Nature is an outcry, unpolished truth; the art—a euphemism—tamed wilderness.

To sense the peace of extinguished passionHappiness in not knowing the ultimate knowledge

Truth is hard-hearted and unrelenting, too clear, precise; a lie is much more imaginative.

When the long bygone Lee Po wanted to say something, he could do it with only a few words.

There is a moonlight note in the Moonlight Sonata; there is a thunder note in an angry sky.

From whichever side I start, I think I am in an old place where others have been before me.

All dust is the same dust. Temporarily separated To go peacefully And enjoy the eternal nap.

There is always the question why And there is always life, Which doesn't need an answer.

Courage is more important than to be deceived by shallow victory waiting for a delayed defeat.

Since nothing is absolute There is no absolute silence, Only an appearance Of temporary peace.

Is it possible to write a poem or are these words just screams of outlaws exiled to the desert?

Arrival in the world is really a departure and that, which we call departure, is only a return.

When the star dies, Its eye closes; tired of watching, It flies back to its first bright dream.

I visited many places, Some of them quite Exotic and far away, But I always returned to myself.

Perfection seems sterile; it is final, no mystery in it; it's a product of an assembly line.