Growing older, I love only quietness: who need be concerned with the things of this world? Looking back, what better plan than this: returning to the grove.

To find pleasure in life, make the most of the spring.

The paired butterflies are already yellow with August Over the grass in the West garden; They hurt me. I grow older.

I bow in reverence to the white cloud.

The world is like a great empty dream. Why should one toil away one's life?

I am asked why I live in the green mountains; I smile but reply not, for my heart is at rest. The flowing waters carry the image of the peach blossoms far, far away; there is an earth, there is a heaven, unknown to men.

Beneath the blossoms with a pot of wine, No friends at hand, so I poured alone; I raised my cup to invite the moon, Turned to my shadow, and we became three.