with loneliness, and I can't find my mood. The past is like smoke, touching the lonely and trance-like heart. When can we find a new starting point in the turbulent time?

Those beautiful and enchanting scenes, those years of struggle, those lost water and smoke have all been quietly taken away like the time of the year, as lifeless as the surrounding air, but the memory is as clear, vivid and vivid as yesterday ...

Those youths, like a meteor shower, cut through the sky and bloomed in the gorgeous years. They are beautiful, and I am also reminiscing about the gorgeous overture and imagining the beauty. I heard the noisy campus in time and space again, thinking of my brother and dependent lover who once held hands! In that fleeting time full of youth, we watched the meteor shower together, and in that never-ending youth, we were crazy together …

Suddenly, time said: Youth is over. The dream is gone, it's time to wake up …

The rebellion in my bones tells me that I don't want to accept it, and I don't want to go with the flow. Those beautiful things, those thoughts, I miss you very much. Come back soon. At present, I am the only one who is speechless with sadness, drowning in the dead sea of memory. My heart sinks like duckweed, and I can't catch it and can't find a fulcrum. For an instant, my eyes were shining like rain, and my body was full of pain, winding like a vine.

Looking at the time when the corner is peeling off, the distance in the horizon, and a few nostalgic moments have evacuated the soul and awakened the melancholy. Unable to bear the past, pregnant with sadness, immersed in their own small world to pick up memories. I only responded to the wind around me, sobbing pain and sadness.

Looking back, those beautiful things are lingering; Turn around, close at hand, as if a step away, but can't touch, can't catch up …

This shore is crying and the other shore is laughing. Touching a Xiaoxiang and singing a guzheng, I am full of passion, stepping on a rough rhyme, dancing lightly with the melody left thousands of years ago, and chasing the chorus of covers on both sides of Qinhuai River. The string stopped late, and my eyes were broken. I wanted to tell the infinite things in my heart, which suppressed the meditation of the string and made me leave my sorrow. Lan Song still sings, time flies like water, thoughts like raindrops.

Loneliness is like waves.

The sunset invites the mountains to stay, and the dusk caresses the muscles; Noisy during the day, can't afford to fall to the ground …

How cool it is at night. A little meditation, a little leisure, listening to a romantic song, warming a lonely shadow, the answer echoed in the ear, accompanied by fragmentary thoughts, breaking the sadness.

The world is a deep pool. This Jiang Hushui is very deep, and the situation is changing all the time. There is no boat crossing the huge waves in Hong Tao. I don't know how to get involved in this countercurrent world. When the wind stopped, the rain stopped, the song ended and people dispersed, leaving me as an outsider or insider, how to deal with myself, or I have forgotten which is the real me.

When the wind and smoke of history swept past the existing memories, they still didn't wash away the worldly helplessness after all, thinking about how to calm their inner loneliness when they had a lonely journey without returning. My heart is always looking forward to the future, loneliness never stops, and it floats to every corner of the wind in the form of fallen leaves, although I am only looking for it in the swaying sky.

Life is alive, just a hundred years; I hope my heart can be less lonely, less sad and less lonely. More surprises, more beauty and more warmth.

It is said that life is not idle, and youth will never come again. And life is always too lonely, too helpless, too many tragedies, too many can only follow fate, only loneliness meets unexpectedly. If you want to ask when the lonely days will end, maybe the answer will be long, and I will take a long time to answer.

I don't know why, but I don't know what to say.

Pen and ink, flat and strewn at random, emotional cool thin, into rain, dripping, from point to surface diffusion amplification, and then set off the ebb and flow.

Press the soft finger, ink and wash are flying, the spear is tilted and the shield is down, and loneliness kills each other. A person sails and sails, and under the stormy waves, the loneliest dance is surging, one dance and three moves, achieving a desolate and moist heart. Panic, start, pen, pen, at this moment, the dream is shattered with a sieve.

How tired the night is, lonely as waves. Pen and ink are restrained and rhyme; Bit by bit, scattered, sighed, messed up!

Misty rain and red dust, breeze leaves dreams. What kind of life should I choose when the humanistic picture is dispersed with the smoke; China is old, who is still reliving the feelings left by the detention time?

Let's watch the wind go and stay, bind our thoughts one by one and take away our wishes one by one. I only hope that in the washing time, it will gradually turn into a faint smile in the corner of my eye.

I dreamed of sleeping in my heart, but I still dreamed of waking up in my heart. Waving wine and ink, sketching a few strokes, holding hands and holding clouds made me drunk and lonely …